Your erotic stories

Lori walked into the conference room with confidence, swinging her hips with each step. Her boss, Ryan, gazed at her legs as she strode past him, her heels clicking loudly on the floor. She took a seat next to his, crossing her legs with a rasp of fabrics as her black pencil skirt slid over her nylons. The meeting chairs were leather, cozy, and the large table was glass. Sitting next to Lori, Ryan had an excellent view of her legs and that's the way he liked it.

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Wow, I said to myself, you've come a long way, girl, in the past six months. I glanced over at the girl sleeping beside me in bed, at the long, shapely legs and the full, chocolate breasts that I had enjoyed so much over the past several hours. On the floor around the bed were scattered pieces of clothing - a pretty top here, a pair of shorts over there, and nearer the bed, a lacy bra and a pair of damp panties frantically stripped off and discarded in a lustful frenzy.

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PRELUDE Carol Simpson was on a short flight from Detroit Metro Airport to Chicago's O'Hare airport. She was going to spend a four day weekend with a guy she had met months ago in the Detroit suburbs. They met at a bar and hit it off and since then they had sex every time that Walt was in town. He had often talked about having her come to Chicago and spend a weekend with him. Carol took Thursday and Monday as vacation days to make it a long weekend visit.

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There was a chill in the air as we got into the car, but the sun was already burning off the early morning dew, and the low lying mist seemed to give the impression that even the clouds were still sleeping in the fields. 'It's going to be a hot day,' I said. 'In more ways than one,' he laughed, setting a whole host of butterflies into flight in my stomach.

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We’ve been married for nearly twenty years. Callum wasn’t my first lover, of course, but I soon knew that he was my life partner. We are now in our late 40s and, although we have thickened in several places, Callum has lost hair, my breasts hang lower, we are still very attracted to each other. In that time, sex has been varied and satisfying. One of the results is that different sex acts have different significance for us.

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I'm a 32-year old male, happily married, with a very satisfying sex life. When my wife and I are in bed together, we entertain each other with stories—fantasies and otherwise—about sexual escapades. We consider sharing fantasies to be nothing more than foreplay even though some of our ideas get pretty wild. I get turned on imagining watching her getting thoroughly screwed by someone and my description of such an affair turns her on, too.

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Hot morning sun blistering one side of my cheek, along with the sound of a shrieking bird outside my window as I lay on my bed woke me up. I scrambled to the floor, forgetting for the moment, in my sleepy state, that it was Sunday and I didn't have to go to work. Looking at the clock on the bedside table I saw that it was eight thirty. I felt like going back to bed but habit got the better of me. Growing up, I had heard my late dad on numerous occasions speak on the virtues of early rising, claiming that persons who liked to sleep late got nowhere in life. I usually got up at around 5:45 to 6:00 am to start preparing for work.

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"I've been cheating on you." My body froze as the simple sentence left her lips. I tried to speak but my mind remained completely blank as I struggled to find the words to respond to my girlfriend's confession. Anger. Sadness. Disappointment. A variety of emotions teemed forth, battling one another for supremacy within the maelstrom of my thoughts.

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I walked into the hotel café , as usually late, as usually slightly flustered from all the things that I managed to not do to get here in time, but also with a sense of more serious trepidation mixed with excitement gnawing at my throat. Not every day after all one meets a person with whom one shared the wildest of sexual fantasies.

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"Depressed? Damn straight I'm depressed. Waking up to find your, 'man,' the same guy you'd being screwing all evening, getting butt fucked by some dude can do that to you. Hell, I'd have to be crazy not to depressed." Sue Cangilosi finished her tirade by draining her fifth "Harvey Wallbanger" and then gave Cindy Davis a sad smile. "So what makes you think I'm depressed?"

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