Your erotic stories

It's a balmy August night in the city, the kind where you try getting away with as little clothing as possible. The air conditioning in the restaurant is going full-blast, and I can see your nipples harden through your barely-there sundress, a series of goose bumps forming along your perfect, alabaster skin. Because we are waiting for the guest you've invited, I fight the urge to lean over the table and kiss the ones where your neck and shoulder meet.

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When a man comes home to his wife and a houseful of women, it's either really good or really bad, especially when the conversation stops as soon as the door opens. And most especially when the women looking at him have those expressions suggesting they know something he doesn't (and of course they do -- it's always that way). His wife stepped forward and walked toward him.

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She sat in the sparkling white office in the scratchy, thin paper robe that they make everyone wear. Perched upon the barely cushioned table that sported a pair of metal torture devices that forces women to lie in the most completely vulnerable position, she waited for her turn with an unsympathetic doctor. Yes, Jodi could say without a doubt, that she hated getting her yearly pap smears.

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Maxine stepped into the new black tube dress she'd bought and pulled it up over her body. It clung to every curve and she immediately regretted buying it. Her usual style was simple and classic, cut to her knee with a sensible neckline. The saleswoman told her that she wasn't to wear a bra or panties, as it would ruin the 'line'. At the time Maxine had dismissed her advice but now, looking in the mirror, she could understand.

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I stood there looking in the mirror at myself. I was dressed in my favorite sheer pink teddy and matching panties as I turned to look at my profile I cupped my 34D's and smiled. I had not been fucked in 5 days and that is a long time for me so I was just plain horny. I have two guys for recreational sex but Brad was fucking another girl for a while and Jason (who along with Monica rents a room in my house) was out of town so I decided to do what any red blooded American girl would do, masturbate.

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Brad sat on the floor in his darkened room. Across the narrow side yard that separated their houses, the sheer curtains in Ann's room were not quite closed, and the light in her room made them almost transparent. Brad waited, patiently. A few minutes later he was rewarded, as Ann stepped out of her bathroom, toweling her short brown hair dry. Naked, she walked across the room and stopped in front of her dresser. Brad reached down and began gently stroking his penis.

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One thing you should know, about me and the man I describe here, is that we've never really been 'together'. What we have had is more than ten years of friendship, the best and worst of shared experiences and, most importantly, the most insatiable, uncontrollable desire for each other that either of us had ever experienced. On this particular day, we were heading out to a concert, but I also happened to be introducing him to one of my best friends for the first time. I arrived at his place just as he was getting home from a run.

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I typed it in an IM window. 'Come fuck me' it said. Her reply was simple. 'Yes, Master.' How many times had I typed that to her in role-playing chat when I was on the opposite coast of the country? I've even typed that when I was close enough for us to make it happen. I would be there with my laptop in the king-sized bed at my hotel in D.C., messaging her at her home in New York. Close, but far. 'Come fuck me,' I typed. 'Yes, Master,' she replied. Odd how the same words looked different this time -- that was last night.

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It was Saturday morning and Trish's turn to canvass the neighborhood for her real estate firm, looking for listings. In the current brisk housing market, a broker had to be aggressive, and Trish knew the name of that game. An eye-popping redhead with green eyes and a knockout figure, she did all right, especially with male clients. Many tried to put the make on her, and she didn't mind that.

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When I was 19, after my first year of bible college, I took a place on a crew going treeplanting in central British Columbia. I'd heard a lot about the good money, but, apparently, not every season is the same. We spent days and days crammed in a motel in Prince George — sometimes four and five of us to a room — paying whether we liked it or not.

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