Your erotic stories

"It was your job to get him here on time. You do know, I hope, that the Best Man tradition started as being the bride's Best Man because he got the groom to the altar. You should never have taken him drinking after the rehearsal dinner last night." "I never expected to get so drunk that I'd lose him." "Pathetic..." the last comment came from the corner of the tiny bridal waiting room at the old church. Kristy, Carol's maid of honour, "I bet you aren't even hung over because you're still drunk."

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'I see you're in the paper again, Ms Brune.' From behind the concierge's desk Davy Markham held up a copy of the local community newspaper with a front page photograph of Josephine Brune ceremoniously planting a tree in front of the new West City Early Childhood Education Centre. 'I've got a couple of spare copies here if you'd like them.'

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The small sign hanging in the window of the entryway was innocuous enough. "Oriental Massage" it read simply. If one wasn't paying attention as they drove by, they'd likely miss it, and mistake it for a plain, white house with an odd location. It's not every day that you see a house in the middle of an otherwise commercial/industrial area. But I was observant, and had seen the sign driving to and from work many times. It always piqued my curiosity.

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You smile as I kissed my way from your bare shoulder, up your neck, to the base of your ear. I make sure you're really turned on with lots of kissing. I move on to sucking your full tits, stroking your pussy... As you start to moan in response, I begin sliding a finger slowly in and out of your cunt, letting your horny pussy lube up my finger.

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Hi, this is just a one-shot. I hope it's an entertaining scene/scenario, although it's probably totally unrealistic. But that's the beauty of fantasy... enjoy, and please rate and review, I love all the feedback I get, good or bad!

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A few months ago I met a guy called Edward and it turned out that, among his varied and chequered past, he'd been divorced and has a son in his late teens, just like me. His lad is called Ashley; he's eighteen and at university in Sheffield. My son is Jake who's nineteen and at Leeds. Edward is physically much larger and stronger than me; something I always enjoy in a man when we get to the bedroom.

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There's a faded childhood scar on her jaw. It shows in sharper relief in the flickering candlelight. She walks to me, letting her cream chemise spill to the carpet. The beauty mark on the inside of her thigh winks at me as she crosses the room. I had stripped and laid down on our bed earlier, as soon as I saw the lit candles and massage oils on the nightstand.

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The old fisherman sat out at the end of the dilapidated dock in his lopsided deck chair. Though it was getting on toward evening the sun was nice and warm. He was fishing really light; a homemade bamboo pole and an old reel he maybe got before he had whiskers. Duck-taped it to the pole and wound it with ten pound test. Fishing flounder didn't take much gear. He had a card of hooks, a tin with some weights and floats and some leader. Minnows in an old milk bottle and a plastic paint bucket for his catch. He had caught some.

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"What's this?!" Harlan said to himself. "Lorraine's the last person I expected to run into tonight. She's married! At least, she was the last time we talked. And, who's that cute, little redhead sitting next to her?" Harlan had never cruised the city's cougar dens to pick up women. Life was complicated enough with his job and the girls he was already dating.

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I had one year to go in my studies, at university, for my degree in public relations, arts, and media studies. I was starting to get a bit desperate for money. All my university bills were due. I was working part time in a coffee shop, but that had more or less stopped, since I had refused to have sex with the owner, even though he offered to pay me 200 dollars. I just did not fancy his big fat sweaty body on mine, and I knew he would want more and more if I agreed.

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