Your erotic stories

Sharon and I have been married close to seven years now, and for the most part it's been great. The sex isn't as plentiful or varied as it was at first, but I gather that's par for the course. I've never felt the need to have sex with anyone else, unless you count Bruno. I consider myself completely straight, but a while back I bought a dildo (that's Bruno) and I like to use it on myself whenever I get a chance. Even that had purely heterosexual origins.

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It's Friday afternoon and when my final class of the day ends I race back to my office to see if the email has arrived. I've been distracted all day in anticipation of finding out whether or not it's finally going to happen tonight. Logging in, I go straight to my inbox. Nothing. With a frustrated sigh I lean back in my chair, a stack of homework papers on my desk in front of me just waiting for grades.

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Today was unlike most of Robert's recent days. With one week left until he was expected to hand in the final revision of his thesis to the publisher of the journal, weekends and weekdays blended together to make these final weeks the worst of his grad school if not the worst of his entire life. Today though, was his thesis defense.

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Nervously, I looked in the hotel room mirror and smiled as I applied the finishing touches to my makeup. I couldn’t believe Dan and I were meeting for a second time – this time for our “48 hours of sexual bliss” as we had teasingly called it. Though separated by miles, we had become quite good friends, sharing and discussing many fantasies. Our first meeting had been so wonderfully, sexually charged. I could only hope that this second meeting would be as wonderful, if not better.

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When you love music and like talking about it, radio is the way to go. But as a bill-paying career, it leaves a lot to be desired. I'm not complaining...well, maybe a little. I'm a single mother driving a 17-year-old car and one income from my noon to 3pm gig at a local rock station wasn't cutting it. The drive-time guys make the big money, especially if their ratings are solid, and I would go play with them on the air sometimes just to feed off their fame and get a couple of weekend remotes to pull in a few extra bucks.

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So here it was, Thanksgiving Day, and I found myself in a strange man's bathroom, with my pantyhose pulled down around my knees, my dress hiked up over my hips, and that strange man's cock sliding in and out of my pussy. Well, in truth, he wasn't a complete stranger ... he was my boyfriend's father and I had met him two hours prior. But I'm getting ahead of myself, let me start at the beginning.

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It was hot as hell, and I still had three more lawns to mow. It was the drawback to making most of my summer money doing yardwork. Graduation was only a few weeks behind me, and college and its expenses loomed ominously over my head. Fortunately, I was going to a local school, but I still had a commute, and books were going to kill me. Anyhow, I'd started early that morning, as soon as the dew was out of the grass, but after two yards already, it was just after noon and the sun pounded down.

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Alan walked back through the corridor of his school. He was returning to retrieve his jacket that he'd accidentally left behind. So eager to finish the day and rush home, he had been five minutes gone before he was reminded of the absence of his jacket with the cold nipping at him. Now approaching the classroom Alan sighed in relief when the door was still unlocked.

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I met Mark during my sophomore year in college. He was a lot of fun. Average height, a nice build without being a gym rat or stuck on himself like a lot of guys who work out all the time and stuff. I liked his smile because he had dimples and I always thought dimples were cute on a guy though I think he hated them. I met him through some friends of mine and we went out a few times and he made me laugh which is a good thing

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My name is Waylon Fielding and I am married to a wonderful woman, my wife Celine Fielding. I would like to say that my life is perfect, or even good, but after two years of marriage I'm pretty freaking miserable and it's all Celine's fault. Actually, it really isn't her fault; it's her Mother's, the lovely Melissa Harmon.

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