Your erotic stories

Doctor Charlotte Preston sat in her dark grey wingback chair and quietly tapped her pen against her folio papers as her client rattled on about his latest setbacks, as he saw them. She had been trying to concentrate all day with little success, Jackson was coming in for his appointment right after lunch and she could barely contain herself.

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I wasn't really all about the party. I knew maybe four people there, and while it was a pretty chill affair, I couldn't help but feel like I wanted to be at home doing something else. Of course I was looking for the good looking girls- and there were a few- most of whom either had boyfriends or just wouldn't be interested in me. When that happens, when I can see there's no connection there, a woman's attractiveness becomes abstract real fast, like art on the wall; pretty, but you don't want to fuck it.

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I stand and watch her walk toward me. Her fingers are cool and dry as she places the collar around my neck, nimble as they buckle it in the back, the leather touching my skin all the way around, not tight, only touching. I feel her breath stir my hair. A snort of laughter escapes me and I stifle it quickly. She pauses, her hands still on the buckle, and leans around to look at my face. "Yes?" she inquires, lifting an eyebrow, that same slight half-smile barely curving her perfect dark lipsticked lips.

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Mom and I hadn't been up to visit Aunt Sandy, Uncle Bob and Cindy in three years, but I hardly had to wonder what Cindy would look like: our mothers were identical twins, and Cindy looked just like me: tall, slim, redheaded, and small-chested. Well, not exactly: seeing her with her hair cut short was a surprise. So that's how I'd look with short hair, I thought.

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In my experience it is more men than women who are into peeing. But in my case it was quite the opposite -- I never fantasized about it and if you had asked me I would have been disgusted. Here is how that changed. Firstly let me tell you something about myself. My name is Peter and I'm 35. This happened when I was 30. I'm 5'11, with dark hair and a muscular body.

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The bedroom was filled with the constant yet broken sounds of bed springs squeaking under the rhythmic thrusts of a man into his woman. But it wasn't the bed making the noise; it was Cindy who groaned intermittently with sharp, feminine 'coos' and 'ahhs' that were neither exaggerated nor too quiet to discern. Matching her steady pattern of moans and no doubt causing them was the driving of Carl's rigid seven inches into that sweet spot between Cindy's thighs.

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At the age of 13, I was having wet dreams of kissing my best friend. I was far too naïve to know that girls could do anything other than kiss, and far too horny to cum from less than a kiss. My best friend Marissa was shaping up to be very beautiful.

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I kicked my feet in Tim's pool, splashing my wife, Kim, and me with cool water. I leaned back, closing my eyes, soaking in the warm rays of the hot Arizona sun, recalling last weekend's events. Kim and I had had one of the hottest sex sessions of our marriage, and it was mostly due to her. "You got two ways you can go; jump him immediately or take the slow route. It will be up to you and how he responds to whatever you do to him," Kim had said.

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I had just turned 21 years old and every gay male who reaches that age does what every male gay or straight will do and that is to legally drink and go out and hit the bars and clubs. That day finally came in the summer of many years ago and I hit my first gay club with some friends. We were partying it up seeing the male strip show and then having shots, drinks, and just having some fun.

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Susan, known as Susie to all her friends, had just graduated from Junior College, and had her Associates Degree in Business. She was going to enjoy the summer off, before joining the working world. She had been thinking about making love to another girl for some time now. She had discussed it with her boyfriend, Paul. He, of course, was all for it, as long as he was included.

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