Your erotic stories

Wine, Peg's father used to say, is a double-edged sword. As a child, she'd puzzled over how anything liquid could be simultaneously solid and with a sharp edge no less, but now she knew better. The lowering of inhibitions, the loosening of tongues, the enhancement of whatever mood you happened to be in -- these were the actions of wine, for good or for ill. Inhibitions kept you from doing or saying the things you might regret, but they could also stand in the way of trying something new and exciting.

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I first met Preeti while I was working for a customer of mine and noticed her immediately as being a very attractive young girl. I had always liked East Indian women and she had all the qualities that made me feel that way, including her perfect smooth soft skin, jet-black hair and her slim, but full figured body. We chatted a lot the day I first met her and I knew that she liked me and she also knew that I found her attractive.

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For some reason my parents had my sister and me far apart. I was now thirty-three and Abby was twenty-two. I guess you could say there was a mistake along the way. I also didn't see my sister very often. That was about to change. Abby called me recently and asked if she could visit. I thought it might be a good idea to get a little closer to my younger sister, so I told her to come and stay.

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Back in 1971, I was a rather naive 18 year old, but one summer afternoon I discovered a whole lot about human nature, as well as learning a valuable lesson. Never judge a book by the cover. It was mid-morning on a weekday afternoon. The sun was hot and with high school already a fading memory, I was doing what most of my crowd did that summer before heading to college, which was hanging out.

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I work as a saleswoman for a company that markets adult products. The pay is low, the travel constant and the hours unsociable. But it's all I can get at the moment. Mostly it's parties or fundraisers I go to, usually held in someone's home. The fundraisers are nearly always mixed events. Although I sell more this way, I don't look forward to them.

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Jennie was a brat; an eighteen year old well developed brat, but a brat nonetheless. She didn't really mean to be a brat, but she really disliked being told what to do. She especially disliked being told what to do by her mother's boyfriend. He really was a nice guy who had inherited her as a dependent by virtue of being with her mother. He just had different ideas on raising kids, especially a teen daughter, than her mother did.

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Katrina purred contently as she stretched out on her plush sofa waiting for her fiancé Bret to come home. It had been nearly a week since the last time she'd seen him and they'd only been together long enough for a nooner before his work dragged him across state lines and away from her bed but he was going to be back soon and he was going to lose his mind when he saw her.

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Things were going great at the office, we were making a ton of money and I had moved into managment as Mark's right hand man. We had closed deals that usually never were closed and things were going crazy. Mark had set up an office party that promised to be a huge blow-out. He rearranged the top floor of our building to make it one open area with food, a bar, dance floor, and a jazz band.

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In the end, it was easy. A young man, full of the dewy, visceral urges of youth; his lust controlled him... we simply catered to his lust. Gods, he was a beautiful sight - dark hair, streaked with sun, casually flowing down in waves over his shoulders... smoky, soulful mocha eyes that gave away his every emotion, and all the struggles within; including when he finally lost those battles...

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Isobel and Armand would be amused if they knew that I had been seeing a 'shrink'. They always used to think me such a strait-laced, even bourgeois little girl: a perfect English rose. But they shouldn't be so surprised because it was they who set me on the path that led to Dr Damon's door. And often, as I'm lying on his couch, sharing with him my innermost feelings about life and love and relating to him my dreams and fantasies, I often say a silent prayer of thanks to them.

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