Your erotic stories

The muscle car jammed to a stop, pavement ripping into tires, making a shriek only slightly louder than, say, a 13-inch masonry blade tearing through highway concrete. Choking slightly as acrid smoke of burning rubber washed over me, I ran to the driver's window and quickly negotiated a ride.

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PRELUDE Shelia Jones always left the house to go to work by 8:00 AM. This particular Thursday morning she did not feel well so she called in and left a message at the office that she would not be in that day. Then she went back to sleep and didn't wake up until almost noon. She eased out of bed and took care of her personal needs in the bathroom.

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Jenna woke to the aroma of coffee calling to her. She stumbled into the bathroom, resting her head on the vanity while she peed. She only stumbled once between the bathroom and the kitchen where Joel was shaved, dressed, and pouring her a cup of coffee. "I am so hung over," she groaned, leaning her naked butt against the counter as she cradled her coffee cup with two hands.

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My wife and I had been married a couple of years and decided to return to a ski resort that we'd always enjoyed in Utah. We were never much for après-ski partying that happened at some better known resorts like Breckenridge or Park City. The mountain was great and it was much more low-key. We splurged a bit and got a place that was ski-in, ski-out, had its own spa, restaurants, and such. It was largely all-inclusive.

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I didn't think that I quite understood what I had just heard. My face must have been quite red and Brittany admittedly blushed as well, realizing that she had just said. My lovely, nerdy young tenant and neighbor (her husband and she leased a home from me) had just propositioned me in a way I couldn't quite forget.

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The press report was rather obscure and vague. Deliberately. The Music Hall's public relations director managed to pull in every single favor ever owed her by anyone with any power and got the story buried deep in the section B of the "Kansas City Star."

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I breathed on my new chromed nametag and polished it on my sleeve. I had been promoted: Sergeant Lincoln Lovel. I attached it to my blue uniform shirt, checked myself out one more time in the mirror, and walked outside to the police car in my driveway. Life is good. My utility belt gleamed, newly polished; my buttons all glittered; even my service pistol shone like it was gold-plated. And I had sergeant's stripes on my sleeves!

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Laura's bisexual exploration began unknowingly by helping her neighbor, Nina. Nina smiled at Laura all the time, and Laura easily missed the slight difference in Nina's grin displayed at her now as she opened Nina's door. Laura rushed through the townhouse for the bathroom, leaving her husband, Freddy, to guide Nina and her rubbery legs to the couch. The friends had been drinking at a nearby party in their townhouse complex, until a couple of drunken frat-boy types tried taking advantage of Nina.

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I mostly cruised the personals because that's how I got my kicks. If I was feeling sexually frustrated, I would leverage the vast power of the internet for the grist that kept the wheels of my libido turning. Still images, movies, erotica, text; it was all there and in every niche. Like all solitary perverts, I fantasized about having a partner who would fulfill my personal needs. But I was a miserable romantic partner and realized, at my core, I was a lone degenerate.

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I had taken Friday off work with the intention of going to Cobblers Beach for the first time this summer, and was pleased when it turned out to be a hot, sunny day. I got the bus there, arriving at around 11am, and as I made my way down the rocky slope which leads to it, there was as usual a tight feeling of anticipation in my stomach.

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