Your erotic stories

Jane had been Ryan's roommate for a few months, the two working at the same large state agency together. Ryan was thirty years old, fit, attractive and had an incredibly sexy and kinky girlfriend named Stacey. Jane, was twenty nine years old, about 5'5, with shoulder length black hair, a slight tan all year round and an athletic body that she took good care of going to the gym five days a week. Before Ryan had gotten to know Jane the first thin he noticed about her was her extremely gorgeous tits, in his estimation D cups which might be fake because of the way they defied gravity.

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"Kiss my ass!!" It's amazing how long I had wanted to hear those words and how much they would change the relationship between myself and the person that said them. However, I'm getting ahead of myself. My name is Scott. I'm a forty-two year old, divorced male that works for a large-sized manufacturing facility close to Daytona Beach, Florida. I love the weather here so I tend to spend the majority of my free time doing something outdoors.

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For the longest time I've had this fantasy. I've wanted to fuck a guy's ass with a strap on dildo. I'd seen it done once is a porno flick and I thought it was the hottest thing in the whole movie. That was several years ago. Since then, whenever I'm intimate with a guy, I try to bring up the subject, but most guys are too homophobic to even consider it.

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There comes a time in every woman's life when she has to stop and say to herself, "Where am I now? Where am I going? How did I get here?" And then there are times that those are pretty darn dumb questions. Where am I now? I'm bent over the leading edge of a table. My hands are tied together and the nylon stocking used for that is looped over something on the far side. My stocking toes are barely able to touch the floor and I'm quite stretched out with my bottom in the air.

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Was it true? Did it really happen? Everyone always wants to know, don't they? It makes it hotter, doesn't it, to know that it really happened. I guess because they think if it actually happened to someone then it could happen to them, too. Well, it can. That's all I'm gonna say about my last story. It can happen to you, too, if you want it to happen.

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At 30, the peak of my female hormones screaming at me to do something with them other than finger my softest parts, I found myself still alone. I was afraid I wasn't beautiful enough, yet every time I looked in the mirror (other than on fat days) I thought I looked pretty good. Sexy, even. Long dark hair, pretty eyes, and a nice (though not perfect) line of curves that complimented the mild tan of my skin.

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I walked home in the glaring sun as sprinklers tinkled on the lawns of our neighbours and sweat seeped slowly into my clothes. I wiped my brow and held the straps of my backpack, beneath which the thin material of my school shirt was nearly saturated. The temperature had risen steadily over the past week and the heat wave was now at its peak.

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Ellen and I have been so busy raising our children and meeting our responsibilities that we somehow managed to avoid spending time together for about ten years. We grew distant, but still loved each other. In fact, I have always lusted after my wife. When we were dating, Ellen had a wild side. We made love in cars, on beaches, and in the woods; where a hiker once caught us. I remember it well because Ellen was on top of me and just told the guy to move along as if he had found us picnicking.

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