Your erotic stories

Joey Stiller pulled a little pink T-shirt over her head and shook her mousy brown hair out before pausing quickly to check her reflection in the mirror and grabbing her car keys. Her deep green eyes stared back from the freckled face in the mirror. The pink T-shirt was one of her favourites; it was tight enough to bare a little of her tanned midriff and to hug her figure, showing off her slender waist and fuller breasts. Apart from that Joey wore an old pair of jeans, a little worn at the knees.

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As I'm driving to her house I can't help but think of her. These days she's all I ever think about... falling into those traps that are her forest green eyes... I can't help but think of the first time we met...

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She thought I had forgotten. It's pretty impossible; it's two weeks after mine exactly. Her temper tantrums as of lately have been cute. It'll make tonight so much more fun. I haven't said anything about her birthday and it's cute that she's stressing about it. Not to toot my own horn or anything but, I'm the best girlfriend ever.

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Sometimes Friday nights suck. It was a little after 9:30pm and I was stuck at home. No date. No party. No friends. Just my CD player, a book and me. All of us were sprawled on my bed on top of the pink silky spread. My dark blonde hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail. I've been told I look somewhat like Elizabeth Shue, only with a fuller figure. I had my sleep clothes on, a gray designer label half shirt that just barely covered my boobs, and a pair of powder blue baggy boxer shorts, also designer label.

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"How do you know her?" I asked Sara. "I've known her for a while. We play backgammon. She's fun. You'll like her," she said. Sara was one of my best friends. We'd known each other for years online and had become like sisters. In the years to come, we would meet and her husband would become one of my best friends also.

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I am wearing no knickers and a blue miniskirt that displays my slender, tanned legs. I sit on the motorbike and feel the vibration of the engine run through me. The photographer tells me to hold still while she takes the pictures. It's hard not to wriggle. She runs off a few shots and stops. I puff out my cheeks and lean back to take the pressure off. My nipples are hard and straining at my tight, white t-shirt.

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I was Acting Head Copy Chief in a big ad agency. Acting, because I was not a full time employee, but a freelancer, as they call self-employed contractors in the ad business. Things were booming and the agency was stretched. With the typical lack of loyalty and 'sell yourself to the highest bidder' attitude of that crazy business, job jumping was rife and good employees were on a merry-go-round of moving from agency to agency. Hence the agency's need for an 'Acting Head Copy Chief.'

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My alarm. I slapped the thing, sent it flying. Later, I'd be amazed the thing still worked. I hate alarm clocks. I sat up on the side of my bed and adjusted my nightie. One of my nipples was peeking out. Five years ago, I'd have played with it, teased it for its indiscretion. Hell, five years ago, I probably wouldn't have worn the nightie. And I still would have played with it.

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"The fuckwad!" Mollie stood beside the answering machine, her whole body trembling and her eyes burning as she struggled to keep her tears from spilling over her hot cheeks. She clenched her hands into fists and dug her manicured fingernails into her palm until pain shot through her. The sensation did not relieve any of the anger flooding through her body.

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Maneuvering through traffic after what had to be the longest day of her year, Linda was at last on her way home. The thirty seven year old brunette headed up the accounting department of a multi-national manufacturing firm and this was the dreaded fiscal year end. Linda enjoyed her job most of the time; however, the frantic pace of this week was enough to get to anybody.

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