Your erotic stories

Veronica Andrews felt the familiar pressure on her bladder the moment she awoke. She turned her head and saw the alarm clock on the bedside table showed 12:47, and she rolled out of bed gently not to wake her husband. In silent bare feet on carpet she quickly and quietly made her way in the dark to the bathroom. She did her business in dimmed light, and as she walked out the bathroom door a surge of curiosity got her attention.

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I named him Frank, as in Frankfurter, because he was a schnauzer, and as kids, we called them frankfurter dogs. It had been 2 weeks since I found him huddled out by the trash cans, shaking in the cold night air. I brought him into the garage, which was a lot warmer than the 15 degrees it was supposed to reach, held him in a towel to stop his shivers. I had a few cans left over from when my brother stopped by with his dog, Mangy, and Frank went at it greedily.

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She found the DVD by accident. She hadn't been snooping; she'd been searching for her mother's blue sweater, but her rummaging through the drawers of her parents' bedroom led to an exciting discovery. Francesca held the plastic case, transfixed by the printed images on the cover. She experienced a tremor of some deep, terrible, taboo in the pit of her stomach, as though a nerve had been touched. She knew about porn of course, although previously it held no interest for her, but the discovery of a secret stash stirred feelings within her and the spark of lust ignited with hot vehemence between her legs.

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It was my fault, I'm sure. I was preoccupied and I was piloting the shopping cart very poorly so it's no surprise I bumped into somebody. I clipped her cart with a bit of a jolt which brought me out of my distraction in a hurry. "Sorry! Sorry, that was my fault." She gave me a smile, a sweet, forgiving thing that was a tiny ray of sunshine in my personally overcast day.

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A few years ago, Connie worked as a bookkeeper for a small chain of home improvement stores in Pennsylvania. At the time, she had been married for about 8 years and had 2 small children. From time to time, the company would send her to accounting seminars. Connie was happy with her personal life, but she relished the trips.

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It was a typical Friday night in Nashville. I had already been to three clubs and it was getting pretty late. Glancing at my watch, I saw it was only about half an hour until last call. So far I hadn't run into anything or anyone that really looked promising. I was beginning to think I was going to end up going back to my motel room alone. What a depressing thought! I had my taste buds all primed for some good pussy.

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Mr. Peterson, or Mr. P for short, had been my neighbor for more than twenty years. He was in his late sixties but you wouldn't have known it by looking at him. He and I always had a good relationship even though, when I was married, he and my ex-husband seemed to irritate each other at times. His wife had died some years back, before my ex and I had divorced, and he admittedly found himself very lonely and depressed at times. I took it upon myself to go over and provide him with some occasional companionship and just make sure he was doing ok.

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My wife told me there was a family get-together and I needed to attend. I normally hate these affairs and try to slip out early. These people were not my blood relatives and I didn't know too many of them. I arrived on the day in question and found a seat in the pavilion that had been rented. No sooner had I sat down a group of people arrived.

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Eighteen months had passed since Jack Trengate and his wife, Sherri had become swingers. First with their long-time friends, Glenn and Wendy then James and Valerie were added, a black couple they met at a party. The three couples met at each other's home once or twice a month and everyone looked forward to the encounters. Jack had long overcome his initial concern of seeing Sherri with other men and looked forward to watching her with Glenn and James.

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I had seen him around the halls a few times, but he had only smiled weakly at me and glanced at the ground. For the longest time I didn't even know his name. I assumed he must be an adjunct professor at my prestigious graduate school; he dressed professional, and his silver hair was a clue to his age bracket. For the life of me, I do not understand why he was so intriguing. He stood about six feet tall, and his body-type was that of a wrestler or rugby player;

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