Your erotic stories

"Good morning Christy," Bryan Jensen said, as he set his briefcase down on the floor next to the receptionist's workstation. Without glancing her way, he began sorting through the stack of correspondence, phone messages and inter-office envelopes that were waiting for him.

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We met Jana at a wedding reception. It was my younger cousin's wedding. She sat at our table. Jack, my husband of nine years, could not take his eyes off of her. She was very beautiful with her black, long, curly hair and dark exotic eyes. She had long eyelashes and dark full eyebrows. She had high cheekbones and a classic Roman nose. Both of her parents were Italian, but she grew up in an eastern European country.

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Jenny was having a great day. During the morning shift she'd sold tons of clothes at the retail store where she had worked for the past year, and as usual received the enthusiastic praise of her boss Giulio. The sun was shining. She'd been out to lunch with her old friend Madeline for the first time in months, and they were heading back to the store side by side, chatting casually yet happily in the way you only do with really close friends.

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"Chrissie Christianson looks pleased with herself," Amy muttered into my ear, motioning her head towards the dance floor. I turned in my chair, looking for the petite blonde cheerleader. Grimacing, I spotted her. "Do you think she could have flaunted a little more of her body in that dress?" I kidded, smiling. "Look who she's with," Amy said pointedly, motioning again.

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Aaron moaned, head rolling from side to side on his pillow. His jaw was tightly clenched, as were his fists. He thought hazily that he must be bruising the soft, perfect pear curves of her hips, but he couldn't help it. He was dying. His cock was wedged tight in the hot clench of her no-longer virgin cunt and she was riding him, tits bouncing prettily, long red corkscrew curls springing and sliding over her lightly freckled shoulders. Her mouth was a lush rose bed of pleasure, lips wet and parted on harsh, hard, eager moans.

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The thought of his lips on her clit sent a buzz through her belly and up her spine -- like sexual thoughts had intoxicated her mind when she was a teenager. But she was no longer a teenager. Professor Sherry looked in the mirror in the restroom before she walked back to her class. She didn't look 40. She definitely didn't feel 40. Her palms pushed down against her pert breasts covered in her deep purple blouse.

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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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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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