Your erotic stories

"Wake up, you fuck." Jeff opened his eyes and saw the barrel of a gun pressed against his forehead. Before Jeff could even see a face, the trigger was pulled and everything went black. Jeff sat up drenched in sweat. It was only a dream, but it was the same dream he'd been having for the past week. The dream was always exactly the same, always very short, always a gun to his forehead, and he never saw the face. After a few heavy breaths Jeff was finally ready to get back to sleep. He looked at the clock however, and it was almost time to wake up for work anyway.

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"Wahay!" A course Geordie voice shouted as I heard someone wolf-whistle me, "Careful you don't show us your stocking tops; sweetheart!" I had arrived home half an hour earlier after finishing a night shift at the hospital and as I was hanging some washing on the spinner in the garden my nurses' uniform had risen to mid thigh. I turned to scowl at the builders who were working on the new conservatory.

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There were silky red thongs, lacy black bikinis, pearl white strings and soft blue french cuts. There couldn't be a more beautiful collection of lacy panties and bras anywhere. I had just returned to my apartment building from getting my morning coffee and was going upstairs, when my pretty neighbor from across the hall passed me with her laundry. Being the polite guy that I am, I smiled and said "good morning" and she replied "hi" back. As we passed I peeked around my shoulder and got a glimpse of the treasures in her basket.

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I'm a relatively normal 25 year old guy, and the only thing "abnormal" about me is I have a panty fetish. It started when I was a teenager by playing with my mom's and sister's panties, but once I went off to college, I didn't hesitate to walk into a store and buy my own lingerie. Dresses and makeup were never my style, I didn't want to be a girl, I just wanted the silky feel of nylon panties on my cock.

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I don't know how to start this story other than to say that my husband loves panties and lingerie. I know that there are thousands of men out there with this same fetish and this story is for the women that love them to help with some new ideas. First a little background information on myself. I have almost been married to Steve for 10 years now and we have 2 lovely children together.

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My affair with Stevie; if that's what you want to call it is still going on today. It's not an affair in the conventional sense as there is absolutely no chance that he would ever buy me flowers or take me to a French Restaurant. Nor would I want him to. We are as he quaintly calls it – 'fuck-buddies'. We still occasionally go to the derelict factory on a Friday afternoon and the odd evening after work.

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Three PM at the coffee shop last week, I saw someone I had not seen for nine years. Monet was a woman I had hired years ago to work in the shop I ran at the time. I was not the owner, but managed a gift shop on Sutter Street at Stockton in San Francisco. She and I ran the shop nights and weekends, and she was always nice to be around. At the time, we were both in our twenties, and things were good.

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Jodie had been recommended to a special clinic by one of her friends when they had shared their sexual problems over a few bottles of wine. She had been a bit reluctant and was nearly put off completely by the high fees, but Abbey had persuaded her that it would be worth every penny if she went with a positive attitude.

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CRACK.........CRACK..........CRACK....... The sound of the paddle hitting against flesh echoes in your bedroom. Again and again, you use the wooden paddle to smack the bare ass of the man lying across your bed. "Do you like that, slave? Do you want more?" "Yes, Mistress, oh yes" "Well, unfortunately, it's time for you to go to work. Maybe if you're good, I'll give you a little more tonight."

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BEEP! The cell phone in Dave's pocket sounded, indicating an incoming message. He pulled the phone out of his jacket pocket and flipped it open. The identifier on the message was his wife, Sally. It took a few seconds to load, so he knew it must be a picture message. When the picture came up on his phone, he nearly spit the mouthful of coffee across his desk in surprise.

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