Your erotic stories

Sex with Laila was always dirty, but when she whispered in my ear mid-fuck that she'd be wanting my ass next, my pussy clutched itself around her hand so hard I expected her knuckles to come out bruised. I rode out my climax, my fingers lost in her raven-black hair as colours collided in my brain, my muscles flexing to the rhythm of her last strokes inside of me.

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"Thanks for coming early with me, sweetie," I said. We were standing on the balcony overlooking the enormous atrium of the National Art Museum. Stephen smiled. "You know why I did," he said as he watched the male servers in their tight black uniforms below us. I patted his arm and smiled. "Whatever works for you."

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A cold and rainy Saturday in February. The rain is unusually heavy. Instead of the usual "mizzle" that mists the air with tiny, slow-falling droplets, it's pouring in sheets, pattering against the window. It fills my bedroom with a dull and depressing sound. My mood is equally bleak. I'm snuggled in bed, shivering and miserable. I have the heat maxed but it's taking forever for the room to warm up.

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“What’s the matter, Lizzie?” Sarah’s hands squeezed my shoulders and her hair brushed my cheek as she leaned over to peek at the papers strewn over the desk. “I think this is my 20th hang up in a row tonight,” I complained, rolling my eyes toward the phone. “They finish half this stupid survey and decide it’s too long and hang up.”

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