Your erotic stories

I was in Montreal on business, though this day certainly wouldn't be as arduous as others. A client of mine had invited me and 100 of his closest friends to celebrate the purchase of his fourth home. Known for his extravagant tastes (usually quite urban), this house was surprisingly located on Lake St. Louis in Beaconsfield—an upscale, but very private area.

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Mack Thompson had just returned to his hotel room following an intense workout at the fitness center and swimming pool. He was in town for a conference and had arrived a day early. At 30 years old he was the picture of health and could have been the poster guy for a fitness club. Mack stood at 6'2" and weighed a chiseled 190 pounds. He had light brown hair that he always kept short and hazel eyes. He loved to play golf, ski and swim in addition to his routine gym workouts.

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Metallic grey skies had hung over London for days before finally bursting into hours of torrential rain. Tom felt his spirits dampen beyond retrieval. He had been walking in Regent's Park, the grim weather keeping it almost empty; now he needed some resolution to his mood. It was either Mozart on the South Bank or the whores out East.

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Crack. The sound slices like a steel blade through the chatter of the conference room. Heads whip around, staring at me, while I stare at the broken glass of water. The glass of water I was supposed to bring. "Well don't just stand there, clean the bloody thing up." I bend down, black pencil skirt riding up slightly as I gingerly pick up the delicate shards of glass.

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Life is a strange thing. Just when you think you've got it figured out, it throws you a curveball. My wife, Kara, is an extremely beautiful girl with long blonde hair and a toned tan body. She also happens to be extremely modest in the bedroom. Whenever we try something new I'm always the one making the suggestion.

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Officer Christopher Milling took his job very seriously. He was a young 24 years old, he worked out everyday, ate healthy, and he wanted to make a difference. Despite of, or because, of his white trash upbringing. No one had ever encouraged him to be anything more than trailer trash, except his sister, Anna.

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He touched my back. A small touch. To anyone watching it would appear to be an accident. I stifled the sigh I felt wanted to escape at that touch. Now was not the time nor the place for such gestures. I frowned at him and worked my way towards the bar. "Jack and Coke," I told the bartender. The bar wasn't exactly packed, but there were a number of people milling around.

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"The ocean is so beautiful. I wish I could stay out here all night." Cadence said, snuggling closer to her man. She sat and watched as the beautiful sunset was slowly dipping below the horizon. To her right the lifeguard was closing shop in his hut, leaving them alone on the beach. Most of the other people had already left; on occasion a couple would walk by, completely absorbed in each other.

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Returning to school after summer vacation is always a tremendous bummer. As Britney Wilcox pressed the small red button on her car key, she sighed with a slight hint of despair as her 2009 Corvette convertible's anti-theft system armed. Though this was the first day of her final year of high school, the eighteen year old would much rather be elsewhere;

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It was a brisk fall day. I pulled the zipper on my jacket up as far as it could go, right up to my neck. Even with a big sweater on underneath my windbreaker, I was still pretty damned cold. It was 10:25 am and my sole class of the day started in 5 minutes.

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