Your erotic stories

Billy was shit out of luck. His problem was that he was just an average Joe - but he was really, REALLY average! He was twenty-five years old, working as a delivery man, and not a bad person. But he just couldn't get laid. It wasn't that he was ugly or fat or anything else like that. He had ordinary looks with an ordinary body (bordering on the chubby side, though).

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Coming out of the bathroom, hair still wet from my shower, I stop before the bed. It's all there. He's laid it all out for me, and the tension that I had been feeling all afternoon ratchets up another notch. "Oh, god, oh god," I mutter, not really aware of what I'm saying.

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The club is crowded tonight, and hot. The press of bodies, half-naked and gleaming, is a feast. The warm brush of flesh against flesh is a fever. Bodies clashing and rubbing become a furnace fueling my desire. As I make my way to the bar, threading carefully through the throng, my hand touches a shoulder here, a well-muscled chest there, my bottom brushing against the crotch of someone behind me as I squeeze through a small corridor.

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Linda Jones was in the grocery store picking up a few things when she saw her friend Lisa Miller and her son Tommy. Lisa was supposed to come over later in the afternoon with a few friends for bridge club. "Hi Linda," Lisa called out, waving at her in the produce aisle. "Tommy, you remember Mrs. Jones don't you? Be a good boy and say hello."

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Friday night. I am secured in a standing position, naked and spread eagled. My ankles are secured to a spreader bar, my hands to restraints attached to new hooks she has attached to the ceiling. My wife's mouth surrounds but does not touch my pulsating cock. I tighten my groin muscles to make contact. She pulls away. "Bad boy!" She reaches down for her riding crop and slaps mildly at my balls, stretched and separated by a leather cock ring.

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It had started as a playful exchange online, but each seemed to know the rules and what was expected. The inevitable meeting 'for coffee' had been eagerly anticipated by each and the time spent in each others company had been as expected; polite, amicable, flirtatious and with a building tension of expectancy.

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I washed my bowl out and set it in the sink. Glancing over at the stove, I put the lid back on the pot of Chili and wiped my hands on a towel hanging from the oven. Turning up the glass of iced water, I all but chugged it down to wash the spice from my mouth. I knew I needed to quit eating hot chili. I dreaded the inevitable heartburn I would no doubt experience later.

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I first saw her as she walked from her car towards the supermarket. She was hard to miss, especially in broad daylight. I was parked two rows away and she walked into the Harris Teeter store about twenty steps ahead of me, her tight ass swaying back and forth in her tiny, designer-label jean miniskirt.

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"So I leaned over, farted and Silly String flew out my ass," Kayla said, snapping me back to reality. I pulled my attention from staring her feet and looked directly at her. I didn't realize how obvious I'd been. "Good to see you're back," she laughed. "So are you going to listen or just ogle my feet?"

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Mom and I hadn't been up to visit Aunt Sandy, Uncle Bob and Cindy in three years, but I hardly had to wonder what Cindy would look like: our mothers were identical twins, and Cindy looked just like me: tall, slim, redheaded, and small-chested. Well, not exactly: seeing her with her hair cut short was a surprise. So that's how I'd look with short hair, I thought.

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