Your erotic stories

Matthew's heart began to race as he saw the text message from his wife Michelle pop up on his iPhone. The last time he waited up for his wife, his ass had been sore for a week... Of course, in reality he loved every minute of it, but much like her seemingly-innocent text message, it was something that was kept close-knit between the two of them.

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~And that, friends, is how to make a quick sausage and potato feast. Don't burn your fingers!~

I sighed and logged out of the blog. "Mew's Meows" was my pathetic attempt at opening up to people. My therapist had suggested it, telling me that the anonymity of the 'net might make me spill my guts since obviously his sessions weren't helping. I'd grudgingly agreed to make a go of a blog, in return for a promise of a waiting prescription every month. I'd named the blog "Mew's Meows" because I didn't want my whole name (Bartholomew) associated with what I was writing.

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My name is Jake. I'm about 5' 10" and fairly skinny. I like to stay in shape by running, but have never been into weight lifting or building muscle. That said, I like to think that I'm not scrawny and am fairly easy on the eyes. I should also say that I am one of those people who doesn't believe that anyone is completely straight or completely gay, but if you asked me which I was I would certainly tell you straight.

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A cold and rainy Saturday in February. The rain is unusually heavy. Instead of the usual "mizzle" that mists the air with tiny, slow-falling droplets, it's pouring in sheets, pattering against the window. It fills my bedroom with a dull and depressing sound. My mood is equally bleak. I'm snuggled in bed, shivering and miserable. I have the heat maxed but it's taking forever for the room to warm up.

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It's a warm, sunny Sunday afternoon and we are lying in the park. I have my head in your lap, listening to you reading snippets from a magazine as you lazily stroke my hair. My eyes drift closed and I start to get lost in the sound of your voice, your touch, and I think of what I what I want you to be doing to me. I open my eyes just the slightest bit, focus on the shape of your lips and am mesmerized. Your lips can leave the sweetest kisses, yet elicit such desire as they burn across my body.

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Ok, so here's the deal. My name is Marissa Adams, I'm 18 years old and I am a maid at a hotel/casino in Las Vegas. I'm not complaining, pay's good, my co-workers are great and I meet very interesting people and a few stars. Just last week Shaq was staying in the NBA Suite. But that's no where near the best part of my perfect job.

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Alex couldn't stop thinking about Serena. The paperwork below her was an unintelligible mess; her computer screen was a blur. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Serena's bound body, writhing on the bed as she exploded with orgasms. Every beautiful facet of that experience was tantalizing her in that moment. All desire beforehand, tempered in comparatively tame fucking, built up to an excruciating release.

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I was stretched along Andrew closely, embracing him with one arm, while I stroked his ass with the supersized lubricated cock dildo. He was making all of the right noises, but I could sense that the passion just wasn't totally there. He wasn't writhing or trembling as he had been doing for years under the attention of my own cock.

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He hands her a towel as she steps out of the shower, taking her hand and helping her down as though she were a princess exiting a carriage. Steam obscures her body, her porcelain skin red from the heat of the water. Without a word, she presses her body against his and he holds her in a contented embrace, savouring the scent of her shampoo on her wet hair. They breathe each other in, enjoying the warmth of skin on skin.

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I was trying my best to just flow with it, not think too much. I always think too much. Feel, just feel. Breathe, that's the key thing. Be sure to keep breathing. In and out. Nice and easy and smooth. I could get through this. And don't look! I couldn't look. I will soon, I promised myself. But not yet. Breathe.

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