Your erotic stories

Patrice Mueller couldn't suppress a resigned sigh as she looked around the living room. It wasn't that it was dirty; it was that it looked fine. The whole house looked fine: a tastefully appointed exemplar of a white bread middle class dwelling. It was tidy, warm and cozy without a hint of ostentation.

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It was the biggest fishing trip of the year. Four couples were preparing to spend a week in the woods at a remote lake accessible only by seaplane. The plan was for fishing, just getting away from the city for a while, and communing with nature. Then disaster struck. All at once it seemed, one after the other, for various reasons, all of the other wives dropped out. Given the disastrous news all around, I telephoned my husband, Rick, and suggested that they make it a stag affair and I'd find something to do around here.

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She is at the sink, rinsing the last of the dishes from lunch, lost in the reverie of thought, she barely hears the squeak of the front door as it opens and closes in the front room. She feels a soft breath at her back of her neck, next a nibble and a kiss. Attempting to turn around to kiss her husband hello, she is stopped and a blindfold covers her eyes.

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Greg finally found his right new home. It was at the right size, right price, and a quiet neighbourhood, the place where he can quietly concentrate his home business. At 28, he was an ambitious young man. The next door neighbour was a couple most probably in their fifties. The man called Tom was a cold man who would pull a long face when coming across people. What sort of woman would fall in love with this kind of man, Greg thought.

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I am a 32 year old woman. My name is Tiffany. I have two school-age kids and have been married since I was 18 years old. Even though I have two kids, I have been told many times that I don't look it and get compliments on my 5'4" 38-24-36 body all the time. This is my story.

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One Saturday afternoon in September 2004, Dan was lying on his couch watching college football when his phone rang. A friend of his from work was on the other end. "Dan, this is Scott, what's up?" "Just watching the end of the USC game. What are you doing?" "I've been in the office all day and need to meet Lauren for dinner at 8 or so. Wanna grab a few drinks with me before." "Mmm, sure. I'm supposed to meet a few friends later. Mind if I have 'em meet us?"

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It was the Friday afternoon, before the Holiday Weekend, and I was driving the car to the ‘Biker Rally’ and ‘Rock Festival’, when I realised that I had a ‘slow puncture’. My husband, Craig, had set off earlier, on his new Honda 750. My mobile phone couldn’t receive a signal, so all I could do was sit by the side of the road; smoke a cigarette and wait for help.

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