Your erotic stories

Poor Theresa, just divorced, cute and sweet. I had to take pity on her, but not in a pitiful way. I suppose I guessed that her slightly meek nature was by choice rather than nature, as if she chose to be that way because she could make something of it. She was quite short, but she had this amazing smile that made her look ten feet tall – maybe other people didn't notice it, but I did.

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I had just started working for a small little publishing firm. Being a part-time writer myself, it was enjoyable work reading other writers manuscripts, all hopeful of getting their works printed in book form. It was a relatively small office too, something else that I quite liked as it was a fairly laid back and comfortable atmosphere. My job was basically to read the manuscripts, critique them and then pass on my recommendations to Larry Somers my boss, or on to his wife Christine who partnered the business with him.

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Strev and Paul had been friends many years dating back to their school days. Strev was a nick name he'd inherited when he was a child by his school friends; it was shortened from Strevonovich, his given family name inherited from his European roots. Living close to each other, the two boys went through school together and remained friends after entering the workforce. At the age of nineteen, a restless Strev headed overseas and travelled through Europe for a few years before settling down at a Kibbutz in Israel for a while.

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By the time the clock struck midnight, most of the 'casual' guests were long gone, having delivered their housewarming gifts, had a few snacks and drinks, and were probably already in bed. Not everybody had left though. I adjusted my shirt and gazed around the living room. Nick was sprawled on the couch, a gin and tonic in his hand, watching the TV. Geri and Peter were sitting in the kitchen with a bottle of vodka, while my wife Samantha was discussing something with Connor and Caitlin. Anna was in the bathroom and Phillip was out back smoking a cigarette.

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I had been trying to write a Great American novel for years but had only succeed in writing an episodic tale of a town, an episodic tale of a singer, and a convoluted science fiction story. My agents found online publishers for each but not print publishers. My agents were a lesbian couple that would kindly be described as colorful. I described them as batty.

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It begins with a look I suppose, a nod of the head, a turn towards the stairs, towards an unseen room, and in a moment I know I'll be following them to bed, though I'll wait a few minutes while they gather their things, make arrangements, have the final powwow, but I'll follow soon enough, up those stairs and down the hall, I'll knock gently, politely, on the door, can I come in,

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Shari awakened later with a feeling of laziness. There she was on a boat with Tony and Mychelle still naked from the thrashing she took earlier. As she started to head towards the rear of the boat, she saw Mychelle on her knees before her. Shari saw her wrists bound in thick leather cuffs that were attached together by clips.

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My wife and I had been lying in bed talking after a round of great sex. When I say great sex, I mean great sex, which is what we usually have. On rare days, its no sex at all. A bad day is good sex, and on good days it's spectacular sex. This had been a normal day, which is to mean it was great. "Mmm, I love you, honey," I murmured as she rolled off me. "I love you, too," she answered. "I also lust you." I laughed at that.

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Tough to know where to start this story - in media res, as it were, I suppose; the dramatis personae: me, my girlfriend Selene, and a girl named Pam, a friend of mine first and ours later. Selene was a small and buxom redhead, with a peaches and cream complexion and a body the old masters would have brawled to get to - five feet two, long red curls, Irish eyes with a tiny determined chin that quivered when she was sad and jutted when she was angry;

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As he departed his office, Brian Miller noticed that the wind was blowing harder than he thought. He should have left sooner, but wanted to make certain the Ford Enterprises Gulf Coast office was secure. An inconsiderate Category 2 hurricane was approaching and had chosen late evening to arrive. The building had survived previous storms and would, no doubt, make it through this one. But still, the hatches had to be battened down.

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