Your erotic stories

Rules were very important to her. Rules about eating. Rules about time management. Rules about messing around. She'd lived her whole life by her rules, and it kept her happy. It'd been awhile since she'd had anyone else play by her rules though; she was getting frisky. That's why she'd texted him, "Are you in town this weekend?" He knew her rules. He liked her rules, and right now he was the only man she knew who could satiate her desires.

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I've been watching her for days and I don't know why. What was it she had that made my colleague, Fran, employ her? She was average looking at best and her figure was nothing special, not that you could really see that much of it as she kept it covered up at all times. Her fashion sense at times seemed frumpy and old for a younger woman. Her name was Claire and I'd say about twenty years my junior.

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Leaving his two bodyguards outside, the tall, handsome askari with the tribal tattoo swirled on his cheek came blinking into the purple tent, out of the strong morning sunshine. The shadowed coolness was welcome after the equatorial Sun's heat against his dark brown perspiring skin.

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William Devlin made ready the umbrellas, the seating, and even metered the ambient light of the room in preparation for his new client. Ms. Kayden Summers she had requested a series of bust close ups of herself in a long black gown. She had found his little off path studio via referral from a young lady that had sat for a series of graduation photos several years back.

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The Wrightsville yacht harbor dipped beneath the horizon off the stern of the big sloop. As its hull neatly parted the waves, the rigging beneath the taut sail hummed while the breeze of the yacht's passage gave relief from the muggy July heat of the North Carolina coast. Brenda watched the coast disappear for a few minutes and then turned to the woman sitting beside her.

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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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It had been one of those kinds of days from the moment she woke that morning. Murphy's Law was alive and well; everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. Beginning with her oversleeping because everyone else in the house was still in dream land, running late to work because she had to stop for gas and then getting pulled over by the police for running a red light (she swore the light was yellow), spilling her coffee on her white blouse… the list went on.

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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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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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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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