Your erotic stories

The bell rings. I look through our bedroom window. Isabelle, a small and beautiful woman, my wife Anne's best friend, is standing in the rain. I run downstairs and open the front door. "Come in, come in," and I make an invitational gesture, not realizing that I'm still holding a knife in my hand. "My God," Isabelle gasps, "what's that big knife for? Cutting meat or something?"

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Steamy bath water robbed their bodies of all urgencies. Paz Duarte nestled against Ian Abercrombie. He formed a bulky cushion between her and the tub. His lap the plinth which erased their height disparity. When she didn't slump Paz could turn and level her hazel eyes with his.

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