Your erotic stories

"...When you greet me at your door I want you to be wearing your dildo-pants. Oh, and wear them under your tightest pair of jeans. I'm taking you out tonight, and yes; I do want you wearing them out in public. I'll see you in a bit," I said, and then hung up without giving her a chance to respond.

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When I was 19-20, I worked as a production assistant for a TV show which I won't name. It was not a huge deal. It was steadily successful in a small way, and is still on today. It was a fun job. Most PA jobs are not. You run shitty errands and never get appreciated. Usually the boss treats you like shit. This job was different. People were friendly.

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Becky bends over, leans into Paul's ear. "It's stuffy in here," she says. "Let's go for a walk." Paul looks up and watches her retreat around the coffee table. He pardons himself to his two bookend sofa-mates – the gregarious Auntie Lou and the diametric Grandma Claire, a stick with permanently down-turned lips and hardened scowl. Paul is relieved to escape her still life painting.

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So, here's a story you perhaps don't hear every day. It's a true story, but it has a couple of layers, so allow me to explain some of the moving parts. I'll try not to ramble too much so we can get to the juicy stuff. My name is Max and this happened to me. Sometimes I still can't believe how it all played out. I work at a small business in the hospitality industry.

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The mud squished under Marcen's toes as he waited for the best fuck of his life. The grass and shrubbery rustled as Cade appeared a few feet away and Marcen's heart pounded. He had been waiting for this moment ever since he met the guy last weekend at Lavoi's Pub. His rosy cheeks were what drew Marcen in at first, along with his brilliantly coiffed blonde hair and extravagant blue eyes, but no, it was the red cheeks that did it for him. This natural blush was so unlike his own skin, pale and a little freckly, and he could never get his own red hair to style like Cade's.

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When I was 18 years old, in my senior year at a Catholic school for girls, my dad caught me on the street with my parochial school uniform's skirt pulled up a few extra inches so that it uncovered my legs to get the attention of boys. A lot of girls at my school did that after school. He is very strict. He is Sicilian.

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Laura didn't like school. It was tough enough with all the studying and the homework, but, what made it almost unbearable was her mother. Laura loved her mother dearly, but her choice in men left a lot to be desired. It was her mother's fault that she didn't have a father. And it was her mother's fault that they were poor. That Laura didn't have nice clothes like the other girls.

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An icy wind stung Amy's cheeks as she ran down a tree lined avenue under an overcast November sky. Her breath puffed rhythmically in front of her as her feet pounded the pavement. Only another three miles to go, she thought, rather morosely, to herself. Today was one of those days she just wanted to sit on the couch, snuggled in a blanket with a cup of hot chocolate, not freezing her ass off training for a half marathon.

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His hand came down again on her bare bottom in front of him. The slap was loud. She whimpered softly. The sting of his hand excited her and she felt the warmth of her secretions flood between her legs. Her flesh vibrated and teased her as she felt them resonate to her sex and sensitive breasts.

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It was almost 4:00 when I finally got away from the office and headed home. This in itself wasn't remarkable except I had planned on leaving early in the afternoon. I had wanted to get home early and surprise my wife. Oh well, the best laid plans... I picked up my cell phone to call Stacey and let her know I would be home in about 30 minutes or so. She answered the phone on the first ring. "Hi, Honey, what's up?" I asked cheerfully.

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