Your erotic stories

I turned a whole different shade of red as I pulled my card out of my wallet. Seventy-three dollars never felt so embarrassing and I was more than thankful that the clerk was a young, beautiful woman. Maybe she would understand; then again, maybe not and her judgment was withheld behind her professional smile.

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1. "Nora!" My wife clapped her hand over her mouth reflexively. "Uh...." I turned away from the forest nymph tracing lazy circles on my chest to see what had caught my wife's attention. "Jocelyn, what's a respectable woman like you doing here?" Our young neighbor greeted my wife with her usual playful cheeriness. "I ... uh ... we ... uh ..." My wife was at a loss for words. She who was so facile with the English language could not form a complete sentence.

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"You like it that way, baby? You been keeping secrets from your man?" I hear your words from the hall, where you stand, having pushed open our bedroom door. I left it a bit ajar when I lay down, knowing you were at work, never dreaming you'd come home early and catch me at my afternoon play. Or did I?

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This story was so much fun, I had to share it with someone. It's a true story that happened to me this past week. I had some friends (two guys from back east) come in town for the week and I was going to show them around. There were a couple of events going on, so we had plenty to do and kept busy all week. Well, as the week came to a close, we decided to spend the penultimate night burning the town down.

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She was stretched out on his bed like all the others; arms above her head, long lean legs akimbo, naked as the day she was born. Sometimes he wondered idly what brought him to this point, as he stripped off the leather skirting that protected his thighs. But not tonight. His eyes fell indolently on the blindfolded girl as he leaned against the table, his hands in the basin rinsing off blood that splattered his forearms and smooth chest.

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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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She's got long, straight blond hair that always smells like coconut, a pair of legs that make up two-thirds of her height, and a round, narrow little ass. She also has an insolent, self-satisfied swagger, a pert, better-than-thou smirk, and a fifty-dollar manicure. I've taught a few like her before, and I know the way it goes. She's seen how I look at her. She's slacked off this whole term. I can tell she thinks she can scam an A out of me by shaking her ass.

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"They have got to be kidding." she muttered as she flipped the channel. Another pointless commercial. Another pointless day. She had spent the majority of her day lounging in her hotel room, watching dull TV and reading even duller books. Her body felt restless, her brain felt numb. "Why did I make this trip?" she wondered to herself again. She had come to see her family, and a special someone, but they were all too busy with work, and kids, and their own stuff.

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My day brightened the minute Crystal walked in the door. Crystal made deliveries to my work place several times a week, and we had gotten to the point where we would flirt playfully a little each time we talked. At about 35, she was 10 years older than me, but that didn't seem to bother either one of us. Crystal was short, about 5'4" and weighed about 105 lbs. She didn't have the hard tight body of girls my age anymore, but her round curves made her more sensual to me.

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About once a week, my wife and I meet at home for a lunch-hour rendezvous. This is what my life has come to; twenty years with Brenda, two kids in middle school, both of us working, and it seems the only time that we have enough energy for a decent fuck is over the lunch hour. How sad is that? Like most men, I am good to go in the morning, but Brenda is usually sound asleep until the alarm goes off; by then it is too late.

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