Your erotic stories

It has been a year today since my life changed drastically. I can remember that day with a vivid recollection that would scare most people. Even I was scared for the longest time, though it was a different kind of scared than most would recognize. I actually went through different levels of being scared. It was truly as if my world was flipped upside down that day.

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The sun sneaks through the blinds and one of the warm rays reaches down to caress my cheek. I yawn and stretch, rolling over onto my stomach quietly so as not to wake you. I smile remembering the party we had last night...good friends and lots of wine. My eyes flutter open and I greet the new day, propping myself up on my elbow to watch you for a bit. You lie peacefully next to me, sound asleep, unaware of my eyes skimming over your body.

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Part 1 - Wakeup call The blonde in the chair frantically blinking at me is the client. We'll call her Wife or Wifey. She's blinking because, like most clients on their first experience, she's panicking early. The blink is her safe "word".

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She arrived exactly on time; seven o'clock. I heard the doorbell ring and felt a small rush of adrenalin. With Amanda, I had learned to expect the unexpected. Thus the adrenalin. I opened the door to all 5'11" of her, and smiled. She was so good at this. Standing there with her massage table and linen bag, dressed in loose‐fitting pants, a collared work shirt and tennis shoes, she looked every bit the part of a normal masseuse.

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Peter and I were had been in LA for a couple of days, staying in a cheap hotel in Venice. Mostly we hung out on the beach, which is where we met Nola, Lara and Val. They were about my age and all very cute. Nola was a white, tall brunette and had a kind of wicked attitude about her. Lara was short — about my height — with beautiful auburn hair. Val was somewhere in the middle, and a California blond.

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A hired car takes me to the door of the hotel and the driver tells me I’m expected. Upon hearing my name, the desk clerk hands me a key card and an envelope. “Top floor, the door on the left.” He looks down for baggage, and seeing none begins to blush. I smile knowingly and make my way to the room.

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Bobby Garfield was taking a walk around the property he had inherited from his grandmother. It was an old farm with a large stone farmhouse, a large wooden barn with stables underneath. It had been almost completely restored, but as a computer consultant, he had little time for country living.

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There's a standard joke when the UK is hit with cold weather - that we're utterly unable to cope. Even a sprinkling of the white stuff brings the road and rail networks virtually crashing to a halt. Schools close, people can't get to work, supermarkets are swamped by panic buyers and tabloids declare 'SNOWMAGEDDON!'

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The sunshine is peeping through the windows, I'm curled up against you, my head nestled in your shoulder, your arms wrapped around me, and one of your hands is cupping my breast. We are deep in slumber.

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She passed Fifth Street and checked her watch, right on schedule and thankfully the crossing light was on her side this morning so she eased across the intersection without having to stop. Music from her IPod spurred her on as she rounded the corner on Jackson Avenue, in the home stretch now. The warm early May morning sun at her back, she could see the entrance to the building at the end of the city block and urged herself to push a little harder.

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