Your erotic stories

Not even fourteen hours into the weekend and Drew knew it was a mistake to come to Vegas. He didn't even gamble, really, for Christ's sakes, and it wasn't like he had the extra padding in his checking account these days. The whole place felt like he could look but not touch. Swarovski, Tiffany, Cartier and the rest of the stores that only foreigners seemed to shop in, the High Roller tables cordoned off with velvet ropes, the cocktail waitresses with too high hemlines and too low necklines.

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Ted and Carl grinned down at the woman on the floor in front of them, cutting off either of her exit ways. The female cop glared at the two escaped cons that she'd helped put away, not a touch of fear in her eyes. "Get out," she said, trying to take the position of power, even though she was lying on her own living room rug, "They'll catch you eventually anyway, but there's no reason for you to be here.

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It started with my wife Pam. She has a love for cock that I have never witnessed before in anyone else. She is constantly playing with mine, in public and private; she can't keep her hands off of it. She loves to tease me, loves to watch me grow hard, and loves to suck endlessly on it afterwards. She takes great pleasure in slurping my cock in the most delicious ways and always insists that I watch while she performs her magic.

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I swear, stories like the one I'm about to tell you only happen in two places: porno movies and college. I, like a lot of young American women, did things back in college that I would NEVER consider doing now. But, having said that, I sure am glad I got to do them then! These days I'm happily married and have two children and would never dream of doing anything to jeopardize losing my family.

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Sweat dripped her brow. She smoothed her skirt over her nylon-clad thighs. Slender legs led to fuck me pumps underneath a cream-colored business suit tailored to show off her every curve. She looked one last time in the mirror, tugging her brown curls. She tucked one behind her ear before walking out of the bathroom and down the hall towards Bruce Callahan's office.

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Hi, I'm Steve. I'm 41 years old and generally consider myself a kinky, but normal guy. I had met Michelle in a hotel bar in Houston. I was there on business attending a conference when we struck up a conversation. Though I was from St. Louis, I visited Houston often for clients. She was from Houston, which proved lucky for me.

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The sun is setting on this Friday marking the end of a work day and work week. I watch the dynamically shifting color change while my car speeds along the two-lane highway. Although your email lacked specific details, I grabbed my backpack and jumped in the car anyway the sheer thrill of a weekend with you sets me in motion.

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It was getting late and the party was showing signs of winding down. One by one our guests said their good-byes and took their leave until, by 2 AM, only myself, my husband David, and our best friend Jesse were left sitting at the small bar tucked in the corner of the dining room. The three of us were contemplating the last shimmering red jello shot that remained sitting on the bar. I picked it up and slurped it out of its small plastic cup, savoring the combined flavors of sweet cherry jello and vodka.

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July in the sun drenched Mediterranean party island of Ibiza was hot as hell and bursting with energy. I had been soaking up the sun with my best mate Colleen for just 48 hours and we were still really only just finding our feet and know where the crowds and decent bars were.

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It's Friday afternoon and when my final class of the day ends I race back to my office to see if the email has arrived. I've been distracted all day in anticipation of finding out whether or not it's finally going to happen tonight. Logging in, I go straight to my inbox. Nothing. With a frustrated sigh I lean back in my chair, a stack of homework papers on my desk in front of me just waiting for grades.

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