Your erotic stories

Sitting in the pull down seat in the back of the C-130 I had plenty of time to think. The flight back to the states would take eleven hours. I smiled, knowing I would get three weeks off when I had debriefed and knowing that I had completed my mission successfully.

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Every year William and I hold our "Come as You Bizarre" party. Everyone is required to dress in a way they never would in real life, in a way that would make their friends laugh, cry or recoil in shock. Last year I was a Playboy bunny, the year before, a scantily clad wench. This year, I chose a skin tight black wet-look catsuit, one that showed off every single curve of my body.

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Kelly and I met in our freshman composition class, two eighteen-year-olds sitting in the back of the room trying not to fall asleep together and cutting jokes about our professor as he talked about how his class was an important foundation for our collegiate success, would help us in life, etc., etc. All the same shit that high school teachers tried to tell me.

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It is Saturday, mid-morning. My cellphone rings, I pick it up and see that it is my answering service. I take the call. "Yes, speaking...What are the symptoms?"...looking for a pen and paper. "What is her number?...OK. Thanks." I jot down the number. "Stephanie! What have I gotten myself into now?" I say to myself.

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My pet had been very bad today. She was taking the day off from her internet professions and I was going into work. She begged and pleaded with me to stay home with her but I said I couldn't, and went to work. I hadn't been at my desk for five minutes before my phone went off. I checked it, and it was a picture that my pet, Rebekah, sent me seemingly in retaliation for not staying home.

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I have two cell phones. One has a number I freely give out to family, friends, business associates and one that is used just for a side business. No one in my family except my brother knows about that number. Now that my parents are gone and my wife is an ex-wife my brother is my family. It rings about three times a month and when it rings I know I'm about to enjoy my work.

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All his life Tom has been haunted by one single concept more than any other. Like most men, he has a soft spot in his heart for romance (but please don't let our secret out). However, also like most men, romance alone doesn't usually "stoke the furnace"...at least not the way it does for most women. This "men are from Mars, women are from Venus" rule of the universe has always seemed to be God's little joke on the procreating men and women of this crazy little planet of ours. And so has it been for Tom.

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The three Henchmen were sat around a wooden table playing cards when justice came calling for them. They wore rough masks (little more than balaclavas with eye-holes torn in them); workmen's boots; and plain overalls adorned with a symbol of a long shadow trailing behind a man's outline. Three handguns and a bottle of whisky lay alongside the pile of money that they played for.

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It's tough to keep a relationship going when you feel like no one really wants it to survive. Margo and I had seen our share of tough times, but we managed to keep our marriage together. Our relationship? Well, that was a whole different story. One of the points of contention in our marriage was our sex life. Or, more accurately, our lack of one. We were never the type to get passionate or worked up enough to break furniture and wake the neighbors. In fact, I'm confident that we were pretty damn boring in bed.

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He is lying in her arm, she touches his face, her gentle voice is sending shivers down his spine, just like all the times. She is playing with his nipples again, they are already hurting a bit. She is talking to him with her calm voice. He had to masturbate in front of her and had to stop just before cumming. Cumming was strictly forbidden. Just using his full strength he was able to do so. She knew more about his body than he did himself. When there were only two or three moves left until his explosion he heard her gentle order: "Stop!"

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