Your erotic stories

The motel was worse than Milene expected, definitely low-rent and in need of repair. Several disreputable-looking characters hung out in the parking lot, checking her out as she drove in. Drug dealers, Milene assumed, or maybe drug users. Or pimp types. This looked like the kind of motel that rented by the hour, as the saying goes. Then again, that's essentially what Milene was there for, so who was she to judge?

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This story was inspired by something I saw while on holiday at this very hotel. I'd not really thought about older women being attractive to me, but couldn't get this couple out of my mind, unable to figure out their relationship. I swapped glances with the older one – if only she knew what I was fantasising about!

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She thought I had forgotten. It's pretty impossible; it's two weeks after mine exactly. Her temper tantrums as of lately have been cute. It'll make tonight so much more fun. I haven't said anything about her birthday and it's cute that she's stressing about it. Not to toot my own horn or anything but, I'm the best girlfriend ever.

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i. Inside the cell, on the top bunk, a heart shaped box of pink mints lay on the naked stained mattress. A note next to the box said, "Be my girl". The guard looked from the note to Kyle's pretty face. Kyle knew he was in trouble. "Welcome to Purgatory, boy," the guard said with a smile fit for Hells' gatekeeper. He slammed the heavy cell door, leaving Kyle to the cruel hands of the twisted God who ruled this place.

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iv. That night, after dinner, Kyle sat on his bunk, looking out onto the empty tier. In the cell next to him, he heard the breathy sound of a man either fucking or getting his cock sucked. He lay down and tried not to think about what would happen if Tyrone won the fight tonight. Kyle would belong to the man who won the duel. Tyrone's words came back to Kyle with the frightening clarity of coming doom - if you was my bitch I would of raped your virgin ass already and made you scream real loud.

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"Ten full minutes. You gotta lay there, on your back, totally nude. Hands behind your head so you can relax." "Relax, right." How Mike and I wound up in this bizarre, slightly hilarious situation was fueled by very cheap beer and overactive 19 year old hormones. Well, Mike was 19, I was 18, and we'd been buddies since sophomore year of high school. Mike was a bit of a paradox. He was a soccer player who wasn't a jock, a metal head who wasn't a burnout, and a good student who wasn't a nerd.

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