Your erotic stories

I had recently moved to Denver with my husband after he got a job as a systems manager at the new Denver airport. Matt and I had been married for just over three years and, frankly, I must say that our marriage had lost much of the luster it had at its start. Matt always was, and still is, a very decent guy and he's a good provider. Though I do my share by teaching modern dance and ballet classes at a dance academy. I had hoped to become a professional dancer myself, but that didn't work out.

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He said to meet him at the bar dressed in his favorite short skirt, tight square neck top, thigh highs and the shelf bra that lifts my breasts so high. Don't forget to wear heels and your slutty red lipstick, he added. I was also asked to wear my hair down. I dressed hurriedly as I was running late. I had just enough time to run home after work and wash up and dress before meeting him at our favorite bar.

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PART I. I was overwhelmed while doing my makeup. I had to concentrate on making sure my fingers didn't twitch, sending the blush in all directions. I was so turned on it wasn't even funny. When I finished, and then gave my hair a last look, I left the bathroom, and my very high heels clicked across my apartment floor and back into my bedroom.

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"I've seen the way you look at me," I whispered in her right ear, my body brushing against her back, my nose flirting with her straight hair, my mouth hanging an inch away from her skin, my own flesh surprised that I had the will to halt its road to her neck and achingly begging me to tilt forward just a little bit more.

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It was about a half hour after my husband left for work that my best friend, Karen arrived. I was expecting her to show up, Jack and I'd just had our new pool filled for the first time, and Karen had been almost more excited about us getting it than we had been.

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I had three choices. I could go home and drown my sorrows in a carton of Ben and Jerry's. I could order something to eat. Or I could get my wine glass refilled - for starters. I motioned to the bartender, and decided not to decide right this minute. I was looking good. I should have been, after the effort I'd made getting ready for this date. The dress was new, and pretty darned hot, frankly. The shoes were new. I had a pleasant tingle of anticipation.

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When I turned on my computer this morning, I had an e-mail from a woman with whom I went to college. The message included an invitation to come and spend a weekend in Atlanta. Fortunately, my husband would be in Europe the weekend she suggested. This would be perfect. New Orleans is only about a ten hour drive from Atlanta. And it had been a while since I'd seen the scenery along the way. A late spring drive would be just lovely. I e-mailed my travel plans and counted away two weeks.

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Slamming her car door, Jessi storms into her duplex. It was a horrible day, everything that could go wrong did. First she wakes up two hours late for work. Next her car dies when she tries to leave work. And just ten minutes ago she was pulled over for doing 60mph in a 35mph zone. I should have just called in sick and slept this miserable day away, she thought.

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She is not classically beautiful. Her face is rather flat with bland cheekbones, her lips do not have the fullness of a true beauty and her nose is rather podgy with slightly flared nostrils. She is though stunning to look at because of her eyes. They are large and delightfully, almond shaped in a deep, onyx green colour.

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"You're kidding? Right?" my ex-husband Alan asked incredulously. "Now, why would I kid about that?" I returned the question with annoyance. Alan was temporarily speechless and I could hear him fumbling for the right words. "I'm telling you because when you pick up Alana, Valerie might be there and I want you to be cordial," I stated firmly.

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