Your erotic stories

“I hate doing laundry!” Emma snapped, storming into her flat and slamming the front door behind her. “Emma!” Rachel groaned, lifting her head from the sofa, “You woke me up…” “Don’t expect me to have any sympathy for you.” “Be nice to me. I’m not feeling well.”

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He had seen her several times before. She came into the shop, browsed around. However, he had always been with a customer or on the phone. She had always made her choices, paid for them, and left before he had a chance to even say hello. She walked out the door and out of his life dozens of times and he was always left disappointed.

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I woke up when some fluid hit my face, then I smelt it. It was piss. Where the hell was I? Then two parts of darkness parted and I saw a face looking at me. "Bonjour bonjour. En plein de vos la bouche je vous en prie." So I opened my mouth and the piss squirted in. I just had to gulp it down. It tasted salty, I had forgotten the taste.

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The invitation had said the dress code was formal. For Kate Spencer, that meant the deliciously pleasurable prospect of a ballroom filled with tuxedo clad men. Emerging from her bubble bath, soft, warm and fragrant, she relished the thought, her eyes shining with excitement. Tonight she would attend the award giving ceremony of Independent Film Awards in her official capacity as Chief Executive Officer of her very own casting agency.

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My father was doing roaring business selling oil seeds in Gulburga, before shifting the family to Mumbai after my only sister got married. Our new house in New Bombay was luxurious to say the least and my father was making more money, quicker than what he did in our hometown, thanks to his new passion in the stock market. My mother who used to be a timid housewife at Gulburga soon started changing herself to the surroundings of Mumbai and within a couple of years after reaching Mumbai, my mother looked like a typical Mumbai modern lady with her short hair and excessive cosmetics.

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"329, 331, 333..." I muttered to myself, reading the numbers off the doors as I made my way down the narrow hotel hallway. I could almost hear the sound of my own nervous heartbeat over the quiet buzzing of a nearby ice machine as I pushed my hand into my pocket to pull out a folded, crumpled piece of paper. Cursing myself for the inability to calm my shaking nerves, I unfolded the small parchment and read the number scrawled upon it.

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(Item: Lyle Alan Buhr, convicted sex offender escaped today from the Barton County Jail in Nevada, Missouri. Buhr, who is a white male, 26 years old, 5" 11" , 190 lbs has been convicted in the 2001 rape and sodomy of a Monette couple during a home invasion. He is considered dangerous and anyone having information regarding his whereabouts is asked to contact the Barton County Sheriff.)

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Chapter One: New York City to Albany. The Port Authority Bus Terminal in New York City, circa 1971, was a very cold and sinister place to hang around, and I made it a point to spend as little time as possible there while waiting for my bus. I was 18 years old and alone, and while I had grown familiar enough with the city to navigate to and from my Aunt Elle's home in Queens, once I entered that dank and dismal bus terminal, I kept to myself as much as possible, and held onto my gym bag very tightly.

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Like I said, I was sitting at this slot machine, more or less blindly pushing the buttons and listening to it go "Clank clank clank." I like that one machine, it is 3 bucks a push of the button, it has the 5 times pay things and if I manage to get two of them it's 25 times pay which is a pretty good chunk of change if it ever pays off. The last reel respins, too, that is fun but the first two reels have to be lined up first.

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From deep in the bowels of Hell, the Prince of Darkness releases his hordes of foul, evil and dysfunctional minions bred for the sole purpose of showing up to roommate interviews. And I, Theodore, the legal head of household, must sit here through each horrifying, grueling one on one session with these abominations and remain cordial, collected and most of all, patient. They range from militant bull dykes to future residents of Death Row, closet Pyromaniacs, far-too-energetic athlete types, big, drunk bullies and I even had a bookworm shut-in who was possibly a mild agoraphobic.

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