Your erotic stories

It started out as a fantasy. I'd stumbled across a website that provided an in-depth and intriguing view on the psychology of cuckolding. Originally a 'cuckold' was a man with an unfaithful wife. It was a scornful epithet back in the day. But more recently, it's evolved into a fetish - a fetish often practiced by intellectuals and those looking for more than just the physical parts of being in a relationship.

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I went through my mid-life crisis recently, but instead of buying a Porsche or a 800 inch flat screen TV or fucking my twenty-two year old secretary (although it was tempting) Instead I decided to get back in shape. I was an athlete in high school and college, but in my thirties work, family and neglect have added a few more pounds than I was proud to admit.

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From the outside it looked like a nice upper middle class home, but in reality it was a studio for shooting porn. We, meaning my sister and I, were sitting on a huge white couch. My sister was wearing only a pair of red boy cut panties and a matching bra. She was wearing a bit more makeup than I was used to seeing her wear. With her shoulder length blond hair she still had that girl next door look, but the look was starting to edge toward slutty girl next door. I was wearing jeans over a pair of boxer briefs and a T-shirt.

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"It may be a perverted taste, but I love prostitution, and for itself, too, quite apart from its carnal aspects ... The idea of prostitution is a meeting place of so many elements - lust, bitterness, complete absence of human contact, muscular frenzy, the clink of gold - that to peer into it makes one reel. One learns so many things in a brothel, and feels such sadness, and dreams so longingly of love!" - Gustav Flaubert

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Well, here we were, Lia and I, after our first sexual encounter. We were lying there peacefully on her living room floor. Lia had her head on my shoulder as we cuddled one another in the afterglow of the greatest sex I had ever had, the kind of fuck I had barely even dreamed about until now. Then Lia raised herself up, leaning over me, and kissed me softly on the lips.

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Twins hate being out of synch, like when one of us is upset and the other isn't, and that was the mood as I drove to Uncle Joe's shack. I was in a funk about losing an argument that should have never included me. Now, I was stuck spending an overnight in woods without internet because Robin wanted to play house with her friends.

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Kayla sat at the kitchen table fuming. She had intended to ask her husband about it last night, and then this morning, but she couldn't bring herself to go there. Part of it was that she was terrified of the answer. What would she do if her husband was fucking his secretary? She remembered her father telling her mother that he had fallen in love with his secretary, and she didn't want to be her mother. The words still pissed her off. She wasn't about to give her husband, Marty, the chance to tell her he had "fallen in love" with that cow of a secretary. He might be fucking her, but it wasn't love.

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Stephanie breathed a deep sigh as she once again sat in traffic on the interstate. Yet another commute in a life full of them. It seemed that this was all her life had been since her divorce five years ago. Commute, work, commute, sleep, commute, work and so on and so on. At age forty-six she needed a change, but the rut she was stuck in was so deep it seemed that climbing out would be impossible. Today was just like any other day except it was Wednesday, not Tuesday or Friday or even Monday. It was just another day in a string of days that seemed to never change.

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The summer I turned eighteen I had an internship at the Public Library. The one downtown, you know the one? It's tall, the tall white building, near the court house, probably built in the 1970s, with lots of windows and really boring looking. And if you think it is lame looking on the outside, don't even bother going in. My internship was for this stupid honors program that my mom insisted I participate in every year.

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My boss Justin wasn't a beautiful man. He was short with a badly trimmed moustache, a thatch of white hair, huge sweet patched under his armpits & rather a large beer belly. But he was my boss so I treated him with a certain amount of respect. After a few too many glasses of champagne at the Christmas party I'd let it slip that before I'd married my wife I had in fact had a boyfriend.

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