Your erotic stories

It was one of those days when there just wasn't anything to do. I had tried the TV, the radio, and had looked through my CD and tape collection. Absolutely nothing appealed to me. I had even considered putting one of my porno tapes in the VCR and jacking off to Ginger Lynn, Nina Hartley, or Annet Haven. Even this really wasn't what I wanted.

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Gail Davis watched the young man, perhaps in his mid-to-late twenties, climb out of his sports car and walk towards the office of her small real estate business in rural New Jersey. As she did so, Gail began to feel an immediate moistness between her legs. Not much older than my oldest daughter, she thought, eyeing him through the tinted window, feeling her nipples stiffen through the confines of her half-bra and cotton blouse. Other than her frequent masturbation sessions, her nipples hadn't been this hard in far too long.

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I received a certified letter requesting my presence at the law offices of Wiggins & Sloan in Albuquerque, New Mexico for the following Monday. I had no idea why a lawyer would want to meet with me, but I cleared my schedule for the day to attend. The day of the meeting I arrived and was asked to wait until Andrew Sloan was available. The pretty receptionist offered me coffee, but I declined, butterflies flitting around my stomach at the idea of this type of meeting.

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"Maybe Mr. Smith would like to tell us what he thinks." I was suddenly jolted back to reality by the voice of my teacher. Realising I had been daydreaming again she'd spotted me and brought it to the attention of everyone else in the lecture hall, much to my reddening embarrassment. "Sorry Miss, I was miles away" I apologised.

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She found the DVD by accident. She hadn't been snooping; she'd been searching for her mother's blue sweater, but her rummaging through the drawers of her parents' bedroom led to an exciting discovery. Francesca held the plastic case, transfixed by the printed images on the cover. She experienced a tremor of some deep, terrible, taboo in the pit of her stomach, as though a nerve had been touched. She knew about porn of course, although previously it held no interest for her, but the discovery of a secret stash stirred feelings within her and the spark of lust ignited with hot vehemence between her legs.

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Fading autumn sunset caught the trees as I left the bus. Waited to cross the road, thinking about the last night I'd been with him. Her husband, and my closest friend, Allan. He'd died a few days later, a heart attack in his grim bedsit, during one of their periodic separations. I strode across the park, my head in confusion. Our evening would be difficult enough for me, but I couldn't begin to imagine how hard it would be for Betty.

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When the SUV pulled up near the oversize garage, Shelly looked over to her manager Mark with a strained expression on her face. Without a word, her face broadcasted everything she wanted to say. "Look Shelly, we both agreed you needed to broaden your sound, this is an excellent opportunity." "Are we here because it's an excellent opportunity or because it's free?"

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Serena McGuire hated boats; that was all there was to it. The rolling beneath her feet, the closed confinement. Even the sea air bothered her, although it never had before. Of course, she had been on a beach then. But the combination now had her stomach rolling along with the waves of the ocean. Her best friend, Isabel Trecher, instructed her that if she would actually spend some time on the deck, instead of in their cabin (which happened to be on the lowest deck, complete with two beds, one dresser, and no window), she would feel much better. Probably, Serena mused, because she would be as liquored up as Isabel is.

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The start of her first real affair After dropping Tom off at the airport, she spent the rest of the morning sorting out what she was going to wear. She realised she hadn't been so excited about going out for years. She had the butterflies in her tummy which she had got as a teenager when she was going out on a first date with someone she had really fancied.

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I was getting tired. The drone of the two Pratt & Whitney Wasp Jr. engines was hypnotically seductive. I was almost to my destination. I directed the air from a vent at my face. It was chilly and helped quite a bit. I blinked the sleep from my eyes and checked the GPS. Almost there. Time to be alert. I reached to the copilot seat and opened the cooler and got a icy wash cloth. I rubbed my face and eyes and felt lots better. I could see the lake ahead and pulled back on the throttles a bit and dropped the nose some.

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