Your erotic stories

I took a long sip of my dirty martini and leaned into the bar, staring resentfully down towards the end of it. My boyfriend of three years, Ryan, was still engaged in conversation, feeding his ego with clever banter. I noticed the familiar animated expressions, grand gestures, and overly enthused laughter that captivated the small crowd of people he was talking to. I sighed heavily, and settled back onto my bar stool and played with the spear of olives in my drink.

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I was on my stomach. My tongue nestled in Georgie's ass crack as she also lay on her stomach on the bed in front of me. She was sucking Chas's cock – her husband. Behind her, I was slowly moistening her anus, in preparation for what I was about to give her. Around my waist was my new blue jelly dong, complete with the strap on attachment that would allow me to fuck my best friend in the ass.

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My name is Erin, and I'm going to tell you about my first anal experience – well, actually my first four anal experiences! It happened last year after had just turned 18 and was a junior in high school and dating a guy named Kevin. It all started on the bus rides home from our volleyball games. We girls would get to talking and eventually the conversation would always turn to sex.

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My wife had not been sleeping lately, I knew something was on her mind, I knew in her own time she would eventually come around and discuss it with me. What caused the change? I did not know, I could only associate it to a weekend away about two months ago. She had traveled to Cape Cod alone to take a weekend class, upon her return I noticed something was different.

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Memory triggers. They come rushing at you when you least suspect them. You can walk into a house and take in the heady aroma of a cake being baked and you'll be transported back to your grandmother's kitchen. You can smell an empty beer bottle and suddenly there you are playing hide and seek behind a pile of your uncle's empties. Smell is our most powerful sense and we all have a repertoire of aromatic triggers nicely tucked away in that gluggy grey mass we call a brain.

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I woke up to her scratching my back softly. I loved that feeling. "Are you awake?" she asked me. "No," I moaned. My head was killing me. We'd been out late the night before. Several glasses of wine with dinner and then a few more drinks with friends. My head was aching and I was tired but I could feel my spirit rising as she traced her nails across my back.

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"Character," Kristin said. "The most important part of any piece of fiction. If you start writing with only a plot in mind, you will struggle with your characters. However, if you start with your characters, they will create your plot for you." The writing workshop was nearly full. Kristin Morris had had eleven books on the romantic bestseller list. Her current historical romance, "The Sands of Fortune," had been holding steady on the list for nearly eight weeks.

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It was a Friday and the kids were going to be spending the night at a friend's house. My wife, Linda wanted to have a couple of her girlfriend's over for the evening and I agreed. I liked her friends, Kate and Caryn, and it would be fun, as most anytime those two came over we'd end the night laughing till our sides hurt.

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The year was quickly approaching its end. Allison and I, but mostly Allison, had been through quite a whirlwind experience over the past 12 months. She sewed her wild oats where they needed sewing and I entertained my own personal harvesting as well. I fulfilled fantasies through her by the stories she told me and in some cases by my own personal witnessing. She got to venture out and escape on a sexual hiatus.

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Jodie had been recommended to a special clinic by one of her friends when they had shared their sexual problems over a few bottles of wine. She had been a bit reluctant and was nearly put off completely by the high fees, but Abbey had persuaded her that it would be worth every penny if she went with a positive attitude.

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