Your erotic stories

Chapter 1 Okay, okay, let's get the laughs over with right now. "Short" career? Just how short is it? Ha, ha. Okay, ready for the real story now? My name is Marty Green, I work for an advertising agency as an account representative so I'm basically a prostitute. I knew you'd say it if I didn't.

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Hello my name is Charlize Waters. Everyone calls me Charlie. I'm quickly approaching 30 years of age and dreading it. The big 3 0. I've been pulling gray hairs out of my hair brush for the last year. I'm also noticing lines on my forehead whenever I look in the mirror. Some might say that 30 isn't old at all, but you have a tendency to feel old when the majority of your co-workers don't know who the Fraggles were and can't legally buy alcohol. I work in a college town in a store that sells textbooks and apparel for the college.

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"Is that too tight?" I asked. Sandra tried to move her wrists and was satisfied that she still had circulation, "No, no, that's fine." "Alright then, let's go, we've got a lot of miles to cover and I'd like to get on the road." I firmly griped her upper arm and escorted her to my Ford Bronco outside. She hesitated at the door of her tiny apartment and held the cuffs up, "the neighbors." I took a jean jacket she had hanging on a coat tree and draped it over her cuffed wrists.

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Ricky is simply a superb lover. He treats me to the best sexual experiences I have ever had. I get throbbing hard and dreamy-eyed when I think about having Ricky inside me. This is an account of how it goes down when we get together for some fun. Usually we'll chill on a Friday night at home, have a few cold Coronas and pop in a video. We like to kick back on Ricky's black leather sofa, usually just in athletic shorts, no underwear.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a stand-alone story but the characters are the same I used in my story 'Get A Room'. It's not a sequel but more another episode of the same show. Let me know what you think about it. - Rose * "What do you think you're doing, young lady?" The deep, booming voice sounded angry.

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"You still trying to seduce my husband?" Mrs. Anderson whispered. "I thought I told you to fill up those cups with ice?" Sara jumped. The older woman had snuck up right behind her, pinning her to the table without making a sound. "I'm not - I'm not" Sara stammered. "Sed. . ." The thought had never crossed her mind.

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It was the summer of 1976 and I was vacationing with my family in one of several log cabins that were part of an aging camp constructed in the Thirties on the shore of Lake Michigan. Each morning after breakfast I would set out combing the endless beach collecting stones and driftwood, enjoying the waves rolling over my bare feet.

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The chill October breeze sent a shiver through my body as I closed the front door of my parents' house who I had been visiting that evening. As I locked the mortice, I heard a sound to my left. I looked round and, in the frame of light created by the open front door of the neighbouring house, I saw, over the dividing fence, my 'childhood sweetheart' struggling to manoeuvre a large fridge/freezer over the precipice of the doorstep.

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Megan and I had gone to Chicago to visit her friend Amanda. We stopped on our way back from a family reunion in Cape Cod, when I'd sort of freaked out and given up on our relationship. We'd fought a lot during that week, but were still together and going through with our plans to visit her friend. One of the nights we went out to a bar with Amanda and her roommate Jen.

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She came the same time every morning. She would enter the dark stable, her long skirt rustling as she walked. She never smiled and never said so much as a "good morning." She would ask for her horse and I would hold the reins as she mounted the chestnut stallion. She never needed help getting on the animal. She would throw one muscular leg over the saddle and pull herself into position. Taking the reins from me, she would thank me and then gallop off into the early morning.

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