Your erotic stories

First thing in the morning I woke up and looked at you while you were still sleeping. You looked calm, peaceful and as beautiful as ever. I long to see that sight every morning and kiss your lips good morning. I didn't want to leave the room so I tucked in closer to you, held your head and stroked your soft, plush belly and looked and smelled your hair and skin. And again it all felt so very right and the world shrunk.

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Father Flanagan slowly woke up as the morning light crept through the bedroom window. His head hurt. He looked around. That's not my dresser, he thought. And this isn't my bed. Where am I? Turning, he saw a woman lying next to him, on her side, facing away from him. She was naked, and had long blonde hair. She looked a lot like his late wife. Then he remembered.

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First off, let me say that rape is a heinous thing to inflict on anyone. Nobody in their right mind would suggest otherwise and I do consider myself to be in my right mind. When a friend became a victim of date rape I was as shocked, as supportive, as anyone but that was when we were in high school and I was much younger.

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"Come on, baby, put that big cock in my ass," she cooed. I watched in disbelief as my helmet pushed against her puckered opening. I took a deep breath as her labored breathing gasped and she let out a low toned moan as I pressed against her backdoor and slowly forced my solid mass into Robyn's taboo pipe. It was barely nine o'clock in the evening on a Wednesday, of all days.

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"What's this?" I say pulling my long silky black hair up and in a loose bun. "I hope you like shrimp scampi, Ms. Lily," Josh offers. He turns from the stove wearing only an apron and drops to his knees and crawls behind me. It's six-thirty p.m. and my houseslut pushes his tongue the length of the crack of my perfectly-tight bottom all the way to small of my back.

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I imagine you coming home tonight, surprised how all your snow chores are done. You walk into the house and it's warm, there's a light in the kitchen, and you enter, curious about what you'll find. As you enter I turn around and smile. I've been hard at work at the stove, cooking our diner. You can tell that a soup is bubbling away, perfect for this cold winter night.

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Nancy and I have been friends for years. We decided to take a drive down the coast and go to Newport Beach. It was a beautiful day, the end of the summer, school was back in session and this was our last week before going back to teaching school. As we strolled down the Boardwalk, we stopped to watch a volleyball game. "Look at those pecks on that dark-haired guy, Nancy." "Susie, you're a forty-year old woman. What exactly are you thinking?"

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I can't believe I'm the only guy who loves his wife, fancies his wife and desires his wife so much, he wants someone else to fuck her. Some guys might understand what I'm saying and others might think I'm making excuses for the fact that I can't possibly love her if I have thoughts such as these. The thoughts would have remained fantasies as my wife, Ellie, would never have entertained the thought of going with another man.

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Amanda hummed to herself as she pushed the door open and stepped into her dimly lit apartment. Tossing her backpack on the floor, she let the door swing shut behind her before sliding the deadbolt shut with a satisfying 'clunk'. The blinds were open enough to allow a sufficient amount of moonlight to shine through the lone meager window in her tiny one bedroom basement suite.

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"It may be a perverted taste, but I love prostitution, and for itself, too, quite apart from its carnal aspects ... The idea of prostitution is a meeting place of so many elements - lust, bitterness, complete absence of human contact, muscular frenzy, the clink of gold - that to peer into it makes one reel. One learns so many things in a brothel, and feels such sadness, and dreams so longingly of love!" - Gustav Flaubert

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