Your erotic stories

Miss Sanders settled her class down after coming back from a break so she can start the English class with everyone calm and quiet. It never took more than two loud firm orders from her to get all of her students to hush up and pay attention. They were especially attentive ever since her sex-ed classes a couple months ago and they were all the more eager to please her and do as she says.

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Two days after I graduated from High School, my dad surrendered to the cancer that had been kicking his ass for more than three years. To say my mom and I were devastated would be an understatement. It seemed like we died with him as we moved like zombies in a cloud of unreality. A world without him was no place we knew or wanted to know. And yet, there we were, the carpet pulled forever out from under us.

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"What's for dinner? Lamb chops, I hope. You do those so well." "Of course, if that's what you want, Ely. If that's what you want, than that's what we'll have." He's got no taste buds left, I think. What does he care if it's lamb, pork, or shit? Note to self—while I try to keep my voice from having the sarcastic edge Ely had complained about of late. Of course we don't have any lamb chops in the house. I'll have to go to the market.

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Jude had gotten through the second set at The Spot in Chelsea the same way he had gotten through all of Logjam's concerts in the last two decades—riding a high on the music, the roar of the crowd, beer, and poppers. If the proportion of beer and poppers had been relentlessly creeping up over the last fifteen years, it had been too gradual for Jude to notice it, or too scary for him to acknowledge it.

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Since the first time I came across her she was the sexiest woman I ever seen. I was alone in the break room at the office job I work at, since most everyone else ate lunch at the surrounding fast food places. I'm Joseph Sanchez, an average lookin guy that worked at this call center for a few months now and was still learning the ropes on helping people pay their water bills.

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Aaron moaned, head rolling from side to side on his pillow. His jaw was tightly clenched, as were his fists. He thought hazily that he must be bruising the soft, perfect pear curves of her hips, but he couldn't help it. He was dying. His cock was wedged tight in the hot clench of her no-longer virgin cunt and she was riding him, tits bouncing prettily, long red corkscrew curls springing and sliding over her lightly freckled shoulders. Her mouth was a lush rose bed of pleasure, lips wet and parted on harsh, hard, eager moans.

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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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Like so many of his colleagues, David Smith was worried about his future in hard economic times. It was not that he was no good at his job, or that he felt vulnerable compared to all the other guys in the office, but rumours were that the business might be "downsizing" and some cuts might be inevitable. As usual, management weren't exactly forthcoming by way of reassurance -- workers scared for their jobs work twice as hard.

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Don't get me wrong, I love my boyfriend. He's a great guy – smart, funny, sweet, and very much in love with me. A large part of me wants to marry him, to spend the rest of my life with him, but there's a small part of me that wants something else. That part, to be perfectly frank, is located somewhere near my clit. My boyfriend tries, he really does, but he's really not very attractive, for one thing, and for another, he's pretty sexually inept.

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He was laid to rest in the crowded little graveyard adjacent to the small Anglican church on the fringes of the Kyrenia Harbor in Cyprus. My mother had shown no interest in interring him in the States—or even in attending the burial ceremonial in Cyprus. But I thought that, in any event, this was a fitting place for him to be buried. This was where he belonged. He had taken his stand here and lived the last decade of his life here. I just wished I had been part of that last decade. Of course, that was as much my fault as it was his.

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