Your erotic stories

She kneels above him, teasing him. Her face is in darkness, the light behind her, showing off her curves and the occasional glint of an eye that gives a hint of how much she's enjoying this. "Beg me." "Please... please," he whispers.

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"Well," Tom sighed, "what other romantic songs do we have for Valentine's Day? More Dean Martin?" The little piano bar was more crowded than on some nights. It had been a shore day, St. Martin. No big production show tonight, just one of those juggling comedians that seem to find their way on to cruise ships. Washed up, like him, flotsam bobbing against the shoreline, but not quite, not quite stranded yet.

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Jenna woke to the aroma of coffee calling to her. She stumbled into the bathroom, resting her head on the vanity while she peed. She only stumbled once between the bathroom and the kitchen where Joel was shaved, dressed, and pouring her a cup of coffee. "I am so hung over," she groaned, leaning her naked butt against the counter as she cradled her coffee cup with two hands.

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I've always liked massage, especially the sensuous kind. Stroke and caress me and I'm like putty. I had found that the massage part of the activities at massage parlors was lots of fun for me, perhaps more so that the so-called happy ending part. The sexual part always seemed so much like a business transaction. It felt like a contest between seeing how fast the provider could make me finish, and how long I could hold out.

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