Your erotic stories

It was pouring rain as I pounded on the door to my best friend's house. The lights weren't on and her car wasn't in the driveway, but I was so enraged that I didn't care. I was about ready to give up on the door and just crash through the front window when the light in the front hall came on and the door flew open. "What in the hell..." Ashley's dad looked furious until he saw me. His jaw dropped as he looked at me, and he was silent for a moment. "Nicole, what's going on?"

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I was making my rounds in an electric cart of a local supermarket, picking up a few things for dinner, minding my own business ... and keeping an eye out for a shapely bottom or a full-sized breast or just a pretty face when ... I caught a glimpse of all three in the same jeans-and-vee-neck-blouse ahead of me.

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CHAPTER 1 Kate Scott, a curvy brunette and associate editor of the Evening Herald and judge of the newspaper's story competition, smiled when she read the covering note attached to the thick manuscript. My name is Harry Blackwell. I submit this story as my entry in the Evening Herald's Annual Best Story Competition. I don't believe I have much chance of winning the $100 prize and have to admit my entry is many times over the 800-word limit but there you are.

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As I told you in my first story, " The Boys from next door ", I currently own a home for retiree's. It, of course, caters for both men and women. I currently have eleven males and nine females. I employ twelve staff for nursing needs, eight females and four men. On top of that I also employ five catering staff. I, of course, jump in and help where-ever I'm needed. I've been doing this since my divorce four years ago. I enjoy it immensely. I have great satisfaction in making sure our elderly are well taken care of. For this reason, I'm very particular about who I employ.

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If the motel were busier, you wouldn't even notice her. She was about five foot five inches tall, brunette, 130 pounds, mid-forties, nice shape and probably fun to look at under her jogging suit. I had seen her yesterday in the operating waiting room. Like now, she had looked tired, down and alone. Company for continental breakfast seemed like a good idea, so I walked over to her table in the corner by the window. "I saw you at the hospital yesterday. My I join you for breakfast?"

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I was tall and skinny in high school. A dork, although I didn't know it. I was interested in making good grades and succeeded at that. I had a few dates. Guys that were dorks also and had no girl friend would ask me to a dance or a party when they needed a date. Socially I was a misfit. And I don't think I ever thought about sex. If any boy ever did try anything sexual with me I don't remember it and I definitely would have rejected him. Sex was something bad and dirty. Good girls didn't do it.

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You don't have to have read Beach Stud to enjoy this one. Jason scrolled down the screen, saw the current price of the shares he had been following and hit the buy button. They were just a tad over $1.05 and had dropped from $4.85 in a week. He bought 200,000 and knew that in less than a week, given the asset backing of the company, he would clear a quarter of mil, minimum.

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Sally West had something of a reputation amongst my coworkers for being a bitch. She often would complain about her orders, finding the silliest excuses to call back and make us come back out to her house. The other drivers hated her so much they always took her order last, which of course infuriated her even more. For some reason, though, she seemed to like me; maybe it's just that I was the 'new guy,' or maybe, in light of later events, it was something else.

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I suppose a lot of people would consider me to be a slut now. But I don't think it's my fault, really. I mean, what else could have happened? I was one of those girls who started to flower into womanhood early. I was a skinny young girl who wore a B-cup brassiere when I was still in the sixth grade. I was completely embarrassed by my development. I dressed to avoid showing my rapidly blossoming femininity. Layered clothing became the norm along with a shoulders-hunched-forward posture.

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George and Carol had been married for just over ten years. They'd originally wanted children but nothing had happened yet and, basically, the idea had gradually slipped from their minds. Because they had no family commitments, it meant that they were able to devote time to their local community – especially charitable organisations. George had been asked by two different political parties to stand in local elections, but he had declined the invitations.

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