Your erotic stories

Gently closing her bedroom door, she felt her heart start to pound as her excitement rose. It was his birthday and time to prepare her special gift. On the dresser were the black garter belt and dark nylons she'd bought earlier in the day. She knew he'd love them -- a garter belt and stockings were among his greatest turn-ons, and hers, too.

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SUNDAY It was my third time in England and the big British Airways jet came in over London and touched down at Heathrow thirty minutes early. As usual, it seemed to take almost as long to taxi and disembark as it had to cross the Atlantic, but finally I made my way with the other passengers along a carpeted corridor with a one way mirror at the end and came out into the baggage area. I had my laptop, as usual, and a bottle of Scotch I'd bought at O'Hare.

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Penny had never had quite so much fun—or felt so much anxiety—during work as she had today. As a saleswoman in a lingerie store in the mall, there were always those fantasies. Spending hours in a room filled with large posters of half naked models and couples searching for a sexy outfit to get nasty in could really get the mind churning, even for a straight girl like Penny who was usually never sex-starved enough to have to daydream about it.

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Most secretaries would be fired for wearing a low-cut blouse like hers. Most secretaries wouldn't get away with a tight pencil-skirt and the almost-visible suspenders around her thighs either. Most secretaries, however, aren't married to their bosses – and today is their anniversary. There are flowers on Lana's desk when she comes in, high heels clicking on the oak floor. That gets a smile from her, which isn't always easy this early in the morning; it's still dark outside.

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"My mom's convinced I won't graduate without getting pregnant," Kaylea told me, tucking in her shirt before tying her apron around her waist. "There are ways to make sure that doesn't happen," I joked. She rolled her eyes at me. "I'm serious, Kaylea." "I know," she said. "I'm careful. I won't get pregnant, Tim, I promise." As her boss instead of a teacher or parent, I knew I could say things to her other adults couldn't. "Famous last words of eighteen year olds everywhere," I teased right before adding the words I never should have said.

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It was just a few weeks after Linda's 18th birthday, and her big sister Kathy was home from school. "Are you sure that you're ready for this?" Kathy asked. Linda looked at her with anticipation. "Yes, I said I was. But I don't know what to expect." "I don't want you to know. But this should answer some of those questions you ask me." "About what?" Linda asked. "I hope it's the sex questions!" she giggled nervously.

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I'm so done with this school, with these ridiculous uniforms and my jackass classmates trying to look up my skirt and down my shirt. (Who picked these clothes? I mean the skirt is halfway up the thighs for god's sake. And these shirts must have been designed for girls who, well, didn't develop as early and as, uh, fully as me - which, trust me, is not all it's cracked up to be, big tits are huge pain even in clothes that weren't poorly designed for someone a lot _smaller_.

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Since the first time I came across her she was the sexiest woman I ever seen. I was alone in the break room at the office job I work at, since most everyone else ate lunch at the surrounding fast food places. I'm Joseph Sanchez, an average lookin guy that worked at this call center for a few months now and was still learning the ropes on helping people pay their water bills.

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Note: Your comments or constructive criticism mean a lot to me. Feel free to leave me a private message if you'd like to share your thoughts, get updates on future chapters or receive a personalized photo of my cock. Statement of veracity: This is a true story. Well, everything up to the break point. I'll leave it to you to guess which of these is the full true story.

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I thought at the time I had the worst luck in the world. There I was, standing on the shoulder of an interstate somewhere in Western Pennsylvania, eighteen wheelers rumbling by as I stared at my 1982 Toyota Celica. I'd opened the hood to see if I could figure out what was wrong, but had no clue. A few minutes earlier it started making a worrisome thumping sound and then stalled out. I was barely able to maneuver my way onto the shoulder safely.

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