Your erotic stories

The noisy alarm clock buzzed and buzzed. Wanting to continue sleeping, he flailed his arms out reaching for the snooze. To no avail, he groggily opened his eyes and stepped out of bed shutting off the dastardly invention. The clock read 6:00pm. Jeremy had gotten a nice Saturday afternoon nap in before his date that night.

read more

I entered the office and walked to the receptionist. "Mr. Sam to see Ms. Goodhouse." The woman checked her book, nodded and told me to have a seat. The office was neat, efficient and quiet. I noticed that each time the door to Ms. Goodhouse's office opened she was either on the phone or giving orders to one of the secretaries that went in and out like worker ants in a colony. They were the ants and she was the queen. After waiting about 10 minutes, I was escorted into her office. I looked around, not a pencil out of place.

read more

I sat on the couch, the room lit by the flicker of some skin-emax show. There was a tumbler of scotch in my hand; one of far too many for the day, but then, this was our annual vacation with a group of friends at the beach and excessive consumption was practically required. This was the third night though, around 11pm, early by first night standards, but well past the breaking point for most after three days of hard partying in the sun and sand.

read more

Marinah finished reading the morning Straits Times about the deputy prime minister Anhar being charged on ten counts of corruptions and sodomy. She threw the Times over the table to the couch opposite. "Asshole", breathed Marinah. Some people just don't cover up their tails leaving telltale signs all over the place.

read more

I've been at this gig for about three years now in a Northeast city. It isn't what I expected to be doing, career-wise, at my age, but I can't gripe about the pay. This is for a private apartment complex (not a hotel, mind you), so it's rightly what Europeans define as being a Concierge (attending to high-end residents' needs). I'm in my mid-twenties, tall and reasonably fit, outfitted in a blazer, gray slacks and dress shoes, and I sport a genuine-enough smile that's kept fresh every day.

read more

CHAPTER ONE: I was happily married to Tracy. We had been childhood sweethearts and had married each other not long after we had both turned eighteen. Our life together was good. We both had good professional jobs which earned a good income, and we owned a lovely home. We both worked out regularly in the gym and looked after our selves by watching what we ate, so as we got older we had not put on any weight.

read more

As you instructed, My Lady, I am recounting, from my perspective, what occurred last Thursday evening. If it would give you pleasure to write it, I would be so grateful to read your perspective on that night. I arrived at your door at 6:56 PM. Knowing that you value promptness and punish earliness (seen as uncontrolled impulse) as much as you do tardiness (an obvious demonstration of a lack of respect), I waited four minutes before ringing your doorbell.

read more

When she contacted me via here, she explained that she'd read my story and it had turned her on. My shameful story. The one about my desire to act as human toilet paper. In the exchange of emails that followed, Sarah told me she thought she wasn't anything special, just an ordinary lady of a certain age, a divorcee who worked in the City and right this minute was single and fancy free.

read more

I was awake and standing in a crouch beside my bed before I really knew why. My hand was on the electronic lock on top of the gun safe and I was already punching buttons when I heard the pounding on my front door. When you live in the woods, pounding on the door usually means a neighbor in trouble, but the hair on my arms was standing up, and over the years on battlefields both wild and urban, I'd learned to trust my body when it moved into that kind of a primal response.

read more

Valerie Nicholls had found her motivation to work out regularly. His name was Connor, and he owned the gym that was incongruously tucked away behind an upscale European furniture store in what most people probably assumed was an area of tony shops and places where you paid four dollars for a small pastry that was wrapped up for you to take away in a small box tied with a ribbon. At forty-two, Valerie had been divorced for six years and was content enough with her situation not to settle for less than what she wanted and needed in a mate.

read more