Your erotic stories

You have a better chance of appreciating this story if you have a large closet full of dresses that were carefully chosen to look professional and a small drawer of lace and silk originally intended for your husband alone. If you're a man who wants me to swallow a big load of cum by the second paragraph, then you'll get along with my husband; but you'll have to look elsewhere for a story. Even in my husband's stories, I never seem to get laid by another man (or women) until the bottom of the first page or the top of the second.

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11:45 pm, the Sheraton, Tacoma, Washington. Rosette Cole was descending in the elevator from her 26th floor hotel room, contemplating her next move. As something that always on her mind, she wanted sex in that place and knew that there would be no problem getting it. But she wasn't in the mood for the ordinary that night; she needed something different. It's not as though she really had ordinary sex at all though; traveling from city to city around the world on the Black Card daddy gave her having one night stands was never ordinary and no two stories alike.

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'An escape to warmer climes' was what Lauren had said. Yes, by all means, a holiday, thought Natalie. Amid the dreary greyness and cold of a typical winter, just the thought of it was exhilarating to her. But in the end, it turned out to be so much more than mere escape, since it involved both surrender and submission. She knew she would be surrendering herself to the sun and sand, but what she could not have predicted was that she would submit herself to a whole other realm of pleasure and experience.

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Fiona applied the last of her mascara then started to pack her make up away. The doorbell rang and she walked into the hallway. "Darren, the babysitter has arrived are you nearly ready?" She opened the front door. "Evening Ying, come in and make yourself at home." Ying, the daughter of a family friend, was now Darren and Fiona's regular babysitter for their two-year-old son Joshua.

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That Night Life was good, Alicia thought as she tugged the zippered front of her black top halfway down to her navel. The action revealed most of her large tits and another tug promised to release them completely. Her red-hot figure and wavy light brown hair were all part of her persona. So were the short, pleated skirt and knee-high boots that would make a holy man think 'sex.' She looked like a wet dream and her job as a DJ in the small London nightclub not only gave her access to the City's club scene, it hooked her up with a seemingly unlimited supply of young, liberated guys.

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I saw her the first time as a lonely figure on the bench overlooking the harbor. She was staring at a big luxury cruiser. The Symphonia was leaving in a couple of days' time for a voyage to Italy, and that would be my last part of my trip before flying home to Amsterdam. I was drawn to her by her classic beauty. She was a small girl . From local colored or Cape Malay decent. Beautiful, light chocolate features. Big brown eyes staring into the distance.

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Behind closed doors, lots of guys enjoy sharing their wives/girlfriends. As a single white American, I'd been fairly lucky in my years living in Japan. I met quite a few Japanese as well as foreign couples who have included me in sexual get-togethers. I'm definitely not a male model, just a regular schmo. But I was always gracious, polite and charming. I made it a rule to always be respectful and reliable.

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One Tuesday morning, Linda Harris, a thirty-five year old mother of two, entered her kitchen with the intention of making herself some breakfast. Filling up the kettle with water, she placed it on the stove and took out her favourite teacup from beside the counter. It was another sunny morning; from here she had a good view of her suburban backyard, seeing her previously washed blankets flutter on the clothesline from where she had hung them. The clock on the kitchen wall announced the time as 8:24PM.

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Every once in awhile I'll enter one of those contests you see in a store or in a magazine. You know the kind, the ones basically designed to entice you into entering just so they can get your phone number or email address and hound you to death with sales offers. I happened to be shopping for groceries on a cold, snowy, January evening when I spotted the advertisement box for one of these contests.

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"There is, of course, the tale of the man who built a horse of ebony that flew through the air with its rider—" "We've heard that one already. What about the tale of the three Sufi Qalandars who were each the sons of kings and also each blind in one eye?" "That one was as old as a dried date when my father was a boy. If you want to hear a truly wondrous story, listen to me recount the tale of the rich man who bought a mermaid as his concubine only to discover—"

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