Your erotic stories

Sitting at the computer in my office, the problem wasn't solving itself. I needed a break. I ran my fingers through my hair, leaned back, stretched my arms, moaned audibly and then decided to take a walk. I pushed my chair back from my desk, stood up and headed for the door.

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It had been months since that afternoon at LeAnn's. Neither had spoken about it and they had carried on as if nothing had ever happened. LeAnn had only been practicing her newly learned massage techniques... hadn't she? The activities had got them both more than a little aroused. Maybe LeAnn had been a little too intimate. Maybe Laura had overreacted to the attention. Maybe.

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You hot, horny, cock-craving slut. I know every slutty thought that goes through your dirty mind. I know what you need like no one else ever will, and bitch, I'm gonna prove it, right now.... That's what you want, isn't it, slut? A man who will prove it. A man who won't take no for an answer. I've been watching you through your windows at night, you whore. You moan on the phone like a slut in heat, while you cram sex toys inside your creamy wet fuckholes.

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"Then go fuck yourself!" I yelled as I stormed out of the apartment and slammed the door. I was fuming. How dare Matt accuse me of "dragging him away on holiday"? I'd done no such thing. Our holiday in France was supposed to be fun for both of us. Huh! Not likely! Matt had done nothing but complain; he didn't like the food, the beer was too expensive, he couldn't get a Wi-Fi connection. Whinge, whinge, whinge!

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"Hey guys, just hold on to my beer would you, I've got to go pee. I'm so full I'm bursting." A gang of us had come down from the campus to O'Malley's Bar, down on Victoria Road. O'Malley's is one of those bars that caters for a wide range of customers, from us university types, the art school arty kids, and the occasional corporate suit kicking out at the end of a long week doing whatever they do up in the city.

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I've been sitting on this one for a little while. I've been meaning to touch it up. Maybe if people like it I will. All participants are over 18 and fictitious. ...My name is Camille. I don't usually feel guilty for what I do. I don't now. It doesn't worry me, but it should. I feel the need to confess in some small way... ...My name is Audrey. I can't stand it any longer. I can't face my minister.

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"Have you been to the new club?" Pauline whispered her weekend plans to her friend in the next cubicle at work. "I want to go there, so bad, this weekend. I heard it's awesome. Do you want to go?" Here we go thought Amanda listening to the two airheaded young women discussing what and who they did over the weekend and who and what they want to do next weekend.

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"You ready to stick that bad boy back in my tight little ass?" Ashley sneered, turning her heads toward me, looking back, as I crawled and knelt obediently behind her outstretched rear end. "You bet I am!" I exclaimed, eagerly positioning myself, ready to target and plunge my readied spear into her open exhaust shaft. I couldn't believe I was in the position, literally speaking, immediately behind her California grade juicy ripe piece. Only a few hours prior, I had finally met Ashley, the anal goddess.

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It was in 1967 that I originally developed a life long affinity for silk. This was due in part to two people that my affinity was preserved for the rest of my life. I'm not sure why, but the love and appeal for the feel of it is ingrained within me now.

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My affair with Stevie; if that's what you want to call it is still going on today. It's not an affair in the conventional sense as there is absolutely no chance that he would ever buy me flowers or take me to a French Restaurant. Nor would I want him to. We are as he quaintly calls it – 'fuck-buddies'. We still occasionally go to the derelict factory on a Friday afternoon and the odd evening after work.

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