Your erotic stories

After a nearly 48 hours of non-stop sex, I barely had the strength to get home. Looking back on it, I’m amazed it didn’t kill me. How about that as a cause of death? Too much fucking. If you’ve got to go…well, I’ll spare you the cliché. When I learned the secretary at the radio station I work for had been stealing money from the owner, I saw my chance. I’d wanted to fuck her sweet Mexican body since the first time I’d met Joann three years earlier.

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The dean stared at her over the desk. "This is a serious story you are telling me, young lady," he said. "Are you positive on every detail?" Jessica nodded, and tugged on the sleeve of her sweatshirt, focusing on the loose thread on it rather than the dean. "Well, then," he sighed. Leaning over to the intercom on his desk, he flipped the switch the demanded, "Get me Bell and Ellic, now."

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My name is Kavita and I am a 30 year old married professional woman living in Delhi, India. I work in an MNC and Raj, my husband, is a fairly successful businessman. We have been married for 3 years and you can say we are as happy as an average married couple. We have our ups and downs, good days and bad days, so to the words I am a typical Indian woman taking take of her husband and household. However, the truth is far from that.

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The whistle didn't surprise her. At 46, Nancy Pace was still attractive. In fact, partly due to her recent interest in Roger Mitchelson, the up-and-coming real estate broker she'd begun dating, she was feeling more sensual than she had since her marriage to Bill ended, more than 5 years ago. The fact that she'd finally gotten breast implants last year, along with a regimen of collagen and Botox treatments, had her feeling downright sexy, most of the time!

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Another day at the office, finished. I was so thankful that it was Friday. I paid the cabby and then opened the cab door, struggling to pull my briefcase and Kenneth Cole purse out of the door before the overzealous cab driver zoomed off to find another fare. I had barely slammed the door when he raced off, going to make another dollar in the Big Apple. I cursed as I tripped over the curb, almost snapping the heel off my shoe. The cold New York wind whipped my long hair across my face, stinging my cheeks. I swore that one day I was going to move, but nowhere else paid as much for Interior Design as New Yorkers did. I climbed the 9 stairs to the front door of my building where Arthur, the doorman, stood waiting.

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When I woke up, I panicked, almost choked on the collar around my throat. The leather dug into my windpipe as I jerked on the cold cement floor, hurting my shoulders and arms. My hands were cuffed behind my back, my naked body pressed to the floor sideways, as my legs, which were free, kicked wildly in a desperate attempt to get loose. I let out a feral scream, almost choking again on the thick leather around my neck.

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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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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 worked in an office for a manufacturing company. We made paper products. The building was offsite from the plant and there were only a few people in my office. The boss, or Queen Bee, as I thought of her, was a sharp blonde with a caustic demeanor. She was constantly trying to intimidate me and berated me when she felt moved to. I let her push me around. It turned me on to think of myself as submissive to a female boss lady.

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She met me at the airport. 'My boss, Mr Li,' (she pronounced it "Lee,") 'is very sorry he is not here to meet you personally. Something came up. He apologises, and hopes my coming in his place does not cause offence.' Large eyes dropped to the floor of the Arrivals Hall, as many of the other eyes, nearby, were on her, the cutie who was giving me the message. I couldn't imagine what she meant. If I had to choose between Li, a rather sneaky-looking rodent of a man I never really knew if I could trust, and this lovely little innocent, Miss Cheng ... I knew which one I'd take! (I didn't let her know this, of course.)

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