Your erotic stories

"She wants you...she asked me about you again tonight." You state to me casually while we walk. You found out in high school, much to your dismay, that your beautiful friend Sienna prefers the company of other beautiful girls. After moving south for a few years after college, she decided she missed it here and moved back recently. Although I was a little hesitant when you first told me about her, I figured I didn't have anything to worry about between the two of you.

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"I miss him so much," she said finally, after a long silence. She looked on the verge of tears, so I covered my best friend's hand with mine; it seemed the only thing I could do at that tender moment. She glanced down at our joined hands and continued, "I can't bring myself to clear out his closet. It smells too much of him. Everyone says I need closure, but I guess it's just too soon."

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It all started one evening at our local bookstore. I was browsing through the racks, Rachel having wandered off to glance at the science fiction section. I noticed an autobiography by a well-known porn actress and picked it up. The cover featured the author looking very hot in a black corset and matching boots. Rachel returned while I was reading the blurbs on the back cover. She saw what I was looking at and chuckled.

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The young man beside her was silent, lost in his own morose thoughts. Ginny concentrated on the icy highway in front of them, a hint of apprehension gripping her as they approached the Eisenhower Tunnel. Even though she had lived in the Rockies for sixteen years and made the drive from Vail to Denver weekly, this particular stretch of Interstate 70, approaching the Continental Divide, never failed to frighten her. Once more she wished she'd brought her husband's four-wheel drive, if only because it sat up higher and gave a better view.

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The ad read, "Urban domina, 40-something, tall, large breasted, and still menstruating, seeks slave to service lovely feet, legs, ass,....etc. Must have experience and great tongue. No inhibitions, please. Only those willing to serve need call. The curious will be ignored.". And it gave the number to call. A pissy woman answered, and asked how old I was, and WHERE I got the number. Very politely, I explained that I was twenty-two, a graduate student new to the city, and found the number in the local left-wing newspaper. She gave a dismissive chuckle, and asked what I was studying.

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Ursula almost remembered the dream that night. The alarm shattered most of it; even as she was waking up, the strident buzzing noise crashed through the memories, leaving nothing but fragments. She grasped at them, trying to hang onto something, anything at all. There was a hand, she knew, a hand sliding down the swell of her hip and...and a taste like wet rubber...no good. It was gone. Ursula hit the snooze button, but the dream didn't come back.

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Early in the morning of August 21, 1863 William Clarke Quantrell and his band of Missouri ruffians sacked and burned the city of Lawrence, Kansas and changed my life forever. Amost all of the city was destroyed including the Lawrence Journal newspaper, where I worked, and the Eldridge House Hotel, where I lived. Fortunately I was in Topeka on that day, covering the newly-formed and very contentious Kansas Legislature.

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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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"What about those two? They look positively scrumptious," Dani whispered to me as we took in the warm Caribbean sunrays, lounging on the beach of our resort in our cabana chairs. Those 'two' were a couple of college-aged guys with ripped abs, bulging speedos and most certainly, cougar-worthy.

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Janelle had never heard of such a thing, but reading the description that day last spring had instantly moistened her pussy: "A tribute is a video in which a guy looks at a girl's picture as he masturbates, saying how much her picture turns him on, how hot it makes him to see her body, her nipples, her butt, maybe even just the outline of her breast beneath a sheer top if that's all the girl is showing in the picture. As he talks and strokes for the camera, he gets more turned on, and it's clear that he's going to come.

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