Your erotic stories

I was bartending at a restaurant I work at in a tourist town. One night an attractive couple came in and we enjoyed a nice chat. The womans name was Bridgette, and she had a French accent, very attractive with short, dark hair, a gorgeous smile on her painted lips. Her man, David, was a good looking guy, short curly hair, and a goatee. They were Canadian.

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The Piper Malibu bumped and rocked as it touched down on the airstrip in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing around the 4000-foot concrete pad except a couple of hills, a whole bunch of desert and some mountains barely visible through the shimmering heat on the horizon. The plane rolled to a stop and headed straight back up the runway and aimed at one of the large hills off to the side. As the plane came closer the front half of the hill slid apart to reveal a large hanger with several smaller planes parked inside.

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Patterson and I had just ordered a pizza when his phone rang. He glanced at the Caller ID window and looked up as the waitress brought us a pitcher of beer. "Sorry, dude," he said. "I need to take this one. It's Mom." He looked away and lowered his voice as he turned his attention to the call. I tried to pretend I was suddenly interested in the clever "Go Tigers!" declarations hanging on the walls of Sal's Pizza.

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"Hi Brian, what are you wearing right how?" The voice on the telephone was low and rough as if she wasn't quite awake. "Not much." He answered her, but couldn't figure out who she was. The voice sounded faintly familiar, but he was not sure he knew who it belonged to. Brian wasn't doing much. In fact, he was standing in the bedroom, wearing only a towel around his neck, trying to decide if he wanted to go to bed early, or pull on some sweats, fix a late supper, and then open his briefcase and read for a couple of hours.

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Jason stood on a rock overlooking a deserted beach beneath him. The cool sea breeze that sent an occasional whiff of salt up to him was a delightful refreshment under the glaring sun. He felt slightly dazed, uncertain if that was due to the heat, the amounts of red wine he had been drinking the night before, or ... he rubbed his eyes, incredulously.

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Ralph and Jill were getting ready to leave the party at a friends house. They had been there for many hours, drinking, dancing and just having fun. They were both a bit horney and they wanted to get home and fuck. Five other couples were there, all people they knew from work. Three of the couples were married, the others were living together. Everyone had been dancing with each others dates, flirting and enjoying the teasing. The lights were very dim so you could hardly see who you were holding.

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My name is – well, what difference does it make what my name is? I mean, you don't care about me. You're probably more interested in my little adventure and, if that's the case, you're one sick son of a bitch. But, okay, here goes. Oh, hell, I don't care if you want to know or not. I'm going to give you a little background about me anyway. If you don't like, go screw yourself.

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If you will recall from my last story An Unexpected Encounter, I recently met Tiffany, a nineteen year-old sophomore, who attends the same university as me. Tiffany is absolutely gorgeous, as I mentioned in the last story. Just as a reminder, I will tell you that Tiffany is about five-five and weighs 115 lbs, and she has the most gorgeous set of legs I've ever seen on a woman. She also has long, chestnut brown hair and striking dark-colored eyes.

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Hey all, my name is Judy. Yes, that's my real name. I feel safe in relating to you this very true experience of mine by simply leaving out my last name. To you, I'm simply Judy. Nothing more, nothing less. And again, this is a true story. Believe me. Let's start by me telling you a little about myself. I'm twenty-six years old and currently, and for that matter probably - for the rest of my adult career - a locally based television news reporter in a medium sized market in the mid-west.

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My story started several years ago when my best mate Phil and I were out having a quiet drink while our wives, Tina and Laura, were on a hen night. The conversation always turned to sex as we both moaned that we never got enough. Our wives used to take our moaning in good spirit as "typical men's moans." Anyway the conversation this night centred on our drooling over a work colleague of my wife whose legs seemed to go on forever.

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