Your erotic stories

This time when he kissed her there was something different about it. Something more behind the pressure of his lips on hers, one of his broad hands splayed across her lower back, pulling her against him, the other on the back of her neck, controlling her movements. She shuddered when his tongue pressed past her teeth, licking like flames inside her mouth, and she opened her lips further to accept his assault. She didn't know what had brought this on;

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What can I say? I love anal! I really do! I don't even know how I grew to love it. It just happened. I remember seeing it for the first time in a video and thinking it was interesting. Before I knew it though, it was in every other video I watched. I mean, I love regular fucking as well, but there's an animal quality to anal that pussy fucking can't seem to reach. Think of a woman's vagina and you're thinking of something sacred.

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I hadn't seen Mick in over ten years. But those blond curls, the muscular shoulders, even from the back I knew it was him. "Hey stranger..." I said. He turned to face me. Time stopped, just for an instant, and then he smiled. "Hey back." I had forgotten about that grin. Sexy, cheeky, it could get him out of absolutely anything. "It's been a long time. What are you up to these days, missy?"

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"Her legs look like a road map! Their cover in veins." He tells me angrily. "You use to say it was a road map to paradise." She says hotly. "Yea then I followed that map and ended up in Death Valley. There are places there you could get out of with a GPS and a four wheel drive!" He screams back at her. If you can imagine this is the kind of things I listen to for a living. I get paid to help people get through their marital troubles.

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I was watching a hot, nasty porn tape, dick in hand, having a perfectly good solo time one Saturday night at my new place. I'd lived here just a month after answering an apartment-sharing ad Jimmy had placed. He had a nice, spacious two-bedroom spread in West Hollywood that he needed to share with someone, and the rent was good.

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I had both the advantages and curses of being a rock star. I could afford to go anywhere I wanted on the spur of the moment or as the mood hit me, but if a mood hit me that would land me in the tabloids, I'd better be prepared to go to the ends of the earth. The mood had hit me to get the most exotic and total fuck that I could find by the most talented cocksman I could attract. I had been on open exhibition for months and could have had any woman I'd wanted during that time.

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Selina quickly checked herself in the bathroom mirror one last time. She'd been looking forward to tonight's job and her preparations had been meticulous. She smoothed down her knee-length black dress that clung to her, showing off her shapely body to full effect. The low cut neck-line showed off her décolletage, with just a hint of the lacy black basque she was wearing below it. Sheer black stockings and stilettos completed her outfit.

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I always hated stereotypes. At least, that was my excuse for resenting anyone who assumed I was gay. A guy can be fabulous and into clothes and still be attracted to the opposite sex. And I have been attracted to girls as far back as I can remember--that's no bullshit. Girls love a guy they can go shopping with. "Metrosexual" was what they called me, and I was fine with that mantle. It meant they recognized my good taste, refined appearance, superior grooming, and upscale tastes. It was when people called me "gay" that I got frustrated. I'm not gay. Properly, I'm bi.

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I walked into the truck stop diner and was surprised to lay my eyes on an old truckin' buddy, Hank. I hadn't seen him for a couple of years. We both haul loads Coast to Coast, but rarely cross paths. "So, how you doin' good buddy?" he asked.

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My back was killing me by two o'clock. At eighteen I'm in good shape but, Damn! My sister has a lot of crap! Some how it's become my job to move it all. My dad would help, but at sixty his back doesn't need the strain. And he's working on the family barbecue grill.

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