Your erotic stories

I burst through the door to the apartment. I had left work the moment I received the text from my girlfriend: "Come home for lunch and help me try out my new toy." Now, I was home, hard as a rock and ready to help. "I'm in here." The sound of Sandy's voice comes from the bedroom. I bolt down the hall of our small, one-bedroom apartment, and am immediately struck by the sight awaiting me.

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'Strap-on fucked'. . . the phrase alone sounds so depraved, but I found out that it doesn't have to be. Well, hell, maybe it is, but perhaps that's the fun of it! I came to this realization a few years after college, when I was dating Emma. She was short, with dirty blond hair, and a mischievous smile. She was not skinny, but not big either; she was sorta pear-shaped and curvy, which was strangely attractive when she would walk naked through her apartment.

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Valerie Nicholls had found her motivation to work out regularly. His name was Connor, and he owned the gym that was incongruously tucked away behind an upscale European furniture store in what most people probably assumed was an area of tony shops and places where you paid four dollars for a small pastry that was wrapped up for you to take away in a small box tied with a ribbon. At forty-two, Valerie had been divorced for six years and was content enough with her situation not to settle for less than what she wanted and needed in a mate.

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Almost two months passed before my husband Steve and I had any appreciable amount of time alone since his business trip to Las Vegas. We have been married for years, but just last year, we discovered his love of panties and other sexy pieces of women's lingerie. Yes, he loves it when I dress up in a little babydoll and matching panties, but what really turns him on is when I turn the tables and dress him up the same sort of skimpy lingerie.

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