Your erotic stories

Warning! This story includes very heavy BDSM, rough sex, anal fucking and other nasty stuff. As usual there is also a romance but it is secondary to the stroke. Another caveat: I don't write with a dictionary or a thesaurus at my side. I use words which are familiar to me---words I use in daily conversation. I am not writing stories for children. If you are the persistent anonymous poster who wishes I would use smaller words so that you can understand them, just give me a zero and move on without comment.

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I could smell a floral scent as I walked down the hall to our bedroom door. I loosened my tie and called out, "Lynn, I'm home." "In here, honey." I felt a brief flicker of excitement that she might be waiting for me naked on the bed. Well, she was lying on the bed all right, but she was wearing a baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants and was flipping through a magazine. In other words, her usual evening garb.

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As I closed my car door and stepped toward my house, a small voice cracked like leather on an old saddle called out, "Alan, you've got a package over here." "Thanks, Mrs. Taylor. I'll be over in just a minute." I carried my satchel into the house and picked up a envelop of photographs I'd just gotten developed the day before.

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Everything was arranged the way I wanted it. We'd been building up to this point slowly. The entire anal experience was new to us, but we'd heard it was wonderful for some, unpleasant for others. It was time to find out for ourselves. I remember how I approached the subject with him. For years he'd been against the idea, but in all honesty so had I.

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Hi everyone this is a little filler between Not To Late and its sequel that I'm working on. Many thanks to my wonderful editor for her help with this. Please leave comments as the help me improve my writing and enjoy. ~#~ "Aww, Miles. Come to bed already! I want to give you an early birthday present," Ryan moaned from the sofa. It was ten thirty at night and Miles was still typing away on his art report.

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I have to confess that I was surprised when I heard the doorbell ring about mid-morning Sunday. Who would come to visit me that early and especially on a Sunday? I thought that maybe, just maybe, it was my brother and his wife on their way back from church. We lived pretty close to each other, so if he needed to borrow a tool or something he might stop by.

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Emily awoke to the stillness of pre-dawn. She turned her face to the window and noticed the gray light stealing in through the window. Sighing deeply, she tried to keep still and not wake Ralph. Not yet. This was her time and she cherished it. Ralph's snoring cut through to her and she smiled slightly. How many mornings had she quibbled with him over that? And when had it no longer bothered her? In fact, when had she learned to fall asleep to it?

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I sat at the counter, sipping my coffee while being mesmerized by the waitress serving the customers in the restaurant. Having caught the red eye from New York, I arrived rather early and being able to catch a little sleep on the plane, felt refreshed, even with the time difference.

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He was there again. 

The man of my dreams. 

Or, to be totally accurate, the man in my dreams.

On an off for over 5 years I'd seen him. He was tall, around 6' 2" as far as I could tell, broad shouldered and muscular with a slim waist and strong legs. Lightly tanned skin and dark brown, shoulder length hair and bright, almost piercing blue eyes.

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Hi, my name's Ronni Brady, and I'm a feature writer with New York Eye, the internationally renowned humorous news and current affairs magazine. I'm known for my acerbic wit and laconic style. You may have heard of me – I also have a regular newspaper column that's syndicated across the country, and I've been a regular guest on shows like Letterman and the Late Late Show over the years.

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