Your erotic stories

Alex settled back comfortably in his seat. It was late and he was hungry and happy to finally be heading home. The night was pleasant and the train reasonably empty, so with a bit of luck he wouldn't have the yammering of idiots on their smart-phones and the mosquito buzzing of their music. He was relieved to note that apart from a young couple sitting opposite him, the carriage was empty, and they were just chatting between themselves.

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"Are you ready for this?" Alex asked as he ran his hand slowly up the inside of my leg from my knee to just under the hem of my jean skirt, which had already ridden up my thigh. "Oh yes...more than ready." I said, as I placed my hand on top of his and moved it up higher under my skirt until his hand was right on my moist panties.

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I use hook-up apps as a way to travel I suppose. I don't have the luxury to flit about the globe taking selfies with landmarks, so more often than not, when I get to chat up a guy, I'm dipping my toe into a completely different life. To a degree, if and when we hook up, I become a different, more adventurous guy. And perhaps, ashamedly - when I'll leave town, there's no looking back.

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It happened in a dive bar outside of town, just off the highway. I was heading back in after a day trip up north and thought some food might be a good move. I'd been to this place before with friends; a little dirty, a little rough but the food and drinks were always on point. I come in out of the late-summer heat just as the sun dipped below the horizon.

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The alarm clock's music filled the room at 4am and Liz reached over to shut it off. She was tired. As the years passed she grew more and more tired. She was 52 years old, a little heavier, a little softer, a little more mellow...and yes, a little more tired. She stood, tugging at the sheets and quilt as she made the bed. She would strip them this weekend and do the laundry. Same as every Saturday.

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"Well, here we are." My husband Michael holds open the glass door for me to enter the place. The Relaxation Station; a spa in a shopping center. I sigh inwardly; a tacky name, but as this visit is on him I can't complain too much...

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I grew up in a very small town. Well, I didn’t even grow up in it, I actually had to grow up outside of town. It was a simple life for my family. Starting in our early teens, my brother and I started mowing lawns. It was a good job for us, being in school. We’d go to school and mow lawns in the evenings or weekends. When summertime rolled around, we’d do even more.

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Hi! My name's Ellie. I used to live pretty wild and stupid, but then I had a baby and I decided to try and be smarter. Inside, though, I'm still as impulsive and hungry as ever. Sometimes to help myself work through my drive without acting out, I sit down to write about it. Today I wanna tell you about Stephen.

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It was the summer of 1976 and I was vacationing with my family in one of several log cabins that were part of an aging camp constructed in the Thirties on the shore of Lake Michigan. Each morning after breakfast I would set out combing the endless beach collecting stones and driftwood, enjoying the waves rolling over my bare feet.

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It was a brisk Saturday afternoon in Newport, Rhode Island. The wind blew slightly as the strong sun beamed down on the many shoppers frequenting the stores in this quaint New England town. Being August, tourists were everywhere to be seen. While most were there just for the weekend, some had owned or rented summer homes. In a slightly more secluded area, away from much of the hustle and bustle of the streets, two women sat at a patio table outside a small Italian café.

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