Your erotic stories

I took a long sip of my dirty martini and leaned into the bar, staring resentfully down towards the end of it. My boyfriend of three years, Ryan, was still engaged in conversation, feeding his ego with clever banter. I noticed the familiar animated expressions, grand gestures, and overly enthused laughter that captivated the small crowd of people he was talking to. I sighed heavily, and settled back onto my bar stool and played with the spear of olives in my drink.

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I shifted my computer bag on my shoulder as I hustled down the corridor. I hated being late, especially when it was my own presentation. I was cutting it close, very close, and at these things audience reviews were everything. The last thing I wanted to hear from my manager was that my reviews sucked because they were preoccupied by my tardiness.

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Sometimes, I couldn't stand my father. I believed it was his fault my mom killed herself. He was gorgeous and he could have anyone he wanted, and so he did. He cheated on her all the time. Men, women, she-males. And he would bring them home since mom died, not caring I was in the house. He was the dominate type, I would hear them begging for him, he told them too. I wouldn't be surprised if I had siblings out there I never knew of.

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How could he? That bastard of a boyfriend of mine? Yes, despite living together we both had our freedom. He'd never been unfaithful to me before. Not that I knew of. Neither had I with him. Not with another man, anyway. A woman was different, of course. My boyfriend had no idea I was bisexual. That was, and is, a side I keep to myself. I love men. Love cock. But I love women, too.

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Skylar McGill was an attractive girl. She was just 19 years old, around 5 foot 5 and just the right balance between slim and curvy, with tanned skin, grey-green eyes and dark brown hair to her shoulders, she was nothing special but certainly not ugly. However, that morning, after crying all night, she definitely did not look her best. Looking in the mirror, she sighed, wondering when it would be over. Her friend Magdalena was playing mind games with her again.

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I was feeling a bit tipsy as I topped off the two glasses and dropped the empty wine bottle in the trash. I had a splitting headache that wasn't responding to aspirin, and I had nothing stronger. "Sandy?" Julie, my best friend, called from the living room, "You put the other bottles in the fridge?" "Yeah, they should be cold by the time we finish these."

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"Fuck, Fuck, Fuck" Kate picked up the mug he had given her the previous Christmas..."World's best Fiancée." it said in bright red happy letters. She looked at it, burst into tears, and hurled it across the room where it shattered into a hundred pieces against wall...just like her heart was broken into a hundred cutting shards in her chest. She flopped back onto the bed and cried, and cursed, and howled, and screamed in anger.

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Her throat was burning and she found it hard to breathe. Her knees were aching from supporting her entire weight for too long on the cold tile floor. These pains were tolerable, minor even, compared to the humiliation that she had just experienced and even more painful still was knowing that she was about to endure an ever greater embarrassment.

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Liz pulled into the parking lot of the Angel Motel as she had on many occasions. Her job in the last year had been taking her further and further a field, bringing with it the difficulties of travel. She had tried different transport options in that time and now she regularly made the eight hundred mile journey back home by car; having lost faith with the airlines for a number of reasons. This had its advantages and disadvantages.

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Sean Harper was nervous as he pulled his car into the driveway of the home where Rita Murray lived with her parents. The house was dark and quiet, since her parents were out of town on a long weekend visit to relatives. Rita, on the other hand, sat so close to Sean that if he had not put his arm around her shoulders there would have been no room for it anywhere. Sean had taken her to a restaurant with more ambience than flavor, although both of them had enjoyed the meal, paying more attention to each other than to the food.

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