Your erotic stories

I never had a problem attracting women, all women. Any shape, size, color, and nationality available. I'm attractive, I'll be honest about it. But that isn't what gets girls into my bed, although I'm sure it helps. My personality is what gets them. I know it's cliche but it's true. I'm confident sometimes to the point of arrogance. I know that about myself. I would by lying if I said I was the nicest person on earth. I'm a bitch, okay, I'm okay with it.

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The Law firm Samantha worked for, Johnson, Bollocks and Hymen, had recently expanded their practice into other cities; moving outside their corporate Los Angeles location, and opening two new office locations in Australia and New Zealand; Sydney and Auckland respectively.

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I hated her almost immediately. She was such a jerk, and she was entirely too cocky. So how had I ended up in her bed, on my back, screaming her name? It's a bit of a story. * I walked into Boden Hall, ready to begin a new semester. I was excited about my Junior year, and couldn't wait for the semester to get underway. I got up to my room, unpacked my things, and my roommate and I left to go to lunch. I would be rooming with my best friend Tasha this year, and things were going to be great. The year was full of promise, and I intended to take full advantage.

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Crap. I missed it. I missed my chance. In my short 25 years of life, I had been shot, electrocuted, poisoned, I'd walked away from 5 car accidents, and have otherwise been damaged in so many ways that I am uncertain as to weather the pages of the Encyclopedia Britannica could accommodate the tales. Needless to say, the doctors all know me by name, now.

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I was an only child. Dad was an attorney for one of those multi-name places, something like Smith, Smith, and Jones. Never quite knew what he really did, that is what an attorney does, I just knew he left in the morning and usually was home for dinner. Weekends he played golf, went fishing, things like that. Never with Mom. They seemed to have very separate lives.

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Here I was, in the huge backseat of a restored '57 Chevy Bel-Air with a woman whose name I couldn't remember; her mouth, tasting of whiskey and tobacco, kissing me, her callused, sure, hands slipping off my panties. My wide hips tipping up to let her, my mouth slack and open to her demanding, slippery, tongue; my head tilted, eyes open, staring at the rivulets of rain streaking the fogged side window.

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Prologue It was close to midnight when Sarah Mason awoke in her bedroom from a bad night's sleep. With tears flowing down her cheeks, she sobbed heavily, her breathing erratic and uncontrolled, her facial expressions ridden with angst and pain. A lamp was switched on in the hallway outside and quietly her brother, John Mason standing six feet one, opened the door to her bedroom and made his way inside.

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A cold and rainy Saturday in February. The rain is unusually heavy. Instead of the usual "mizzle" that mists the air with tiny, slow-falling droplets, it's pouring in sheets, pattering against the window. It fills my bedroom with a dull and depressing sound. My mood is equally bleak. I'm snuggled in bed, shivering and miserable. I have the heat maxed but it's taking forever for the room to warm up.

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I lurched into my dorm room and sat heavily on my bed. Natalie looked up from her studying, and raised an eyebrow. We had only been in school for three weeks, but living together 24/7 we had already bonded as friends. She knew I was upset.

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Laura kissed her husband on the lips and watched as he turned, picked up his carry-on bag and headed down the tunnel to the waiting plane. She still couldn't believe that he was going to Florida and leaving her in Minne-fucking-apolis -- in January! In prior years she'd gone with him to his partners meetings. But not this year.

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