Your erotic stories

Alison. What can I say about Alison? She was eighteen, nearly nineteen actually, quite lovely, platinum blonde hair, blue eyes, excellent figure and, to top it off, she possessed a natural sexual allure that automatically turned heads. Any male coming in range of her sensual aura was instantly drawn to her, irrespective of age, girlfriends or wives. It wasn't her fault. It was just that indefinable something she had.

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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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The day started off like any other Saturday: I woke up, nursing a little hangover, walked into my kitchen and made some coffee. It was a bright day outside and somewhere around 10 o'clock. I slowly got dressed and made myself a little breakfast, picked up my laptop and set off sending some emails I'd neglected the day before. That went on for about an hour or two when there was a sudden knock on the door. I looked up, perplexed, and slowly walked to the door, hearing the knocking again.

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When my father died, I blamed my mother. Not for his death – the car accident that killed him was due to bad weather and a teenage driver – but for all of the unhappiness that settled on our home and stayed there after he was gone. My mother locked herself away in darkness, and tried to keep me there, too.

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"You're on your way home, Sir? Now?" "I am." Hal bit his bottom lip. Shoot, shoot, shoot. He hadn't planned anything for dinner. "How long until you get here?" Mac drove one-handed down their street, other hand holding his cell. "Actually, I'm about to pull in the drive."

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Robert Kyle had finally had it. Everyday he allowed his American History class the last five minutes of the period to themselves. And everyday during those last five minutes, the female student sitting directly in front of him would do something to give him a raging hard-on. Dropping a pencil. Re-tying a shoelace. Tossing something in the wastebasket and missing by a mile. All three caused her to have to bend over.

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Alan walked back through the corridor of his school. He was returning to retrieve his jacket that he'd accidentally left behind. So eager to finish the day and rush home, he had been five minutes gone before he was reminded of the absence of his jacket with the cold nipping at him. Now approaching the classroom Alan sighed in relief when the door was still unlocked.

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Madison felt a little self-conscience. Somehow her boyfriend, Billy, had talked her into wearing her collegiate cheerleader uniform to the frat party. She had reluctantly agreed because she knew some of the other girls on the team would probably be wearing theirs. Billy had on his football jersey, all the boys wore their number when they were together and out among fellow students, so it helped Madison not feel so alone and awkward.

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My name is Waylon Fielding and I am married to a wonderful woman, my wife Celine Fielding. I would like to say that my life is perfect, or even good, but after two years of marriage I'm pretty freaking miserable and it's all Celine's fault. Actually, it really isn't her fault; it's her Mother's, the lovely Melissa Harmon.

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Brian, Jesse, and I have been friends for well over a decade; we came out of high school at the same time, they as a couple and me looking, as I am still. Brian and I are alike in stature, slightly over 6 feet and 200 lbs. Jesse is a petite blonde bombshell with a runners body and hair that reached her middle back. The thing is though, she bugs me.

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