Your erotic stories

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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Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Turn. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Turn. Kayden's feet were wearing a path in the floor of her hotel room but she couldn't stop. Conner was going to be there any second. He had already called her a couple of times on his way over to inform her where he was.

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You couldn't forget Crystal. Beautiful, tall, with long black hair, dark green eyes and a full mouth that was usually laughing at something or someone, and always painted with a startling red lipstick. Her full tits clamoured for your attention, invariably only just contained by the fabric of some immaculate designer outfit, worn with high black boots with higher heels. But the most memorable thing among the many things about Crystal was what you saw when she walked away - her broad and glorious arse.

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Lisa was nervous. Her last test had come back with a multitude of red marks all over it and a big fat F in the corner. If she failed her algebra class, she would have to go on academic probation, and her GPA might even lower enough that she would lose her scholarship and have to drop out - she couldn't afford the college's exorbitant fees without help, and her parents didn't have any money to pay toward her tuition. She shuffled from foot to foot, dancing nervously on the spot outside her professor's office, waiting for him to invite her inside.

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I didn't know how best to describe my desires as I grew older, at least I never truly acknowledged them from fear of judgment until I met Him. January. Two weeks ago. I was rushing to class when I first saw Him. He was chatting with a good friend of mine, dressed in a black shirt and blue jeans.

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"What's this?" I say pulling my long silky black hair up and in a loose bun. "I hope you like shrimp scampi, Ms. Lily," Josh offers. He turns from the stove wearing only an apron and drops to his knees and crawls behind me. It's six-thirty p.m. and my houseslut pushes his tongue the length of the crack of my perfectly-tight bottom all the way to small of my back.

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Beatrice got divorced at the age of 28 because her husband left one day and sent a van round to collect his possessions a week later, and then disappeared. Now, 10 years later, she lived alone and worked as a hospital administrator. She'd always been somewhat overweight. Unkind members of her family called her fat and her older brother called her stout, a word she hated. She thought of herself as cuddly, well-covered, and shapely.

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Over the next few weeks I thought so much about the old priests. I wasn't proud of myself and I found myself confessing to my husband about my secret thoughts and excitements. Derek was helpless. I knew it embarrassed him and in a way also humiliated him but I couldn't help that.

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"Silas!" Instinct took over. Silas Oswald dropped to his knees, taking cover behind the waist high bar that extended along the length of the Tesla-Coil Tavern. The movement was futile; Mistress Lavinia had already seen him and wasn't likely to forgive his disobedience anytime in the near future.

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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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