Your erotic stories

"Just take it," my best friend whispered in my ear before switching aisles. Like a pro, she pocketed a pack of gummy bears to go with a bag of chips. It stunned me that she could be so apathetic about the whole thing. Stealing? I'd never stolen anything in my life -- not even first base! Yet with nervous hands, I picked up a little baggie of Swedish fish, and looked towards the register. The man there was sitting with his feet up on the counter and his head down, staring into a home and gardening magazine.

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I stand and watch her walk toward me. Her fingers are cool and dry as she places the collar around my neck, nimble as they buckle it in the back, the leather touching my skin all the way around, not tight, only touching. I feel her breath stir my hair. A snort of laughter escapes me and I stifle it quickly. She pauses, her hands still on the buckle, and leans around to look at my face. "Yes?" she inquires, lifting an eyebrow, that same slight half-smile barely curving her perfect dark lipsticked lips.

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I looked up at Emma's beautiful body, marveling at its perfection. She is athletic and toned with pert B-cup breasts which were quivering. Her face is heart-shaped and crowned with thick ash-blond hair cut to a medium length. Her eyes were closed, and her pink lipped mouth was open. I let my gaze travel down her smooth creamy flesh noting the trimmed line of her pubic hair. God I was going to miss her!

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Summer classes had always been a drag for me. The students were always more captivated by the rays of sunlight crashing through foggy classroom windows than with my explanations on how context was one of the most important aspects to master when translating a literary work. And more often than not the students were as fogged up as the windows were as they fought off the haze of the previous night's partying. Not that I blames them -- there were still parts of my early days attending university that were a blur.

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I always looked up to Blaine; she was like the big sister I never had. Blaine taught me everything, from how to walk in heels to getting a guy to pay for your drinks. I really loved it; hell, I loved her. It killed me to admit it, but I really did. Not in the awkward way a brother loves a sister, or the passionate way a husband loves a wife, but in a secret, silent way that was embarrassing to think about.

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You joked when we first started seeing each other that the reason you had bought the four post bed was so that you could tie up naughty girls and do naughty things with them, but admittedly this had never happened. While I was never inclined to let anyone tie me up, I have to admit that the idea teased at my more erotic side and led me to many such fantasies. Sometimes when I came over and you were up before me, I would sprawl out, reaching for the posts and imagine that I was tied there to be used by you. Such fantasies led to hot sex, though I never told you what had got me going.

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LeRoy was sitting on the porch, rocking and rubbing the head of that old hound dog of his, as Dinah walked up the stone path from the mailbox at the edge of the muddy road. She had walked slow up from the bus stop in the nearest town, at the mouth of a fold back into the Blue Ridge. The suitcase she was lugging, balanced on the other side by her guitar case, was heavy, but she wasn't walking slow because of that weight. She was weighed down by something more serious than that.

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Jane squirmed in her seat. She hoped the hostess wouldn't notice her shifting in place. Jane hoped no one would detect her lightly bruised lips as the evidence of the rough kissing wore off. She looked over at Tom, who was staring at her with a twinkle in his eye. He knew just how uncomfortable she was feeling. And he loved to see her fidget and wriggle.

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Amanda looked down at the doorknob with mixed emotions. On the other side of this door was a man that she knew, without any shadow of a doubt, that she hated. She hated everything that he was, everything that he stood for, and pretty much everything in his world. She also knew that she was about to give him one of the best blowjobs that he would ever get in his miserable, pathetic life.

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I was a nude life drawing model when I was in my 20s. I was regarded as an excellent model since I was completely comfortable being nude in a group of clothed people and I could hold poses very well. I also was very creative in my poses. I worked very regularly, and worked around five times a week for ten years. It is now over 25 years since I last posed, and I am looking back upon my most interesting experiences. The following experience took place after I had been posing for eight years, so I considered myself very experienced.

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