Your erotic stories

He'd dared her, and he shouldn't have. For months they'd chatted, trading stories and making each other hot and bothered (and much more) dozens of times. Finally, one afternoon, Dee had opened her mail to find a message from Jas. Expecting an opening gambit for that night's chat session, she'd instead read:

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David padded naked back from the shower in a good mood. A day off work when his wife was working always gave him a positive feeling. A sense of freedom. What should he do? Undisturbed access to the Internet was on his mind. Flirt with someone in a chatroom or download some porn and jerk off. The day was his.

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My wife and I have been married for almost twelve years. While I love her deeply, our sex life has become somewhat boring. She's a stay-at-home mom to our two children and our sex life has become a routine of "put the kids to bed, turn out the lights, and be quick about it". That was until recently, when our sex life changed for the better. In the last few weeks, my wife has begun working out on one of those big inflatable exercise balls.

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Boone, Mississippi. 1976. September In the middle of the night Ginny woke with her bare feet burning and itching something fierce. When she swung her coltish legs out from under the sheets and pulled her knees up tight to her chest, she found her ankles littered with sore, red welts. Ginny rubbed at her big eyes in the hot darkness, trying to rouse herself.

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Heather, my wife of several years, was waiting for me at the kitchen table when I got home from work. "I want you to sit down," she with a calm, but commanding tone to her voice. "What's up babe?" I asked trying to lighten what felt like her dark mood. "Just sit down." Heather is a petite bundle of energy, quick with a smile and a joke. Her eyes dance with light and spirit. As pretty and kind hearted as she is, there's also no messing with her.

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Robby and I had known each other forever, we had grown up together and he was just always there. Our parents were friends and our birthdays were only a few weeks apart. He was like a brother to me. Having grown up together, we shared all of the typical youth experiences. When we were kids we did everything together; played in the woods, went fishing, played baseball together, rode bikes, built forts, and even drank our first beer together which we skillfully lifted from Robby's dad.

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Denise lived next door to my family as I grew up in a small city in Australia. She was married to a guy who never grew up, drank a lot and treated her poorly. Their home was littered with his empty beer bottles and her empty dreams. My Dad would often say she was a pretty woman who deserved a whole lot better in life. Denise was originally a country girl and in Australia that meant there was a certain something about her.

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The lecture was boring. Even Natalie was bored, and she was delivering it. She looked at the ten faces in front of her, sagging with indifference and incomprehension. Is this what her life had come to? Trying to teach maths to engineering students at a provincial university. What had happened to the bright ambitious graduate she had once been? Here she was, almost 40, still in the same job she had had for the last 17 years, still single, unloved, unlovely, frustrated and bored to death. Is this all that life had to offer her?

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#2- Milk Maid Adam had been called to the South Pole with less than a day's notice. "It's a once in a lifetime chance," he'd said sadly, "If I don't do it now it'll never happen." It was likely a good thing there wasn't much time to talk about it -- to debate the pros and cons. Still, Violet found herself standing at the airport in a state of shock -- a one-month-old baby on her hip and the love her life en route to spend six months at the coldest place on Earth in a location where even email was barely available, let alone the internet.

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My name is Dylan, and I'm a rapist...or at least I thought I was. Lying there in the dark, pretending to be asleep and listening for the tell-tale crackle of a police walkie-talkie from outside my apartment door, I wondered if Samantha was still in her bedroom. Wondered if she'd called the cops to tell them her roommate had raped her, or if she'd fled the apartment and was banging on our neighbors' doors, desperately trying to find someone who'd help her.

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