Your erotic stories

His fingers stroked her clit maddeningly. "You like the idea of that, don't you?" he whispered into her ear. "You like the idea of getting fucked by my friends, of being our whore." She moaned, her fingers gripping his arm tightly. Kitsune's panties were looped around one ankle. She'd just come home from St. Mary's Catholic School, where she was a senior, and she was still in her school uniform.

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I was living this apartment building. It was a pretty nice complex. A lot of lawyers were living in it for some reason. I guess you could say that it was a luxury apartment complex. My mom was also a lawyer (no surprise). She was always out of the house and was basically with me in the evening for supper. She was divorced for 3 years and had no time to see anyone else.

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Not even fourteen hours into the weekend and Drew knew it was a mistake to come to Vegas. He didn't even gamble, really, for Christ's sakes, and it wasn't like he had the extra padding in his checking account these days. The whole place felt like he could look but not touch. Swarovski, Tiffany, Cartier and the rest of the stores that only foreigners seemed to shop in, the High Roller tables cordoned off with velvet ropes, the cocktail waitresses with too high hemlines and too low necklines.

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I was thirty when it happened. I fell in love. She was perfect. She was everything I could have ever wanted in a mate; beautiful, smart, funny. She wasn't bitter though she did have quite a temper. She was determined and goal oriented. She had a cute face and a banging body, though she didn't realize she had either. That was probably because she was young. She was very young, and she was my student. I guess I need to start at the beginning. My name is Kenneth Ellerson. I teach higher math, and coach JV and Varsity Girls basketball at a coastal Georgia high school.

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The year was 1984. South Africa wasn't a happy place. I was in the army for my two years of national service. My name is Ben, and I was gay and out, unusually, as my lover and I were activists. Well, I was an activist-wannabe, since I should really have conscientiously objected to National Service, as others had, and endured the prison sentence, but I guess that I didn't have quite enough of a problem with the white "regime" to risk that extreme form of conscience.

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"Paging Miss Summers. Miss Summers, please proceed to the General Office." The bleep of the PA system sent a spark of excitement – or was it relief? – through me. It was the third day of the open house for Junior Colleges, and this was the first time that I'd been beeped to meet with a student or parent.

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I'm a spa fanatic. It's the one thing I like to treat myself to. I'm pretty good about my spending every other way. I always put money from each paycheque into a retirement fund. I bought my own house as soon as I had the minimum down payment. I bring my own lunches to work. I don't make impulse buys, when I shop. However, I find it perfectly reasonable to spend $100 an hour to have someone exfoliate me with sea salt.

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Pamela is a very attractive African American woman who lives in a small apartment. I have been making love with her occasionally for the last year or so, just the two of us and usually at her apartment, but she has certain dreams. She lusts for fair-skinned white men with green or blue eyes. Pamela fantasizes being the center of a gangbang with three such men and she wants to get together with them in luxurious surroundings. Last week all those things came true for her.

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As most the guys stood around looking at the screen Errol stood beside Dre with a looks of dismay. He said sipping on his drink as Dre watched the enjoyment the others seem to be getting out of the video. Errol went back to tending to the bar as he patted Dre on the back and smiled at him. “Incoming.” He said with a smile as Dre looked at him oddly before turning to look back.

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Once upon a time. I've always wanted to start a story that way. As I look back on my life and try to find something to write about, that is the first phrase that came to mind. Has it really been that long ago, is the second phrase? Where all the time went, does not enter into it. I know where it all went; I lived it. For the good, the bad, or the indifferent, the time was used to the fullest.

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