Your erotic stories

Like most college students, I've found it necessary to have a part-time job to make it through the month. My parents don't have a lot of money, so I've pretty much been out on my own since I was 18. I've been working since 15. But that's beside the point.Currently, I'm employed at a local ice cream place, and almost everyone I work with is in high school. Almost.

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Okay, so this is a one shot with no future installments (a first) and (drum roll please) my first mm romance. I really hope you guys like this since I plan to have a LOT more mm romances, because I mean seriously the only thing better than one hot hunky guy are two hot hunky guys getting it on. So please point out anything I got wrong, or things you'd like improved. Edited by the fabulous AdriannaBelen, beta read by Nikki E. Comment and rate.

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Part 1 The metal bar banged and shook as the 45-pound plates slammed onto the floor. "AAARRRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!" I raised my eyebrow and watched Ethan wipe the sweat from his forehead. "Damn. You ARE pissed today." He sighed, adding more metal plates to the bar without a word. "Lemme guess. Lilly?"

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A single lock of hair half-clings to your sweat-soaked forehead. I've fucked you with an untapped rage for the past hour, simply daring you to cum before I'm satisfied. Your lips, swollen from my savage kisses and the bottom split from a passionate bite, beg me to let you cum.

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For a moment when she woke up the next morning Dana was confused. She was alone in her bed. Had the previous night been just a wild, intense dream? From the aching of her head she knew that her drinking hadn't been a dream. It had all seemed so real, but where was Mike? Had he been so freaked out when he sobered up and woke up beside his mom that he ran out of the apartment?

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The call came in that some computer work was needed for the company's most expensive client. The Jordans were the wealthiest family in the state and had been for generations. They were known as "old money", the family wealth coming from long years of shrewd business. They were also somewhat reclusive; the only one ever actually seen was Mr. Jordan when he went to and from the city on business and the wife almost never seen. From those that worked for them, the Jordans were said to be aloof and haughty, the wife bossy and controlling.

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Paul had a little trouble finding Kaylee's apartment building and he was almost twenty minutes late by the time he finally reached her door. It was bad enough being flustered by having taken a wrong turn while following the directions he had been given but, as he pressed the doorbell, he discovered he was distinctly nervous indeed. Kaylee's website specified several massage specialties but, although the text was suitably noncommittal and vague, it was clear that they were all of the more erotic variety.

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She had shoulder length blond-brown hair that the sun had bleached to almost platinum on the top. Her body was slender with curves that were sweeping rather than dramatic and she had just a slight swell of a belly that added to the allure in the same way that a slightly asymmetrical rose seems more real than one that is perfect. Her eyes were the blue-green of deep water and she had a small impish nose that turned up slightly near the tip like one of those Turkish slippers you see harem girls wear in old Hollywood movies.

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My fortieth birthday had just gone by the previous week, with quite a fanfare of celebration. The years just seemed to have flown by. I sat back at my desk in the basement and reminisced the last twenty years. Moreover, perhaps puzzling what changes I should have made, if any at all. Or would all that had gone on this last month be an indication of the next decade. My teenage life was uneventful, I had a few girlfriends but nothing much happened until I was nineteen, then Jane appeared on the scene.

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This is another Chapter of Carol's Series. I'm an "amateur" writer and, in addition, English is not my mother tongue. To write a single Chapter requires a big effort, from me: long time and language's difficulties. Therefore, let me ask, please, to judge my writing on the basis of its "contents" (if you like it or not) and not from an aesthetic or "formal" point of view.

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