Your erotic stories

Friday, October 30. 9:30ish. I say "9:30ish", but really I knew it was 9:23 pm, just like it was the last time I pushed back the gauntlet on my glove to check my watch. The TV above the bar said 9:27. God – David was such a flake.

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I saw him across the room being greeted by the host. I felt the blood drain from my face. I thought for a moment I was going to faint. I was attending the exhibition of a third rate painter's work, for which, as a freelance journalist, I was to write a review for a minor local paper. I had got sick of the sugary pink and white creations, and was standing around with a cocktail called, I believe, "A Landmine." It tasted of dishwater and kerosene.

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I've had this dream several times and now find, once in a while, the dream invading my daytime thoughts. I wonder if hubby has any idea of why I suddenly descend upon him in the middle of the night. I'm led naked into a room. The blindfold they have on me is secure but not tight. I can still see a little from out underneath the bottom of the blindfold.

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Amanda reclined on the couch, lost in her book as Greg bounded down the steps and headed for the door. A duffle bag containing his soccer gear was slung over his shoulder. "You're not going out to play soccer in this downpour, are you?" Amanda asked as she looked up from her book. Her voice tinged with a hint of annoyance. "Yup, you know the league plays rain or shine." Greg replied.

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Brian came home from an overseas working stint. He had been away from home for about 2 ½ years and had finally decided that he was due to have a vacation. He had been married before he left the country but his wife had filed for divorce while he had been overseas, as she had met someone else. He had written to his Mom and asked if he could stay with her on his holiday. Ruth was so pleased that she immediately wrote and got all the details of when he would be returning.

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Several years ago I was in Atlanta for a family reunion. After my shower, as I dried off and was naked in the motel bathroom, there was a tap on my door. It was the maid. I cracked the door open. She excused herself and said she would come later, but I told her that she could come in right away. I quickly hopped back into the bathroom and closed the door while she entered the room.

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As I walked into the city on the main street, Damrak, leading directly from Amsterdam's central train station, I nervously fingered the folded e-mail I'd been carrying tucked in my wallet for the past month and a half. Damrak changed into Rokin, and at the end of canal off the Amstel River, I made a right onto Heiligeweg.

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Sarah wiped her forehead. Almost done, she thought. Just these three more outfits to be marked and logged into the store's computer and she would be finished. And that wasn't good. She was glad to be at the end of these last three weeks, working from whenever she started until whenever she quit, but at the same time she was worried.

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I came in from work about noon on Friday. I had been gone for a little over two weeks. Pulling in the driveway, I noticed that my daughter's car was gone but her best friend's car was parked in front of the boat on the far side of the carport. You talk about a pair to draw to; those two were it. My daughter is tall, dark, and slender, Sissy is even taller, blonde, and equally as slender.

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More than a week passed before I was finally able to follow up with Rebecca's invitation from the CFNM party at Anna's home. I had tucked her card away in my wallet and did not even look at it until that time. I was surprised. The card read: Rebecca McLeish, PhD and gave me her contact info. The fact that she was a 'Doctor' was an interesting bit of news, but it helped motivate me to get back with this woman; she certainly had been exciting at the party and we'd hit it off wonderfully. I called her number.

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