Your erotic stories

It was a cold winter night. I was standing in my closet with a towel wrapped around my chest, drying my wet body after a shower. I stood there wondering which pajamas to wear when suddenly I felt two hands grabbing my breasts. A warm body embraced me from behind. I didn't have to turn around to figure out who it was. Her warm breath on the skin of my neck was enough to know.

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Amanda had gotten all dressed up for nothing. The blind date she had been going to meet was a no show. Dating sucked! The high heels were killing her, she had forgotten to eat lunch, and it looked like dinner was going to be McDonalds on the way home because she sure the hell did not feel like cooking now. She drove toward her apartment.

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"Hey, I'm going to go over to Ryan's house, Luke has something for me I guess," I told my boyfriend, Kyle, as I was gathering up my purse and keys to my car. "Luke?" Kyle put on a disgusted face. I didn't blame him. Luke was my ex. We'd only gone out a week, so I didn't really count him as being an "ex-boyfriend", just an "ex". I know, I'm weird. I sighed and tried to smile at Kyle. "Yeah. I guess. I'll be back in hopefully under a half hour. Unless Ryan's there and then I might stay a bit longer."

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This story was so much fun, I had to share it with someone. It's a true story that happened to me this past week. I had some friends (two guys from back east) come in town for the week and I was going to show them around. There were a couple of events going on, so we had plenty to do and kept busy all week. Well, as the week came to a close, we decided to spend the penultimate night burning the town down.

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She was stretched out on his bed like all the others; arms above her head, long lean legs akimbo, naked as the day she was born. Sometimes he wondered idly what brought him to this point, as he stripped off the leather skirting that protected his thighs. But not tonight. His eyes fell indolently on the blindfolded girl as he leaned against the table, his hands in the basin rinsing off blood that splattered his forearms and smooth chest.

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Monica Traveler was the chief bitch of her company and she never let anyone forget it. She got off on the fear she generated by walking into the central work area. When that wasn't enough, she would single out someone for personal humiliation and suffering. Monica wouldn't stop at words, no; often some sort of real physical torment was necessary for Monica to get on with her day. Sexual relationships did nothing for her because no man or woman would stay with her through the torments that got her off.

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She's got long, straight blond hair that always smells like coconut, a pair of legs that make up two-thirds of her height, and a round, narrow little ass. She also has an insolent, self-satisfied swagger, a pert, better-than-thou smirk, and a fifty-dollar manicure. I've taught a few like her before, and I know the way it goes. She's seen how I look at her. She's slacked off this whole term. I can tell she thinks she can scam an A out of me by shaking her ass.

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Richard nudged the door open with his knee, slowly shoving forward trying not to spill the gin and tonics he held. Once he was the other side his ass swung at the door, closing it. "Here look at this for a mouthful," he walked over to where his wife was sat at the computer, putting the two glass's down he lent over her shoulder, "And what mouthful of fuck fantasy are your little perverts telling you now?"

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"They have got to be kidding." she muttered as she flipped the channel. Another pointless commercial. Another pointless day. She had spent the majority of her day lounging in her hotel room, watching dull TV and reading even duller books. Her body felt restless, her brain felt numb. "Why did I make this trip?" she wondered to herself again. She had come to see her family, and a special someone, but they were all too busy with work, and kids, and their own stuff.

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About once a week, my wife and I meet at home for a lunch-hour rendezvous. This is what my life has come to; twenty years with Brenda, two kids in middle school, both of us working, and it seems the only time that we have enough energy for a decent fuck is over the lunch hour. How sad is that? Like most men, I am good to go in the morning, but Brenda is usually sound asleep until the alarm goes off; by then it is too late.

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