Your erotic stories

Stephen and Monica had been dating for awhile. They enjoyed each other's company, communicated well and had a great sex life. One night, after a particularly fantastic romp in the sack, they were lying there together and started talking about fantasies. Stephen, of course, had the typical male fantasy of a threesome...two women and him.

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"Steph?" Sean walked through the front door of the house he shared with his girlfriend as he and his buddies Kyle and Brock walked in the door. All of them were still in uniform since they had been in a hurry to get home and watch the game and had needed to make the necessary pit stops for pizza and beer. Sean had expected Steph to be hanging out in the living room waiting for them to get home but she wasn't there.

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Movie night at home will never be the same Je..re..my Je..re..my Such a sweet sound. "Je..remy," Mom whispered into my ear. "Mmm," I sighed, turning toward her. "Je..remy," she whispered teasingly, nibbling on my ear.

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Adam had just turned eighteen. His aunt Kelly had sent him a plane ticket to come spend two weeks in Las Vegas with her and her daughter's Trina was twenty-one and Lisa was twenty-seven. He arrived at the airport at nine fifteen on a Wednesday evening. His cousins were waiting on him, holding a big sign that said Adam's Family. They always liked to joke around and he laughed at their sign.

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With a sharp intake of breath, I looked down at Steph's head in my lap. Yep, her index finger just stroked the tip of my cock through my trousers. Oh shit, what do I do? I looked up in the rear view mirror and saw the sweet, sleeping faces of my daughter Amanda, and her sorority sister, Jess.

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Being thirty and already developing a beer gut, I began working out at the local gym. And since I worked nights, the equipment was readily available, which was cool. No crowds. After a month or so, I got to know some of the regulars, mostly retired guys, some into their eighties, God bless them! Mostly it was just to say hi, but a few became as regular as clockwork, so I sort of bonded with a guy named Abe.

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After three days of the sales conference, Steve was sick. Sick of giant pieces of paper stuck to the wall covered with vague, ridiculous words regarding goals and mission, sick of pointless team building exercise but mostly sick of long evenings spent with amateur drinkers who felt free to let loose, particularly since they were far away from home in the French Quarter of New Orleans.

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Ramsay closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and unzipped her jacket. Her mother would have never let her leave the apartment had she seen how her daughter was dressed. The snug, low-cut camisole didn't quite conceal her lacy black bra; the hem of her plaid skirt fell several inches above her knees. Her black patent stilettos were decidedly of the "fuck me" variety. Ramsay peered down at her ample cleavage, watched it rise and fall as she struggled to catch her breath.

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The tedium finally broke at a quarter to seven, late that Friday night. We had been on the contract for almost two months, making sure that the details were all ironed out and then ironed out again once the two parties took turns changing their minds again and again. I should have been happy about the billable hours, and the generous amount of money those hours constituted, but these are the proceeds that contract lawyers commonly refer to as blood money.

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"George, are you awake?" The drugs had eased the pain, but they made me groggy, too. My eyes opened, and she stood there, looking sad and yet, concerned. "Honey? Did I wake you?" My mouth was dry. I rasped, "No, just resting." She came up closer, by the pillow. "I'm sorry to bother you. I just wanted to see how you were doing. I'm sorry, I'm John's mother, Lorraine. I'm sure you don't remember me."

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