Your erotic stories

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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During my speech she had caught my eye, a blonde bombshell in the front row. Was it just me, or was she licking her lips at me? Her massive cleavage spilled out of her white, unbuttoned-at-the-top shirt like two giant balls of vanilla candy... I could nearly see straight up her oh-so-short, classy, black miniskirt... Did I catch a glimpse of some sky-blue panties? Or even half of a pussy lip or two peeking out from behind the fabric? I nearly forgot what I was saying in my speech...

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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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Jenny was having a great day. During the morning shift she'd sold tons of clothes at the retail store where she had worked for the past year, and as usual received the enthusiastic praise of her boss Giulio. The sun was shining. She'd been out to lunch with her old friend Madeline for the first time in months, and they were heading back to the store side by side, chatting casually yet happily in the way you only do with really close friends.

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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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