Your erotic stories

The parties that went on at 69 Brentwood Street were legendary. When Luke Prescott received the invitation email by Blackberry during his final year at NYU, he had high expectations. The house was a three-storey brownstone on the Upper East Side, and was being rented by three of the hottest girls in university. Kendra, Lacey and Chloe were commonly referred to around campus as 'The Babes on Brentwood.'

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I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, trying to find a position in the hard wooden desk that wouldn't cause my ass to go numb. Just five more minutes. Five more minutes and then my weekend could begin. I hated Friday classes. They always seemed to drag on, and this one was no different. And to make matters worse, this particular lecture took place in the oldest classroom on campus, complete with hard wooden chairs circa 1904.

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Well, that was a crappy day at work, I think to myself as I lock the car. What a waste of time. Meetings, bureaucracy, frustration after frustration. I let the door slam a little harder than necessary, and kick my shoes off in the hall. I wonder if Sarah's in? She normally goes running on a tuesday. "Hon?" I shout as I dump my work bag. No answer.

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Candace punched the button for the elevator with mixed feelings. She was already running fifteen minutes late, and if she didn't make up the time somewhere, she'd be late meeting Jeff. Usually she arranged her day to allow herself an extra twenty minutes to walk up and down the stairs from her 40th floor office, to avoid suffering through an anxiety-filled ride in the express elevator.

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Monica Traveler was the chief bitch of her company and she never let anyone forget it. She got off on the fear she generated by walking into the central work area. When that wasn't enough, she would single out someone for personal humiliation and suffering. Monica wouldn't stop at words, no; often some sort of real physical torment was necessary for Monica to get on with her day. Sexual relationships did nothing for her because no man or woman would stay with her through the torments that got her off.

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Hi, my name is Portia. I'm 21 years old and I'm from Kent in England. I moved to the US two years ago to study but really I just wanted to meet American guys. I've always done pretty well at school and while I want to don't want to sound too full of myself I know I'm pretty easy on the eye as well, which hasn't always made me popular with some other girls.

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One thing I always wanted to do was to have my own business. A few months ago I finally decided to get started. It was a small distribution business. I was mainly the middleman arranging products to be shipped all over the country. I didn't have much of an overhead. And I didn't need an inventory, just an office where I could conduct my business and a place to hang my hat so to speak.

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I hear the hiss and screech of another train arriving at the platform down below the main level of Alewife station, the end of the Red Line. A metallic smell rises up the stairs on the gust of hot air displaced by its arrival. The doors open with a whoosh, and the clamor of passengers starts up the stairs and the escalator. My stomach clenches as the first faces come into view and the travelers file toward the turnstiles. The Saturday afternoon herd is thin, so it's easy to dismiss the men who come up from the platform: not alone, too short, dark hair, headed straight for the door.... The process of elimination continues until it's clear to me that that was not your train.

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About me (for those who don't know me) My name is Catriona. You may have read about me on this site before. I'm a successful businesswoman, in my thirties, and my professional career could keep me fully occupied, if I allowed it to. Because of my inordinately high sex drive, however, I choose to place strict limits on the amount of time that I spend on work and related matters.

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I vacationed in a small fishing village on the gulf coast of Mexico a few times a year, back in my younger days. I was introduced to the place by a friend of mine and I won't say what village or exactly where because I don't want a flood of tourists there. That place was fifty years in the past or so it seems. Life was slow and having fun was as much of a way of life as making a living.

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