Your erotic stories

On Caitlin's thirtieth birthday, she woke to find a letter on her husband's pillow. "Open at 10 AM," it said. She looked at the clock. It was 8:15. She looked back at the envelope, and considered it. If she opened it now, there was absolutely no way Richard could know. Right? As logical as that seemed, Caitlin didn't trust that. Richard had a way of knowing these things.

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The second estate agent was in his forties. He had a heavy, ponderous look about him and a blue shadow round his jaws as if her were poorly shaved. His name was Cheetham. It was he who watched her. She looked to be early twenties, seemed nervous, as if she was unsure of herself. They'd been married three months. The husband's name was Christopher. He was in a wheel chair.

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You know what it is like when you are fast asleep & you hear the phone start – are you dreaming it or not? Well I opened my eyes to look at the bedside clock to see it was just after midnight & the phone was actually ringing, I wasn’t dreaming. “Hello,” I said groggily.

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Erica was a smart lady in her late thirties. Trim figure, short black hair, always dressed immaculately. Attractive in a cold way. Untouchable - none of the rest of us would ever be allowed near her. And formidable. Not formidable in an unpleasant way, but someone who had to run things. Chair things. Be in charge of things, and enjoyed the status that went with it. Sometimes the things she ran were run to feed her ego, rather than for the benefit of the organisation or members.

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The next day I had no classes. Thank god. I tried staying in bed, hoping that everything had transpired over the last week would simply cease to exist. My reverie was cut short by a burst from the telephone which was sitting way to close to my pillow for comfort. Unwittingly, I answered, still weary from the prior evening, "Hello?"

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Alex settled back comfortably in his seat. It was late and he was hungry and happy to finally be heading home. The night was pleasant and the train reasonably empty, so with a bit of luck he wouldn't have the yammering of idiots on their smart-phones and the mosquito buzzing of their music. He was relieved to note that apart from a young couple sitting opposite him, the carriage was empty, and they were just chatting between themselves.

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I was getting ready to take a shower when I heard a knock at the front door. I was naked except for my panties. I glanced at my watch. 9:15. It was a Tuesday night and I wasn't expecting anyone. "Shit," I muttered to myself as I threw on a pair of shorts and a button-up shirt. I went downstairs to the front door and looked out the peephole.

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My name is Ella and my story began before I was born. I was adopted at birth and my adoptive parents provided me with the best of everything. We lived in a large house set some distance from the road in manicured gardens set behind a high hedge. They were wealthy and made sure that I went to the best school and when I went to college my tuition was fully paid for by them, along with a generous allowance.

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Rachel Diaz was your typical upper-class snob. Her husband was a high-powered investment banker and as a result, Rachel lived a glamorous life-style. She had it all: huge house, fancy Lexus, big pool and expensive clothes. Despite Rachel's perfect life, she was a rude, obnoxious bitch who did not like anyone or anything. Another reason for the Latina's attitude was her stunning beauty and good looks; Rachel was 45 years old but she did not look a day over 30.

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I guess I didn't know what I needed to set me free. When it finally came, it wasn't really like being forced, or made to give in to his desires. In fact, the whole night was more like living out a dream; it was strange, a little scary, and always threatening to come apart, exposing itself either as false or worse, as real and inescapable. But, it was the most difficult sexual adventure we've ever taken together, and I think it's what allows our marriage to work, as strange as that sounds.

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