Your erotic stories

He was just an online fuck buddy. I have maybe thirty on my IM. When my husband is at work or when he's just not scratching that itch I can get online and be sure that one or two of them will be online and ready to talk dirty to me, to play to my fantasies or to watch me on cam as I make myself cum harder than I ever could alone. He was just one of many.

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Sam Stafford is a grouchy old man who lives up the road from us. Well when I say old, he's probably in his early thirties, but from the arrogant young age of eighteen, thirty is old. Especially the way he acts at times. He does, I will admit, have a green thumb, and his garden has the best roses for miles around. Come spring he had an amazing display. That's partly what led to the trouble.

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I picked up this slut at a dyke bar I like, a notorious pick-up joint for horny lesbians looking to take a walk on the wild side. She was a college student from the State U. campus and was down there looking for some action. I took her home with me and we spent a torrid, sweaty two hours going at each other until we collapsed, our pussies raw, our bodies worn and sweaty. We'd just taken a shower and were lying around, naked, sharing a bottle of wine.

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I first met Saskia at an art class. I was posing nude and she was one of the students. When I got the chance to see her painting I let out a gasp. Unlike the others it was clearly me, but me as she interpreted me. My hair, quite blonde in real life was jet black in her painting, but she had captured the way it was styled so beautifully. My skin tone was a lot paler too, much more like hers and my lips were bright red, also like hers.

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Boone, Mississippi. 1976. September In the middle of the night Ginny woke with her bare feet burning and itching something fierce. When she swung her coltish legs out from under the sheets and pulled her knees up tight to her chest, she found her ankles littered with sore, red welts. Ginny rubbed at her big eyes in the hot darkness, trying to rouse herself.

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Rebecca watched the last of the trick-or-treaters head down the street and checked the clock. With the official hours over, she turned out the porch light and put down the bowl, resisting the urge to indulge with one of the few remaining pieces of candy. She took off her witch hat and shook out a wealth of dark hair, trying not to think about the few strands of gray that she refused to dye — yet.

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At first it was a joke, something she brought up in soft, warm words they shared after making love that became a recurring joke between them. She would whisper in his ear as he entered her or the moment after their kiss broke. "I mean it Andres," she'd say is a sultry, practiced voice. "You wait. One day it will be your turn." He would turn and see the look in her eyes. "I'm serious."

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She awoke to the slam of a door. Someone had walked into the room. She felt the bed shift beside her and she pulled against her restraints, licking her lips in anticipation. She felt his mouth hot on hers, his tongue forcing into her mouth and plundering the soft crevices. She fought against the restraints, trying to push against him, trying to push her tongue into his mouth, trying to hold his head close to her as she was consumed by his deepening kiss.

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After two years as a Field Representative for Tyro Plastics, I was promoted to Company Headquarters as the new Regional Sales Manager. At twenty-five, I was the youngest employee to ever have attained that lofty position. Little did I realize the promotion would also entail some rather unexpected benefits. I met the girls my first day on the job. The Production VP was giving me the grand tour and our last stop was my new office on the top floor.

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Our wives had been lovers for a couple years. They had discovered the delights that only a woman can give to another and had been taking every opportunity to share it with one another. We both had attractive wives with large, soft breasts and more than adequate sexual appetites. Despite the similarities between us there were some differences: Nick was a very scholarly academic type, highly-educated with the usual detachment of someone with multiple graduate degrees. I've always been a very blue collar practical type: doing my own auto and home repairs.

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