Your erotic stories

For years, my husband, Noah, has been asking me for anal sex. Each time he asks, I giggle and say, "Not tonight sweetheart, but maybe sometime." Each time, I see the longing in his eyes as he accepts the rejection and snuggles in behind me, wrapping his big, strong arms around me and drifts off to sleep. It has been about 1.5 years since the last time he asked me, due in large part to me getting pregnant and the birth on our twins, and I'm beginning to wonder if he has given up any hope or conquering my ass.

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It should arrive in three to five business days; my order of sex toys to surprise my wife with. Damn I can't wait. I'll probably be at work when she gets the package; I wish I could see the look on her face as she opens the box. This is what she will see: A three pack of butt plugs, small, medium, and large. All are clear red rubber and I can't wait to see them in my wife's ass.

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Dave and I had been married for eight years when he gave me an erotic novel. He had bought me the little short stories but this book was much larger than those were. I didn't want to seem too anxious to read it, so I made myself wait for a little while. I am an avid reader and the idea of a purely erotic novel had me excited so I finally gave in and kicked back to read.

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"Hi Hank, whatcha doing?" Parker the little boy who lived next door, asked me that question at least ten times a day if I happened to be outside working. He had just turned six a couple of months ago, but the pattern had been the same ever since he and his parents had moved in three summers prior.

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I had been interested in anal sex for a long time, but my wife and I never really talked about it. I slipped once (really) and my wife screamed in pain. It seemed obvious she wasn't interested in anal sex. We had been married about seven years when I found a video in a parking lot. The video didn't have a label on it. I decided to take it home and see what was on it. I mentioned to my wife I had found the video, as I put it in the VCR (yes, this was a number of years ago).

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To the outside world Dave Blackwood looked like a conservative forty five year old accountant with a nice house two little kids a station wagon and a pretty wife. But to his wife Jackie he was the best sex she'd ever had. Jackie wasn't entirely surprised late one evening after the dishwasher was packed and the kids securely in bed when her husband asked her if she would like to try 'back door' sex.

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Karen smoothed the sexy black nightie over her hips. She had been so embarrassed when she bought the nightie at a sex shop downtown. The nightie was sheer black silk with lace over her small, pretty breasts going down into a deep "V" past her belly button. The lace teased her sensitive nipples making them jut out. The hem of the flouncy skirt just barely covered her irresistible rounded ass. She wanted to pull the hem down but it bounced right back up.

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I marched into my wife's bedroom, yes we sleep in separate rooms now, wearing my normal boxer briefs that I sleep in. Her pretty green eyes looked up at me in surprise. "Lose the pajama bottoms and come with me," I ordered her, trying to sound at least a little stern.

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Hotel and motel rooms always seem to hold a certain special atmosphere about them: an almost indescribable, but no less undeniable aura of sex. The kinds of sex that permeate these plastic, manicured, temporary lodgings varies as widely as the colours of the spectrum: there is forbidden sex, illicit sex, bad sex, mediocre sex, good sex, great sex, amazing sex, marital sex, extra-marital sex, awkward sex, first-time sex, last-time sex, grudge sex, gentle sex, drunken sex, unwilling sex, ravaging sex, guilt sex, revenge sex, straight sex, gay sex, thrill sex, kinky sex, make-up sex, rough sex, farewell sex, and base, raw, lustful sex.

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I was in the kitchen cleaning up when you got home from work. I heard you come through the front door, and I tried hard to stay focused on the task at hand and pretend as though I hadn't been waiting for you to come home all day. It was a blatant lie, of course, and my clothing fairly well advertised the fact. After all, who cleans kitchens in flirty, ruffly, short skirts and heels?

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