Your erotic stories

I don't know what it was with Emma, but just about everything was a first for her. She'd never smoked pot until the night we met. She'd never sixty-nined until about three hours later, when I spent an enjoyably frantic ten minutes with her lovely breasts mashed against my stomach, her skilled mouth doing a real number on me as I tried to return the favour.

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From the outside it looked like a nice upper middle class home, but in reality it was a studio for shooting porn. We, meaning my sister and I, were sitting on a huge white couch. My sister was wearing only a pair of red boy cut panties and a matching bra. She was wearing a bit more makeup than I was used to seeing her wear. With her shoulder length blond hair she still had that girl next door look, but the look was starting to edge toward slutty girl next door. I was wearing jeans over a pair of boxer briefs and a T-shirt.

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When they started building the apartment building next door it was more an annoyance than anything else. It would take almost a year for them to complete the building after razing the smaller brownstones that now occupied the space. We overlooked four of the smaller buildings and their backyards. Not the most amazing view, but it was wide open to the skies. Our apartment was on the 11th floor.

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Let's get this out of the way right off. I'm a cheating, asshat, bastard. There is no other way to put it so don't bother with the lame comments telling me what I already know after you read this. I have no redeeming qualities after what I did. I used to be married; you'll soon see why I'm not anymore. In my defense, and maybe the men that read this will agree, I couldn't help myself... what was placed before me was too tempting, beyond my capacity to resist.

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The moon, the mating heat, the high from the hunt – they all contributed to her small moment of insanity. A small moment of insanity that birthed a huge freaking problem. Enaera gingerly ran her fingertips over both of her mating marks. Growing up in the pack with Andrew and his brothers had limited her access to many of the male weres, let alone any other species.

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Bree removed her undies, twirled them on a finger and discarded them on the table. It was our first game of strip gin rummy. I watched Bree do a little spin as I scooped up my winnings; a sexy, little, black lace thong. I was surprised, but delighted, to see that she had decided to try something new. Gone was Bree's wispy blonde, but always neatly manicured, triangle of hair. In its place...nothing. Nothing, but smooth, clean, hairless skin.

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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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