Your erotic stories

Gina felt the man's firm hands against her waist, felt his body grind against hers, his breath warm on the nape of her neck. She tossed her long brown hair to the side, exposing the soft skin at the side of her throat, and pushed her ass back into him, rolling her hips to the rhythm of the music. She didn't know who the tall man behind her was, couldn't quite remember how she came to be dancing with him, but it felt good.

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David Blake examined his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His hair was neat and combed and cut in the latest style and his face was cleanly shaven. David smiled at himself as he stepped backward and away from his reflection. He did a half turn to admire how his suit fit and couldn't suppress a grin. He was looking good as always and knew it.

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(Item: Lyle Alan Buhr, convicted sex offender escaped today from the Barton County Jail in Nevada, Missouri. Buhr, who is a white male, 26 years old, 5" 11" , 190 lbs has been convicted in the 2001 rape and sodomy of a Monette couple during a home invasion. He is considered dangerous and anyone having information regarding his whereabouts is asked to contact the Barton County Sheriff.)

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Still hurt by the rampage that she had just endured, Elise wiped the tears from her eyes and tried to gather her thoughts. She still could not believe what had just happened and that she had actually enjoyed most of it. She sniffled and grabbed some Kleenex from the living room table as she pondered what her next move would be. The feelings that brewed inside of her made her sick, she felt violated and angry. Between her legs though, told a different story. Her privates were still dripping wet with passion and she felt strangely fine down below.

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Karen glanced at the clock, frowned, and realized she had probably missed the director of accounting by fifteen minutes. It was 6:45 in the evening, she was hungry and stressed, and this folder of papers was promised to be on his desk before he left the building. She picked up her phone and dialed the extension of his assistant. Three rings ... four ... voicemail. No one there. She pushed the handset hard into the plastic cradle in frustration, slid her feet back into her high-heeled shoes beneath the broad oak desk and pushed up from her tall, black leather seat.

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Recently I submitted a story that I wrote for my husband. Basically it described a gang bang I had with a University football team. The story was purely a fantasy and my husband loved it. He fantasizes often about me with other men. I on the other hand fantasize about being forcefully taken by a group of men. Handsome men of course. Well, apparently my husband shared my fantasy with one of his old college buddies...he even showed him the story I wrote.

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My alarm startled me awake, even though the only sound it made was the gentle vibration of my cell phone against my nightstand. It seemed every morning promptly at 9:15 I went through this ritual when it went off, causing me to nearly jump out of my skin. I reached over for the little button on the side, stopping the noise and rolled back over, snuggling deeper into the warm blankets. I heard the covers rustle slightly, and then I felt a single finger tracing patterns on the bare skin of my back.

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Another day at the office, finished. I was so thankful that it was Friday. I paid the cabby and then opened the cab door, struggling to pull my briefcase and Kenneth Cole purse out of the door before the overzealous cab driver zoomed off to find another fare. I had barely slammed the door when he raced off, going to make another dollar in the Big Apple. I cursed as I tripped over the curb, almost snapping the heel off my shoe. The cold New York wind whipped my long hair across my face, stinging my cheeks. I swore that one day I was going to move, but nowhere else paid as much for Interior Design as New Yorkers did. I climbed the 9 stairs to the front door of my building where Arthur, the doorman, stood waiting.

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When I woke up, I panicked, almost choked on the collar around my throat. The leather dug into my windpipe as I jerked on the cold cement floor, hurting my shoulders and arms. My hands were cuffed behind my back, my naked body pressed to the floor sideways, as my legs, which were free, kicked wildly in a desperate attempt to get loose. I let out a feral scream, almost choking again on the thick leather around my neck.

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Thinking back on it now, I guess it was because I was pissed off with Jeff that I let it happen. We'd argued that morning. I can't even remember what about. He wasn't my favourite person right then. "Bedrooms upstairs," the assistant estate agent said – the older of the two, clearly the junior of the team. Dick Glover, of Glover and Glover Real Estate Agents, looked the part: sharp creases, white teeth, lot of bowing, sparkling eyes.

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