Your erotic stories

"You know what I want." Laura said, seated in her office chair, her eyes exploring me from head to toe as I stood beside her, within touch. "Yes," I replied. I knew what she wanted. I also knew that she would not say the words. "What do I want?" she asked, her voice thick and husky.

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I'm a sucker for a deep authoritative voice. Few men understand how powerful their voice is or the effect it can have on some women. Like me. The right words uttered in a certain tone are guaranteed to snatch my breath away and cause an instant puddle between my legs. In such a mood, I don't want to be asked what I want.

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I once had a girlfriend named Nina. She was a nice girl, and we were happily in love. Until that one day... It started out like any day. We woke up, got dressed, had breakfast, kissed each other goodbye and went to our respective jobs. I worked for a television studio, producing a local television talk-show. She worked on the other side of town as a secretary at a very respectable law firm.

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As ever, it began quietly. A look, an 'accidentally' raised hemline, stooping just too low allowing the valley of your breasts to cascade across my view as you brought my Rioja, but it built rapidly. I think it was twenty minutes ago that you abandoned all pretence of subtlety and reappeared in a little black dress.

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The sound of moaning greeted us as we pushed through the door into the darkened cinema. The actress on the big screen was getting fucked hard, and doing a good job of sounding as if she was loving it. In the dim light from the screen we could see that the matinée had attracted a few people to this porn cinema. Maybe fifteen or twenty.

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Here we are arguing. Again. It's gotten bad lately. I don't know if it's the stress in his new job, or the mounting debt from my student loans. One thing is for sure, I've raised my voice one too many times, and now he's shut down. It infuriates me when he does this, but at least I managed to talk him into a walk. A long excruciatingly quiet walk.

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I wanted to grab a fucking bottle of vodka and chuck it. Or throw it. Or burn it. Extraordinary stress, huh? Yeah that is what I am feeling. Damn pissed off at Daniel. We had an argument last night about where we are headed and in the midst of it, he said we should part ways for a while.

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The moment he put the phone down I felt a surge of joy rise inside of me. Okay, that's strictly not true; it had been there all day, like a troupe of ballet dancers in steel-toed boots had taken up residence in my gut. I was behaving, I knew, like some dorky teenager about to embark on a first date. The fact was, I wasn't and neither was he.

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She stopped outside the door and read the number. She pulled the paper out of her bag. Yes the numbers matched. Pulling out a compact she inspected her make up. She smeared on a new thick layer of the blood red lipstick and pouted at the image looking back at her. Thick make up, heavy eyeliner and mascara made her look more like a mannequin than a live person.

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It had been almost four days since I had seen Melissa. Well, I see her every day at work pretty much which makes the not seeing her outside of work harder. Nobody at work knew we were dating for sure but once two people are intimate with each other the vibe between them immediately changes. The more observant among us at work were bound to suspect eventually.

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