I smoothed my skirt down nervously as I sat waiting in my car. We’d planned to meet at 12.30 and I was a few minutes early. I hadn’t seen you in six months – not since the day you left the company. We’d chatted plenty on MSN but you’d offered to take me out to lunch for my birthday – way too good an opportunity to pass up! We’d had a long, flirtatious conversation about what we’d be wearing today and I hoped you’d be in jeans as we agreed. You know I can’t resist your arse in jeans – I’ve told you so often enough.

She wondered about taboo; she liked the sound of the word, she liked what the word meant and how the word and meaning scared the average person. Yes, she had read taboo in stories; she had met the man who encased the word, he was dark eyed, dark haired and very very sexy. She had taken him from marriages, relationships, and having to be hourly accounted for; to places in his mind that was truly erotic for him, places in hotel rooms that released him from the daily grind, places that made him orgasm, harden and think; places that he wanted to return to, places that he was aroused by and were taboo.

Rachel had not really expected to get any answers to the couple’s ad. It was just meant to be a giggle. But there she was, with a strange man at the end of the phone, inviting them for dinner. It was all such a shock. She just agreed and then after putting down the phone the reality of the situation started to sink in.

She dropped another marshmallow into the saucepan. It was his favourite concoction of hers – a thick gloopy drink of melted dark chocolate and marshmallows with some cherry liquor. He came up behind her, grabbed her shoulders with his large firm hands and kissed her soft neck. A tingle went up the back of her spine as his soft lips nuzzled her and his hands slipped round to gently massage her breasts. She turned off the hob and closed her eyes as she put her hands behind her back to unbuckle his belt and teasingly stroke his belly button.

She was on the bus, she caught my eye, and I felt I had seen her before. She oozed sensuality, that was what I thought when I saw her, the truth was I was captivated, my eyes couldn’t leave her, it was more than just sex, it was Cleopatra, Helen of Troy, Eve, Wallis Simpson; a woman that men left their minds for; then it was too late. There she was sitting on my bus.

Come walk the plank, sea tease amd draw your pencils over pirate booty. We have cabaret, burlesque and music to wet the appetite and they'll be no fish out of water in this aquatic art class with a twist. Dr Sketchy's Brighton are in it at the deep end this time!

Passion, www.Sextoys.co.uk and Cliterati have teamed up to offer a pair of tickets to the most sought-after event of the spring plus a delicious, titillating toy to five very lucky winners.

"I'm not ready yet." Rebecca bellowed down the stairs to Brian. She finished brushing her hair and put the paddle brush down on her dressing table. He had been waiting over an hour and was beginning to lose his patience. He ran up the stairs to their room. “Rebecca, you’ve got five more minutes until I completely lose my patience with you. We’re already late.”

I met her walking. She asked me for directions as we fell in step together she asked me if I was on my own? I replied I definitely was as I had just split up with my partner and this was my first time out as a single. She sparkled with chemistry as her eyes lingered down my body. ‘This is my first Australia day in Canberra can I join you?’ We picnicked together, blankets and esky’s entwined in the shade under the trees, as we looked out to the lake watching the fireworks. We shared wine bread and cheese; she had olive oil, tomatoes and cucumbers, I, desert of chocolate and fruit.

Chloe couldn't believe that her flight had been delayed. It was bad enough to have to be at the airport hours before the flight, but to wait another 90 minutes was plain irritating. "Oh well, I may as well hit the shops," she thought, as if she hadn't done enough shopping whilst she was in New York. Her new Bloomingdales medium brown bag containing the last items that refused to fit in her suitcase was certainly testament to that, but as it was snowing outside the airport, and she had little else to do, she made her way to the duty free shops to try on perfume.

Helen sat down at the breakfast bar,she had just returned from her shopping with her lover.Helen twirled the diamond bracelet on her wrist.She wanted to talk.

Sexy undies are often the domain of women but website Giggleberries looks set to change that. With pants from brands including leading French underwear designers HOM and German brand Olaf Benz, they stock everything from opaque thongs for the brazen man to cute boxer briefs that hug a pert posterier. And while you may think thongs are less than ideal, they're shooting up in popularity: 45 percent of the undies bought are thongs, with boxers and briefs taking only 10 percent of the market.

My lover was at his last day of his job. We had discussed a last day blow job from his colleague in his office. She had large perky breasts, a firm body which wiggled and lips that were made to be wrapped around a cock.
I couldn’t resist, I needed to plant the seed of lust to let me see where it would
take me. My first text was; ’Take it there’s a goodbye blow job on the agenda?’
A reply a minute later, ’Park One hotel where I was above you ramming my cock down your throat.’
‘Not me’, I replied, the girl with great breasts and lips to wrap round your cock in the office.’

The scorching afternoon light shines through the sleek venetian blinds in my bedroom. “I’m just going to have a cool rinse”, I tell Ed, sliding my thin cotton dress up over my head, slipping my knickers down my legs and giving them a little kick on to the cold bathroom tiles. On this hot, hot, 40 degree day, the cool droplets make me shiver with delight, flowing over my full breasts, over my stomach and between my legs.

Shall I make a confession? Sometimes...ok, a lot of times, when I come home from work, I like to unwind with my laptop, a good glass of vino and my imagination. I might read a sexy story or I might browse the web for pictures I love.

My outfit was carefully selected, It needed to make an impact, it needed to say something about my strength of character and it needed to send a message direct to your loins. It did.

Any blog that describes the Daily Mail newspaper as a "bucket of wank" whilst pointing out its sexism; or explains why chip fat is a no-no for anal sex; or details how much it can hurt a man if a woman grips his cock "like an Atari joystick during a particularly intense level of Pac-Man" is a blog I would gladly recommend.

It was late in the night, a Friday night, as usual. He came to the main entrance and she gave him the keys to the carpark and to get into the block. They did not smile or speak. He walked away, she closed the heavy metal door. She then turned and went back up in the lift to her flat, leaving the door slightly ajar for him. The place was full of soft candlelight and music. It was warm and tidy.

I hate washing the dishes. Really, I don't mind doing any other housework, although obviously I'd prefer someone else to do it for me, but washing up I hate. I had decided it was about time I invested in a dishwasher so imagine my delight, and surprise, when I arrived home from work to find my man standing at the sink, pink washing up gloves and all, working his way through the pile of dishes that I had let build up for about four days.

You know I dream about you. You also know how I can’t help playing with myself upon waking from these vivid dreams of you, anything to escape this prison of frustration from not having you.