Your erotic stories

Andrea and I had had a thing, four or five years ago, way back when we still worked together. It had only lasted about a week, but it had been a quite memorable week (at least for me it sure was!), and we had managed to stay good friends after. We'd gone on to pursue different careers, and Andrea had become a dedicated, full-time lesbian, and occasionally we'd even dated the same girls (though never at the same time).

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My name is Gabriela. No, it's not, but I'm not telling you my real name. I'm 29 years old. I was 29 last year too. I'm a professional girlfriend. My boyfriends' wives would call me a whore. My boyfriends buy me jewelry, clothing, pay my rent, my credit card bills, sometimes even give me shares in their companies or illegal stock tips.

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Excitement coursed through my veins as I walked onto the University campus for the first time. I was nineteen, away from home for the first time, and about to open a new chapter on my life. I had enrolled to start in the winter semester. I had decided to pursue an MBA, with the ultimate goal of developing my own line of clothing.

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She smiled as she looked out over the deep blue expanse. Her hair fluttered in the western winds as the ship made a gentle turn. Her smile widened as her sandy brown locks caressed her face, able to do what the wind could not. The gentle spray of a crashing wave misted her face and her eyes closed as the gentle touch was nearly too much.

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When I hung up the phone, I admit I might have slammed down the receiver in frustration. It was Monday and I had been looking forward to an evening spent in my recliner with a couple beers and some Monday Night Football. Instead, I had just been informed that I had been enlisted by my wife to help entertain another in a seemingly endless stream of consultants brought in to figure out how to make my wife's place of employment hum.

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As I drove home, I couldn't believe how incredibly frustrated I was -- sexually, that is. I hadn't had sex for months -- with a man, at least. I'd had plenty with little vibrator, but that's just not the same. My husband and I were estranged, probably heading for divorce, and my prospects for the future (sexually) were uncertain. I'd had a dinner meeting that evening with clients that was a last minute thing and I'd been lucky enough to get my regular baby sitter, Kara, on such short notice.

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The wind was already howling. The rain pounded so hard and constant on the windows that it sounded like radio static when Connie decided to finally take the neighbors up on their offer. Hunter and Pilar knew Connie's ex had the kids for the weekend and thought she might want to be with someone to ride out the storm. Connie had planned to curl up with her new Blu-Ray of Gone with the Wind, or if the power went out, a good book.

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Alison got out of her car and took a breath. She was tingling with excitement. Tonight was Beltane and she was going to be initiated into the "adults only" branch of her coven. Alison had been raised in a pagan Goddess worshiping tradition by her mother. She and her sister had attended rituals since they were children. However, there was a big difference between dancing around a maypole and what was going to happen tonight.

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My wife Kate walked into the house first, naked. Lori, our good friend and down the street neighbor, followed closely behind. She was also naked and chuckled quietly as we climbed the stairs from the back deck to the house. I followed those two gorgeous derrieres into the cool kitchen. This had already been quite the afternoon. We had all been laying out in the back yard, getting some early spring sun on ourselves. We were all a bit pink. Some were stickier than others.

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I am one lucky son of a bitch. There. I said it. I have a life any other guy would kill to have. And I have no idea why, except when genes play a role. It certainly isn't because I'm a genius, because I'm not. I'm not the biggest, the fastest, the strongest, or the best athlete. I'm sure as hell not rich. Just lucky. Now, I did mention genes helped out, and I wasn't lying. I mean, I'm pretty average-looking: brown hair, green eyes, thin, six feet tall even, straight teeth.

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