Your erotic stories

"So what were you doing all afternoon while I was slaving over a hot terminal?" Tom's wife was giving him a cold stare. "Running?" "Swimming," he admitted. "Really?" The stare was getting colder now. "I thought we were going to go now, after the little kids were gone." "We can go. No problem."

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We must have lain there for about 2 hours sleeping in each other's arms. When I awoke, for a minute, I thought it had all been a dream. My head was a little foggy between the nap and the mental exertion from the whole day. I opened my eyes and ran my hands over a firm naked back. I smiled when I looked down at the sleeping beauty that I had in my arms. She was nuzzled in between my tits and resting her head on my right one.

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"More baby, more." I drove into her harder and I ground against her when my cock was planted as deep as I could reach. She bucked and shook and I felt the spasms as she climaxed. Then she lay back, spent and exhausted. I lay down on her and kissed her lips tenderly. My cock continued to throb in her tight grip. She smiled at me for a moment and sighed.

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"Hello, you must be Shayne. I'm Mr. Caldwell's boy, Jerome. Come on in. I'll take your bag to your room. He's out beyond the great room, in the pool. Go on back." With that welcome, I entered the world of Ted Caldwell, retired supposed master spy, the man I'd been sent to the New Jersey shore to interview over the weekend for Spy magazine.

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Brooke was a wild child and she grew up to be a wild woman. Brooke was a blonde haired green eyed beauty. She had grown up with money and had been spoiled rotten. She had rebelled and done drugs, got tattoos and multiple piercings much to her parents' dismay. She loved to experiment sexually and if she enjoyed the experience she would try it on friends and lovers. Brooke had a body that both men and women enjoyed. She worked out regularly to keep her body tight and fit. She had a sweet ass and an ample bosom.

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Perhaps some of you say that this story is false, but things happened just the way I'm gonna tell you about. I don't know why I share this story of my life with all of you, maybe because I'm tired of keeping it so far. I first had a boyfriend when I was 18 and I was probably the most naïve boy on this earth. Can't say that I was sure of what exactly was supposed to happen on the first night we slept together.

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Nicole and I used to wait tables together when we were in college and we did a good job of remaining friends thereafter. We'd go out once a month or so with her crazy girlfriends to a karaoke night downtown. She was a party girl in college and she showed no signs of slowing down in her thirties.

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Another long overnight shift, Stacey thought. She hated to say the word, lest she jinx herself. Quiet. The ER was dead. Only two patients out of 35 beds. And being Triage Nurse, she hadn't had any activity for 4 hours. Sigh. Even the difficult crossword puzzle was done. Having recently gotten over the flu and a breakup with her ex, she was still a little weak and out of it, only just recently having her appetite return. Only a half hour left of her shift and she could go home. She started to dose off at her desk....

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I had gone into Max's to have a quiet drink, it was Tuesday night normally a quiet night, and I just wanted to enjoy a glass of wine. I was tired is had been a hectic last year losing her entire family, parents and her brother. They had died in an automobile accident, nobody's fault just one of those things. It was going to take some time to get used to being alone. She had decided today that she would start looking for a job tomorrow.

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'Strap-on fucked'. . . the phrase alone sounds so depraved, but I found out that it doesn't have to be. Well, hell, maybe it is, but perhaps that's the fun of it! I came to this realization a few years after college, when I was dating Emma. She was short, with dirty blond hair, and a mischievous smile. She was not skinny, but not big either; she was sorta pear-shaped and curvy, which was strangely attractive when she would walk naked through her apartment.

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