Your erotic stories

I had a really shitty day. My secretary quit, to move to Texas with her new boyfriend. Somebody clipped my brand new Porsche in the parking garage, denting the hell out of the passenger side door and both fenders. One of my clients, the Avengers, tore up the hotel they were staying in. And Ozzie Schmuck, the drummer for Snakepit, got busted for coke and can't make the Australia tour.

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It was a nice, cool day out. It was a perfect day for a run, and even though I'm terrible at it, I felt like I really wanted to, because I love exercise - just not running. But, I wanted to run, so I did. It's better for me if I run with a partner so I called up my friend Cheryl - Cher for short. She is one of the most beautiful women I know, making running way more difficult and uncomfortable, but she's also very sweet and takes it easy on me, unlike other people I could ask.

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I love her. I love everything about her. I love her. I love her eyes; they shine like diamonds reflecting the emerald of a shamrock field. I love her smile; angels have fallen from heaven for envy of that smile. I love her hair, coppery red that flows down her back like glittering lava giving accent to her already breathtaking form. Her every movement is poetry. Mortals walk, the goddess of my devotion glides like water across polished glass.

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I walked into the pub through the side door. It was just how I remembered it. The sun shone through the front glass doors, to splay rays across the dusty wooden floorboards. My friends were already waiting for me at a table. They'd chosen a great spot, right next to the window, we could feel the warm winter sun through the window panes, yet still all fit comfortably around one table. I hugged most of my friends tight – I had not seen some of them for 8 months!

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It was the middle of the semester and since I didn't have very much work due, I decided to take a night off and go to a show that included a few of the singing groups on campus. I was meeting my friend Jessica there, but she always ran late, so I had to wait in the lounge for a while for her. I was pretty bored sitting by myself, and just watched people walking in and out of the lounge and into the auditorium. I didn't really give anyone a second look, I was just people-watching in general. Until this one girl walked in.

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For Evan, wherever you are... It was twenty minutes after James's confession of age that I lay in his arms, my head on his chest. It was a new experience, and all of the new feelings were washing over me. I could not believe that not too long before I had had sexual intercourse with a man. I had always considered myself straight, never had once looked at another man or considered what it would feel like, but now I was in uncharted territory. What did this mean? Was I gay? No, I couldn't be.

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CHAPTER 1 Sun shafts through the treetops infiltrated early morning mist over the river as Loretta Oblinger sat in the sales office, hands warmed by a hot mug of coffee resting against her breasts. Smiling faintly, she contemplated the scene and thought about the wedding she'd attend that afternoon, alone, although the invitation stated 'and partner'.

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The 14th Anniversary A Valentine's Day Story She was kneeling on the hard surface of their sturdy couch table. It had been repositioned to face the entrance of their apartment; so she would be the first thing her Mistress would see when she came home from work. By then, she knew her knees and shins would be hurting, her breasts would be throbbing with every heartbeat, her nipples would have gone numb and her lips dry -- and there was nothing she could do about it.

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Just to reintroduce myself, call me Kris and this is part 2 of mine and Marcy's story. We had just had our first round of amazing discoveries when Marcy's cousin decided to come to bed! We laid there in the dark, in silence, on opposite ends of the bed, hiding far under the covers, listening to Lisa get settled into bed. My mind was still racing a hundred miles an hour and before I knew it we could hear Lisa's heavy breathing drifting from the bunk above us.

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It was called "The French Cafe" which would normally be the kind of place I would avoid but one of my co workers got me hooked on the french vanilla mocha latte. I now went there every Sunday like clockwork placing my order before sitting at my favorite table near the back. I would read my Sunday paper and watch the happenings in the small town I called my home. I didn't interact much with the people, that was my wife's job throughout our marriage, as she never met a stranger.

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