Your erotic stories

"You've done what, Darling?" asked my best friend Avril in her very English accent. "You heard me, I left Jacques," I replied. "What on earth for?" was her next question. "Because as I told you I have met someone else," I told her again. Avril looked at me and asked, "Who is the lucky man, Darling?"

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Dallas and Eve had hinted around to each other about wanting to go to a "club" like the one he'd found on the internet. You know the type of hint; those sort-of cloaked suggestions that are buried in nervousness and a bit of shame. And you know the type of club; those private, join for the night "swinger" places where basically anything goes.

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I suppose you need a bit of background on me first, to set the scene as it were. My name is Sarah Matthews having married (can you believe it) Matthew Matthews some 10 years ago. To this day I can't believe anyone could give their son a name like that, but his parents - who are perfectly nice and sensible - didn't seem to think it was odd.

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It all began when I asked Shira: "Have you been a good little girl?" My wife had been dreading this moment for hours. Indeed, she had known about her impending mortification for days. Even so, she began to blush and cry at once. It was bad enough to be treated like a baby, but to be treated so in front of her best friend was particularly humiliating.

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The Visit As Suzanne lay on the bed and reached under her friend's black lacy bra to feel her firm round breasts and engorged nipples, and their tongues hungrily searched each others mouths, she thought back to the events which led to this moment - the email offering her a week in the countryside, away from the kids and the chance to unwind in the sun, skinny dipping in the pool together and have some great chats with one of her best friends.

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Five years ago my wife Sue and I left behind the dark, dank climate and the economic and political doom and gloom of England in search of a new life in the beautiful, peaceful and sunny Languedoc region of the South of France. Both of us are keenly interested in good food, cooking, and enjoying the odd glass or three of wine.

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If there was ever a reason to go to the salon to get my hair done every two weeks other than to enhance my beauty, it was to admire Beauty. Look at her, she is fine as hell! What I wouldn't do to get my hands on her locs, and I don't mean to twist them. Well actually, I would love to twist them and pull them and grab them and oh my bad, got lost in my thoughts.

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I believe martial arts saved my life. Brazilian Jiu Jitsu (BJJ) to be specific. It saved me from obesity, low self-esteem, and it even stopped a rape once. I love both the qualities on the inside that make me who I am and the way I look on the outside. But it took a while for me to get here. I grew up fat. No, not just fat. Obese. The problem started in about sixth grade and got worse through the cruel years of junior high and high school.

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'It's a funny old world.' B thought to herself as she ground her crotch hard against Maria's. A few hours ago she almost stayed in for the evening. The couple she'd arranged to meet had called and cancelled but since B had spent so long getting glammed up she was reluctant to let all that effort go to waste. She'd still been debating with herself when the taxi she'd booked earlier settled it by turning up.

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Hannah finished packing her things. The divorce was nearly finalized. The split was mutual, with no hard feelings. The 36 year old corporate executive closed the last box and stood in the bedroom she had shared with her soon-to-be ex husband. It was a sad ending to her fairytale life. One by one she carried the boxes away to her car. It wasn't as painful as she expected. She just didn't find the right person.

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