Your erotic stories

There was a time when I hated... everything. It was the year 3510 when I was dragged into this existence by my twin brother, Devon-literally. The asshole gripped my hands in our mother's womb and dragged me out with him. He's a black haired demon-god... not really, but I like to bother the fuck out of him with that little line all the time. Pisses him off.

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At your urging, I decided to go shopping at the toy shop. No, not for games or toys for children, but adult toys. I had a vibrator, but it was on the verge of death, and it was time to upgrade anyway. I was a bit unsure of what I wanted, but I decided to just wander around and see what appealed to me. The first thing my eyes fell upon in the store was Tarzan. Okay, so he didn't come in jungle camo or a loin cloth, but this was a vibrator that looked like it could make you scream like him.

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I unpacked my clothes and supplies in the beachside condo and walked a block to the store. It was late afternoon and I was in a beer mood. I stood in front of the cold case going back and forth, trying to decide what to get. A man and woman were standing next to me talking and laughing about the selections.

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Franklin sighed heavily as the phone on his desk rang loudly. He had just been promoted to a management position in the sales firm he worked at, and after a long day of wrangling unwilling underlings, the last thing he wanted to do was take another phone call. But duty was duty, so he picked it up.

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You go to the fridge, dragging the door open, as the conversation continues loudly behind you. Laughter rings out over the clamor of the television and you draw four cold long-neck beers from the crisper, set them on the small silver tray you were given for your hostess duties this evening, and with a pop-pop-pop-pop the caps are all neatly removed and discarded. You brush down the leather skirt and adjust your corset before entering the living room again.

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My first wife and I stayed together for too many years. There were the signs in the first two years that we had made a mistake. We married young. I had just returned from the first of two tours in Vietnam. She was being driven batty by her mother. We were young, lonely and needed to be needed. In her case, I have always believed she would have been more self confident and self assured if she'd taken that job with the airlines rather than getting married.

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The ice clinked in the empty glass as Leah fumbled to find the night stand. She'd drained the last of the brandy in one gulp. She was tired of sitting at home alone. Normally, she didn't drink alone, but she'd been angry tonight. She'd been getting to know a guy she met online and their conversations had gotten pretty deep. She'd chatted online with Xavier for a while before exchanging phone numbers.

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Caitlyn was surprised when she awoke in her own bed. The last thing she remembered was passing out in the kitchen as Neil was commencing round four. The big rapist she had met at the Grocery store had claimed her for his own, and she was surprised to have awoken alone. Were it not for the condition of her body, she may have been tempted to believe the night before was all a dream.

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Trixie lurched through the door, heels clack-clacking on the laminate flooring as she stumbled. Failing to realise the racket she had just created, she turned and carefully shut the door, just in case her boyfriend, Gary, had gone to bed already. He had let her borrow his keys just case she came home really late, as he had an early start the next morning – a weekend away with the boys.

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"So, you think you might be OK, now? A different perspective, I hope?" "Yes, yes, thank you, . . . You know I haven't gotten your name. I feel so . . ." "No need to, son. You can just call me Dingle. And I won't be seeing you up here again, I do hope." "Umm. I kinda hoped that—"

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