Your erotic stories

“Damnit!” Catherine exclaimed as the wrench slipped and her knuckles scraped violently across the faucet handles. She dropped the heavy silver tool into the sink with a loud clang as she recoiled. Her hand drew up, curled and hiding the hurt. With the other she gently eased open her fingers. She stared down at the torn flesh across her knuckles and brought them to her lips.

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"Kathryn?" I heard her sigh. "Yes Mike, it's me. Kevin is fading, he may not last the day. Will you come?" "I'll call back just as soon as I can confirm my flight. Hold on." Kathryn was his old personal assistant, but was more than that. She was more like the mother he never got to have. While most walked around him fearfully, she chided him for scaring the employees.

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Mr. David was in his second year of teaching Band and things were not going well. The previous band teacher had been very old, and band in High School was never really the cool thing to do, so he was having a really hard time getting kids to be in his Marching Band. He had brought in outside help in the form of one of his friends from a marching band corps, but still things were not going well.

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Beth Raines sighed. Looking in the full length mirror, she appraised her 45 year old body. Old, fat and ugly, she thought. The thought was not uncommon. It arrived inside her head the day her husband had left some ten years earlier. Somehow, Beth had decided to blame herself for the divorce even though she was the petitioner. Her self worth left in the back of her ex-husband's car as she had watched it pull out of the drive that last time.

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Simon's hands automatically went to my waist, slipping low to cup my ass in his palms. I'd already pushed him past the point of no return, but he was still trying to reclaim control of the situation, feebly asserting his authority. "Amy—we can't," he said. "We said we wouldn't." Even if there had been conviction in his voice, the presence of his hands on my ass and the way his mouth opened against mine, his hot breath filling my mouth, made his true feelings clear. I felt a little guilty for pushing him, but not enough to stop.

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I have always thought that Betty had a lot of balls to do what she did. Big brass ones. I was at least 20 years younger than Betty and I don't think I had ever exhibited any attraction toward her. She was just another pleasant acquaintance in the workplace. But, like so many of the remarkable women who have graced my life, she knew what she wanted and she had the inner confidence to go for it.

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Joe was thirty-eight and lonely. He was tall, average looking and successful. His problem was judgment. He had given up looking for someone to share with, someone to love and be loved by. How he wanted that. Yet, every relationship he ever had ended when his chosen woman cheated on him. That confused him because he was an attentive lover, a good provider, even-tempered and respectful. Wasn't that what the women wanted?

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Chris yawned and moved to the next section of shelving. A big truck had made for a long night, leaving him and the rest of the night stock crew facing up the store after opening. "Never ending, man," his friend Alan grumbled from the other side of the aisle. "Feels like it." "At least the scenery ain't bad."

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It was a Christmas for the record books. Twenty-four inches of snow, travel down to a crawl, and flights down to a minimum because of terrorism fears. This was the first year I'd been away from my large extended family. This year, it was just dinner at the house with my husband and his father, who lived in town. It was nice, though. Controllable. And my house was cozy, well-decorated, and warm. A fine dinner, a bottle (or three) of fine wine, a twinkling tree, and a blazing fire had all worked together to make a textbook Christmas night.

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September 2003 "Ya got ten bucks Mister?" she asked as she darted in front of me, one of a small group of black clad, pierced and tattooed punkers who'd mysteriously appeared in the neighborhood just days earlier. "Ten bucks? What happened to the fifty cents for squeegeeing my windshield?" I asked with a grin. "Fifty-cents! A rich, hip Miami guy like you," she teased, jiving me as she danced backward as I continued walking.

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