Your erotic stories

Valerie stared out the kitchen window at her neighbour across the alley. She'd met Patrick when he'd moved in, and while he had been polite, they hadn't maintained any contact more than a smile and wave if their paths crossed. But she'd been up close to him and that face had stuck in her memory. He was so pretty.

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Joan looked up at the clock. It seemed to have stopped at 3:28, but that was probably just her imagination. Her watch also said 3:28. Mind you, she'd been pretty sure for a while that her watch had stopped too. Maybe both of them had stopped. Time seemed to have been doing funny things to Joan all day. At some points, it had been going by unpleasantly quickly, sneaking past her when she wasn't paying attention.

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Could I really be doing this? I'm following some guy at a garage to the back room - seriously, the back room - where he is no doubt going to fuck my brains out. I'm watching his muscular ass ripple in his tight jeans, and I'm already unzipping my leather jacket. It was barely holding me in to begin with, and since I don't seem to be wearing anything underneath it, I'm already bouncing free by the time that my surprise lover opens the stock room door. We slip in, I slam the door closed with my foot, and he reaches for me.

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I watch you sleeping; your steady breathing is comforting as I see your chest rise and fall. It's Christmas morning and I know soon our house will be full of the sights and sounds of Christmas. I smile as you murmur in your sleep, turning your face towards me. I lean forward; cupping your jaw I run my thumb across your bottom lip, feeling your breath puff out against my hand. I feel the ache low in my belly; I'm so desperate to get one moment with you before the madness starts.

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I was panting pretty hard, just waiting for the orgasm to hit. The bullet was pressed hard against my clit, and I was watching a hard bodied man with a very big dick pound a nubile young blond on the screen. This usually didn't take too long, but it was starting to take long enough to frustrate me. I pushed the bullet in a bit harder and leaned my head back, just enjoying the sounds of the two people in the video going at it.

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For years, my husband, Noah, has been asking me for anal sex. Each time he asks, I giggle and say, "Not tonight sweetheart, but maybe sometime." Each time, I see the longing in his eyes as he accepts the rejection and snuggles in behind me, wrapping his big, strong arms around me and drifts off to sleep. It has been about 1.5 years since the last time he asked me, due in large part to me getting pregnant and the birth on our twins, and I'm beginning to wonder if he has given up any hope or conquering my ass.

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Jennifer and Derrick rode in the cab holding hands. She had been living in the city since graduating from college just over a year ago and, in that time, had not had much of a social life as she put her energy into writing for a regional magazine. On occasion she dated but most of those had been setups by well meaning friends. She had been in only two serious relationships, both back in college, but that seemed forever ago.

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These stories will follow the views and perspectives of individual characters, sometimes switching between them. I apologize for any confusion this may cause and I hope to clearly distinguish between each character when I make the transitions.

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Staring down the lane, the air shimmering in the baking sun, Kate let her mind wander for the first time that morning. She had spent the last few weeks of term looking forward to the summer break as the end of her first year at university drew to a close. Just three long months of lazing around in the sun and catching up with old school mates. Well that had been the plan, but now, just ten days in, all that seemed a distant dream.

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Shortly after I turned thirty-nine my mother died suddenly of a coronary thrombosis. Dad had died seven years earlier. So since my brother Kenny, a journalist and my only sibling, was living in London at the time, and my daughter was in her second year of college, I was left alone with the task of going through my mother's things and deciding what should be kept and what should be thrown away.

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