Your erotic stories

The internet is all about efficiency. Every day, the internet transfers electronic funds from businesses buying stuff to businesses selling stuff. You can register your car online and never have to stand in that soul-crushing line at the DMV. Thanks to the internet, you can do all your Christmas shopping in an hour without leaving your desk. But most importantly, you can find someone to suck your dick -- and very well - in about fifteen minutes.

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Little Devil Chastity was dressed like a cheap whore. Short, black semi-sheer mini-skirt. Braless, she wore a too tight and too small, neon pink tube top that barely contained her boobs. Cheap costume jewelry and knee high faux leather black boots. Poofy blonde hair, overdone make-up and strong perfume. And underneath, lace, red crotchless panties. It made her feel like a slut. It made her feel liberated. It made her feel excited.

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It was Saturday night. Frank and I went to our favorite local bar to hang out and try to meet women. He was usually successful more than I was, though I certainly got my fair share of 'action' as well. The place was packed as usual, with all the tables along the wall taken, and people standing elbow to elbow at the bar. We managed to squeeze ourselves near the bar and ordered a couple of beers.

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This story all took place on what was a very sad week for me. Joanne had been a good friend of mine for years, we had never been together as a couple, we had kissed and fooled around a bit in various different situations but we had never gone as far as to call ourselves a couple (much to my disappointment).

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I do a fair amount of traveling and like many guys I have a picture of my wife on my laptop to remind me of her when I'm away from home. It's not the kind of picture, however, that I would use as wallpaper or a screen saver. It's a photo for my own private viewing. In the photo, Anne is reclining on a leather couch wearing a lacy black bra which barely covers her beautiful 34C breasts.

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It was as I was returning from a trip up to Manchester that I saw the sign: 'Stewartby Park Prestige Hotel'. I vaguely remembered hearing that the old place had been converted, some years after she died, but it hadn't really hit home to me until that moment. Before I'd even realised it I'd swung the car between the gate posts and started up that familiar wide, sweeping gravel drive, framed by rhododendron bushes. After a few hundred yards I rounded a corner and saw again the huge, sprawling former stately home I'd last set eyes on more than 30 years earlier, its crooked Tudor chimneys silhouetted against the afternoon sky.

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Konan rose at dawn from the bed he had made beneath the trees and stars at the side of the road. He stretched and ran his hands through his hair and over his body and adjusted his loincloth. He had already checked that his possessions were all there. His sword in its hard leather, iron-banded sheath, along with his knife and the small leather bag of valuables had all been wrapped in his robe, which he had rolled up and used as a pillow.

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Valerie was already there when I arrived. I was early and was surprised to see her sat at the corner table. I had hoped that I would have a little time to calm my nerves before Valerie showed up, but it wasn't to be obviously. I took a deep breath, fixed a confident smile on my face and walked in.

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Suzanne lay naked on her stomach across Tim's bed with the top of her snorkel shoved in her ass. The rubber of the mouthpiece flopped in the air when she shifted her weight. Tim climbed onto the bed beside her and propped his head on his hand. She was waking up from her nap. He had put her through a rough morning. He ran his other hand down her back to rest over the crack of Suzanne's upturned ass, the snorkel rising up between two of his fingers. He nudged it and asked, “Has it been in your ass the entire time?”

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It had been six months since Katie left to go back to South America. Six long months without anyone to play with – six months of frustration with only my own fingers to satisfy my sensitive nipples. – And now, back in my apartment, dressed in only a white cotton top and g-string, I rubbed my aching buds back and forth through the material, releasing my pent up and frustrated feelings.

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