Your erotic stories

She answered the door to me wearing the same robe as the previous week, short and low cut leaving no doubt that she was naked underneath, the outline of her nipple bars clear to see. "Hi Marco, come in." "Thank you Mrs Morganite."

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Alice van der Poole loved her boyfriend. Really, she did. Ben was perfectly handsome, perfectly sweet, perfectly... bland. Every kiss was preceded with a gentle, "May I kiss you?" and followed by a whispered, "You're so beautiful." At night, Ben would tell her how precious she was, how delicate and sweet and lovely. His fragile, perfect little rose. Alice wanted to scream.

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I don't know how it happened. Nothing seemed out of place. The last thing I remember is getting out of the shower and drying my hair. That's when I saw him in my vanity mirror. A figure, clothed in black with a mask over his face, wrapping him arms around my shoulders and face. Then everything went black. I know I should call the police but...I don't know if I want to.

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I am constantly traveling. The work I do keeps me on the road all the time. Here I was in San Antonio. I was staying at the Omni Hotel, sitting on the corner stool at the lobby bar, having a beer and watching the basketball game. It was a quiet weeknight and there were maybe 15 people in small groups around the bar or scattered amongst the little bar tables.

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I lay back listening to the sound of my wife hungrily slurping away at my cock, as she did every day when I returned home and pondered how lucky I am. I married Margot, a spoiled daddy's girl from the right part of town used to getting what she wanted. Daddy being, of course, Clifton Meriwether Van Rijn, renowned shipping magnate, whom I had the opportunity to work for as a landscape consultant- a gardener for the less verbally dexterous.

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"Ten full minutes. You gotta lay there, on your back, totally nude. Hands behind your head so you can relax." "Relax, right." How Mike and I wound up in this bizarre, slightly hilarious situation was fueled by very cheap beer and overactive 19 year old hormones. Well, Mike was 19, I was 18, and we'd been buddies since sophomore year of high school. Mike was a bit of a paradox. He was a soccer player who wasn't a jock, a metal head who wasn't a burnout, and a good student who wasn't a nerd.

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We were in the study of Professor Hendrick's house, in the late evening, nearing the end of the tutorial he was conducting. At least I assumed it was nearing the end, because I was very close to coming. We were in a straight chair facing his desk. Professor Hendricks, his hands wrapped around my waist was sitting in the chair; I was sitting on his hard cock—or, rather, fucking myself on his cock in slow risings and fallings and me moaning in tenor to his groaning in baritone.

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The first time I met Mr. Steinberg, I was totally impressed with the way he carried himself. He looked pretty old to me, maybe in his 70's, maybe even older, but I could tell from the way he dressed and spoke and especially with his young physique, that he exuded confidence and self assurance. I don't think he was a body builder by any means, but dressed in casual attire, he stood straight and proud and when he moved around, his agility belied his age, however old he really was. 

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The first thing I know in consciousness is the tickling of your chest hairs on my nose as I breath in and out. Instinctively, I reach up to rub my nose, inadvertantly flicking your nipple as I do. "Hmmmm" you breath out, shifting slightly to wrap your arm around my shoulders. You are so warm that I snuggle closer, running my hand over your chest to find your other nipple, still soft in relaxation. A slight brush of my hand brings it to attention to match it's counterpart.

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Tiredly, I walked up the driveway from my car. It had been a long day and I was looking forward to a relaxed evening and a cold beer or two. I dumped my briefcase and suit jacket in the foyer and shouted, "Honey, I'm home. Where are you?" "In the bathroom," she answered. I walked down the passage and pushed the bathroom door open. Zoë was seated on the toilet, her flimsy g-string around her slim ankles and her sundress hiked up over her wide hips. She looked up at me with an annoyed look in her grey eyes.

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