Your erotic stories

Damon: I'll bet you'll get up to some trouble in Cabo. I smirked at the text that flashed up on our chat-log from the computer screen. He was always teasing me. Ashleigh: No trouble. At least not the good kind of trouble. I'm going with my boyfriend don't forget. There was a pause, and while I anticipated his next words, I took a sip of the vodka soda I was prone to drinking while I spent my online hours chatting with my favorite virtual stranger, DamonX.

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I use hook-up apps as a way to travel I suppose. I don't have the luxury to flit about the globe taking selfies with landmarks, so more often than not, when I get to chat up a guy, I'm dipping my toe into a completely different life. To a degree, if and when we hook up, I become a different, more adventurous guy. And perhaps, ashamedly - when I'll leave town, there's no looking back.

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I open the screen door to the apartment. It's hot, making the screen door necessary to keep cool inside. Standing on the doorstep I peer into the gloom but cannot see anyone in the lounge room. The TV is blaring away, but to no audience. I shrug and then enter. I am quiet as I pad down the carpeted hallway to the lounge where I drop my bag silently. Turning to the left there is another small hall with doors closed at each end. I walk over to the right hand door and push it halfway open.

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My friend Marie has always been the kind of girl who caused trouble. You know the type. The one who flirts with sleazy guys she has no intention of bringing home, sometimes for the attention, and sometimes because she's just bored. The girl who wheedles you into doing just one more shot even though you know you've had your limit. The one who tells you that you totally don't look slutty in that dress, and tells you that you should probably shimmy the neckline down a little to show a little bit more cleavage.

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At some point I would ask Nicole how she found out about my fetish for women's panties. At the moment, I couldn't ask her anything, a pink pair of her sodden satin underwear was stuffed in my mouth and serving quite ably as a gag. My wrists were bound to the bedposts with silk scarves, my ankles pulled back toward my head and also tied to the bedposts.

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My husband and I live in a high-rise apartment in our mid-western city. Our neighbors in the next apartment are also a married couple, a little younger than we are. We have a lot in common, and we have become close friends. I don't want to use names, not even first names, because you never know who might read this. The woman next door has a job that requires a lot of travel, and she is out of town every other week. My husband also travels for business, and sometimes they are out of town at the same time.

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Spring was around the corner and my husband and I had our two year anniversary coming up in a little over a week. No, it was not our wedding anniversary, it was the anniversary of the first time I found out about one of Steve's fetishes and things have never been the same since. Our sex life has been on fire and I have loved every minute of it.

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He had hoped that by taking a long, hot shower that he would somehow be able to shake off, or at the very least reduce, that dreadful feeling of shame that had overcome him that night, but as was to be expected — it did not. He still felt dirty and had only found that feeling getting worse and worse by the second.

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Coming in from a long day of classes, I can hear the water in the bathroom running. I follow the sound and find you standing in the shower. The room filled with steam. The air thick with moisture. Your dirty clothes piled up in the corner, the mirror fogged over, a thin layer of fabric separating your naked body from mine.

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"Hey gorgeous, I'm at the airport and on my way home. I should be there in about an hour," I said into my cell phone as I flagged down a cab in front of the main terminal. There was a soft laugh and then my girlfriend said, "Then look over your left shoulder. I'm on the second plane to the left and on my way to China."

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