Your erotic stories

We'd spoken for so long without meeting that it was incredibly odd to have such specific and naughty images of a relative stranger. It threw common etiquette out the window. In meeting Heather, the point that worried me the most was the manners. How intimate is appropriate? A folder of her in every imaginable pose and posture—full tits, luscious ass, dripping pussy, strong legs—rested on my hard drive.

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The band's manager turned to Erin and smiled. "The guys like you." Erin's brown eyes lit up. "Do you think so?" This would be her fantasy come true. "I know so," the tall, graying man stated and handed the young girl a cloth pass marked All Access in bold white lettering. "After the show," he grinned, "knock on the bus." If she had won the lottery, Erin wouldn't have been happier than she was at that moment.

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"She wants you...she asked me about you again tonight." You state to me casually while we walk. You found out in high school, much to your dismay, that your beautiful friend Sienna prefers the company of other beautiful girls. After moving south for a few years after college, she decided she missed it here and moved back recently. Although I was a little hesitant when you first told me about her, I figured I didn't have anything to worry about between the two of you.

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My name is Jeff and when I was 18, after graduating high school and before starting college, I went to Italy by myself to do some solo traveling for a few weeks before meeting up with friends later in the trip. I had learned a bunch of Italian in high school, and was looking forward to immersing myself in the language to really learn it.

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PART I. I was overwhelmed while doing my makeup. I had to concentrate on making sure my fingers didn't twitch, sending the blush in all directions. I was so turned on it wasn't even funny. When I finished, and then gave my hair a last look, I left the bathroom, and my very high heels clicked across my apartment floor and back into my bedroom.

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My name is Angeline Currie. You won't find that name in any history of Hollywood. In all the movies in which I starred from the '40s to the '60s, and the character roles I played in movies and on TV in the twilight of my career, I was billed quite differently. Not even my agent knew my real name but, trust me, if you heard my professional name you'd certainly know it.

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I love summer. Hot days are best. Hot, bright days that bring out beautiful women with long, smooth legs and deep cleavages. Bare shoulders and thin straps support light summer dresses and strappy sandals caress tanned ankles. Thin tops that cling to perky breasts and give a hint of nipple. Denim cut-offs that give tantalizing glimpses of the crease between thigh and buttock. Unexpected breezes that whips up the unsuspecting summery skirt, giving flashes of pale buttock and pink G-string.

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As I sat in the window seat watching the rain and the wind causing waves on the normally still lake, I could only help wonder at how the weather reflected my mood. Yesterday had been gloriously sunny and calm and everything had been good in my life. Now my heart was broken and my emotions were threatening to drown me in a torrential downpour from which I could find no shelter.

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I have always loved women. There is just something delightful about femininity and female-ness that has always resonated with me. Even as a child, I found it easier to make friends with girls than with boys. Oh, sure, I played on the sports teams, and engaged in the same kind of rough-and-tumble as the other boys, but females seemed to draw something deeper out of me, something thoughtful, and deeper than just scoring touchdowns, or hitting home runs.

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Martine looks down the row of women, each one standing perfectly still with their hands behind their head and their elbows just touching the girl next to them on either side. She sees blondes, brunettes, redheads, women of every race and color, a celebration of female beauty. They are all naked, oiled lightly, and each one has the exact same expression of perfect joy on their face.

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