Your erotic stories

"Small Town" "So..." Betty asked brightly, "what do you think of our little town?" Willow smiled a forced smile, twirled a lock of bright purple hair through her fingers, and said to her sister-in-law in a cheerful tone, "It sure is...um...little, that's for sure." It sounded painfully fake, even to her, and she mentally cringed at the multiple 'sures'.

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In spite of everything, I was mostly hungry. Eight months of relentless effort led to the closure of 400 years worth of passionate murder and lifeless sleep. I had been the undoing of my siblings. My family. Four centuries of deepest love and conspiracy. And now I stood among men.

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"Ugh. Whatever happened to standards Sharon? Why does everyone think all you need to be a secretary is to look good?" Meet Jake Andrews, a 38 year old CEO of a medium sized business firm. Jake looked pretty average with his brown hair, brown eyes, and an unassuming Caucasian face, not ugly but not handsome by any stretch.

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Ahh, the days of drifting down to the square after lunch and sitting around ogling the local Turkish Cypriot men and letting them ogle me until I got that certain look from one I fancied and took him up to my Lawrence Durrell-rented villa and let him vigorously, joyously, and noisily fuck my brains out on a lounger under the sun on the terrace overlooking the Mediterranean.

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"Shut UP!" Marcy realized she was making a mistake as soon as she said it, but a whole semester's worth of pent-up frustration and irritation just bubbled out of her mouth and she couldn't stop it anymore. "God, I am so sick of you telling me how fucking great you are! 'Oh, I'm so hot.' 'Oh, I totally had that guy eating out of my hand.' 'Oh, don't you love how this outfit looks on me?' 'Oh, I could have any man I want.' You are such a vain, stuck-up, self-obsessed...bitch!"

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Martine looks down the row of women, each one standing perfectly still with their hands behind their head and their elbows just touching the girl next to them on either side. She sees blondes, brunettes, redheads, women of every race and color, a celebration of female beauty. They are all naked, oiled lightly, and each one has the exact same expression of perfect joy on their face.

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"You first encountered the defendant where, Mr. Philips?" "At my gym. We were members of the same gym." I did not want to be here, in this courtroom. But the DA had intimidated me. He had said that they might delve deeper into why I was in Baltimore—why I had left San Diego. I really didn't want them to do that. I had just fallen into it in San Diego.

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Ursula almost remembered the dream that night. The alarm shattered most of it; even as she was waking up, the strident buzzing noise crashed through the memories, leaving nothing but fragments. She grasped at them, trying to hang onto something, anything at all. There was a hand, she knew, a hand sliding down the swell of her hip and...and a taste like wet rubber...no good. It was gone. Ursula hit the snooze button, but the dream didn't come back.

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The afternoon air was warm, but not unusually so for that time of year. It had been ten minutes since the local highschool had been dismissed for the weekend. Two eighteen year old students were making their way through quiet neighborhoods nearby. Ethan found it extremely difficult to walk properly, even on the smooth, level footpath. A mixture of nervousness and excitement was causing him to over-think every step.

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