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.

read more

"You are so going to get lucky this evening." Sarah said. "God I hope so," Kirsty replied as she stood before the full-length mirror and gave a twirl. Her reflection showing an excited young lady who returned her wide cheeky grin. Her newly cut blonde hair was shorter than she would normally wear it but Kirsty was pleased with the effect. Sexier, she thought as she watched her image complete the twirl. The mini skirt was also much shorter than anything she had ever worn, but showed her great legs.

read more

Toby confessed that he'd been a virgin when he'd met Valerie. He was red in the face and seemed on the point of tears when he told her that he'd sucked a few cocks when he was at uni. He said that he'd presumed it was just a phase because he fell in love with her, but that he still thought about men and his voice grew very quiet as he confessed to lusting after their gorgeous neighbour Patrick.

read more

Hi, I'm Steve. I'm 41 years old and generally consider myself a kinky, but normal guy. I had met Michelle in a hotel bar in Houston. I was there on business attending a conference when we struck up a conversation. Though I was from St. Louis, I visited Houston often for clients. She was from Houston, which proved lucky for me.

read more

I'm Betty. I'm twenty-seven years old, a college graduate, a paralegal by trade, and a would-be artist and recently divorced. That's about as much of my personal history that you need to know for the purposes of this story. As to what I look like, I'm five feet six; I have dirty blond hair and brown eyes. I have a decent figure. I'm not huge breasted or beautiful, although most do tell me I am attractive, at least they say that if they want to fuck me.

read more

I hear the hiss and screech of another train arriving at the platform down below the main level of Alewife station, the end of the Red Line. A metallic smell rises up the stairs on the gust of hot air displaced by its arrival. The doors open with a whoosh, and the clamor of passengers starts up the stairs and the escalator. My stomach clenches as the first faces come into view and the travelers file toward the turnstiles. The Saturday afternoon herd is thin, so it's easy to dismiss the men who come up from the platform: not alone, too short, dark hair, headed straight for the door.... The process of elimination continues until it's clear to me that that was not your train.

read more