Your erotic stories

"Shut UP!" Marcy realized she was making a mistake as soon as she said it, but a whole semester's worth of pent-up frustration and irritation just bubbled out of her mouth and she couldn't stop it anymore. "God, I am so sick of you telling me how fucking great you are! 'Oh, I'm so hot.' 'Oh, I totally had that guy eating out of my hand.' 'Oh, don't you love how this outfit looks on me?' 'Oh, I could have any man I want.' You are such a vain, stuck-up, self-obsessed...bitch!"

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Our small kitchen was a bustle of activity, my own rushed, anxious movements contrasting with Hanna's relaxed calm. She sat down at the small breakfast bar in her fluffy white robe and began to delicately segment her pink grapefruit, a cup of tea gently steaming beside her. As usual however I was running late, standing with a bowl of cornflakes in one hand and a spoon in the other, forcing mouthful after mouthful hurriedly down, all the while trying to avoid milky splashes on my shirt.

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Ursula almost remembered the dream that night. The alarm shattered most of it; even as she was waking up, the strident buzzing noise crashed through the memories, leaving nothing but fragments. She grasped at them, trying to hang onto something, anything at all. There was a hand, she knew, a hand sliding down the swell of her hip and...and a taste like wet rubber...no good. It was gone. Ursula hit the snooze button, but the dream didn't come back.

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I first saw her as she walked from her car towards the supermarket. She was hard to miss, especially in broad daylight. I was parked two rows away and she walked into the Harris Teeter store about twenty steps ahead of me, her tight ass swaying back and forth in her tiny, designer-label jean miniskirt.

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Ramsay closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and unzipped her jacket. Her mother would have never let her leave the apartment had she seen how her daughter was dressed. The snug, low-cut camisole didn't quite conceal her lacy black bra; the hem of her plaid skirt fell several inches above her knees. Her black patent stilettos were decidedly of the "fuck me" variety. Ramsay peered down at her ample cleavage, watched it rise and fall as she struggled to catch her breath.

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Jessica turned off the tap and stepped out of the shower, steam billowing out from the open door. She grabbed a soft cotton towel and wrapped it around her flushed damp body. She had rushed home from work and was now pleased that she had made the effort. There was more than enough time to get ready before Charlie came home. She planned to have her way with him and if he wasn't too tired she would sit on his face so he could use his expert tongue to make her scream. Simple and hot - just how she liked it.

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The scent of cooked turkey still lingered in kitchens across America and the shops and stores were already decorated for Christmas; the coffee shop where Carol sat being no exception. Disconsolately sipping her latte, she didn't feel in a very celebratory mood. The promise of employment that had motivated her to leave home and move to the city hadn't materialized and now she was homesick, low on funds and still job hunting.

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Miss Annabelle Nella was a high school teacher who really enjoyed her job and loved teaching her senior class. It was, for her, great to give all the students one last piece of education before sending them off to college, where many she hoped, would make something of themselves and enter the real world off to a great start.

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"What'll wear?" I called out as I emerged from the bathroom. I had made all the preparations. Shaved legs and pussy, all hairless and nice and smooth. "Something sexy," Rob called back from the lounge. We were going to our first swinger's party. Oh, we'd swung many times before, twosomes, threesomes, foursomes and moresomes, but we'd never actually been to a party. You know what I mean, where you actually hardly know anybody. Well, this was going to be a party where we didn't know anyone!

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