Your erotic stories

I'm really quite a shy man, not one for chatting up the girls in the office. The flirting is sort of fun, but I never know what to do after the first few times. And then I see the light die in their eyes, and the conversation goes safe and boring. I do talk to them, but I hear about their boyfriends, families, domestic problems and holidays abroad. Never anything personal, never any hint about what they think about me.

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Thursday Night. I head home from work after another long day at the office. Fortunately, the trains are on time; I'm tired and hungry. I could use a hot meal and a shower, but, it's Thursday. I walk up to my apartment door and unlock it. I know what's waiting for me. It's Thursday night. It's her night. I enter my apartment and she's there waiting for me. She's as beautiful as ever and as naked as the day God graced us with her presence on Earth.

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It was the thing she had for swoopy haired boys, Gwen decided, that made it so difficult for her to dislike Julian Swanson. And she really wanted to dislike him. Why? The reasons were many. His laziness, his money and the spoiled churlish attitude he wore with pride—fostered by his fawning mother— were at the top of the list.

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Alice van der Poole loved her boyfriend. Really, she did. Ben was perfectly handsome, perfectly sweet, perfectly... bland. Every kiss was preceded with a gentle, "May I kiss you?" and followed by a whispered, "You're so beautiful." At night, Ben would tell her how precious she was, how delicate and sweet and lovely. His fragile, perfect little rose. Alice wanted to scream.

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Mark lazily stabbed his fork at the frozen meal, puncturing the plastic before shoving it in the microwave. He set the timer before taking a long sip of his beer, his third of the evening. He tossed the package toward the garbage, already overflowing with similar boxes and the matching dirty trays. Leaning against the kitchen counter, he scratched at the rough beard on his jaw.

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"Missy... wake up!" "Who... what is it?" "It's me, Officer McDonald. Come on, sweetie, wake up!" "What time is it?" "Shhhh! It's just after three in the morning. Come on, get up." "Why?"

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I'd been to this Starbucks many times before. It was my home Starbucks. Sure, I'd seen lots of cute girls there. I do live near Hollywood, so attractive girls are by no means rare. I never approached them though. I wouldn't quite know how. Do you just go up to one and "meow" to let her know the effect her femininity is having? Doesn't she probably already know? I'm not sure if those questions are rhetorical or just pointless, but I know I'd never done it before.

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Nine o'clock on a Tuesday and I'm in bed reading. I feel you in the doorway before I see you. I look up to say hello and the words die in my mouth as our eyes meet. Intimidating is a word most people would use to describe my half of our couple. You're the affable one that everybody loves. You're the perfect boyfriend.

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While washing dishes in the sink, I didn't hear him come in over the rush of water. Suddenly there was a press of a warm body against my back with strong hands encircling my waist, reaching up to catch my breasts. "Miss me?" He breathed into my ear, tickling. I groaned as he began to unbutton my shirt. Once unbuttoned, he pushed up my bra and began to tug and twist on my nipples.

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"Come here." I've been watching Sarah for the last few minutes. My book closed on my finger, marking my place. She's been, I don't know, bopping? Fiddling? Fussing? Not really doing anything, just, waffling around. She's barefooted in jeans. So,

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