Your erotic stories

Chapter 1 Over Christmas and New Years, our neighbors took a holiday in the warmer climes, I certainly can't blame them; here in Wisconsin, it's cold. Their son, Rick, who'd just gone off to college, was not expected to be around with any consistency so they asked me if I would water plants and bring in the mail and such which I was happy to do.

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I had watched her for months now from my second story window. She was everything a man could ever desire. Her chestnut locks cascaded down her back like a mane. Her eyes were miles deep, and looking into them one could see the fires burning within. She always dressed to impress, or to tease. I couldn't be sure, but no one could call her career wear conservative. She always wore heels that made her legs look miles long. The necklines plunged to depths that no man could ever ignore. She always seemed to be rushing, late, so the glimpses I got were always brief.

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As a high level executive, I work very long hours. I am a total professional, conservative, hardworking, prim and proper. My entire clothing wardrobe is tailored, expensive and high quality. My entire life is careful and deliberate, including my private life. My social circle is chosen carefully to network both the business and myself. I am always in control -- of myself and of the situation.

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Joe rushed into my office and asked, "Simon, have you heard the bad news?" "What bad news is that Joe?" I asked with a quite audible sigh. "The new boss starting next week, Chris Smale?" "Yes I know that Joe, Chris Smale, the mystery man, what about him?" "It's Christine Smale not Christopher, our new boss is a female." Joe said with a look of disgust on his face.

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I was 20 years old and had been going out with my girlfriend for about 9 months. Everyone thought I was straight, and although I had never really acted on it, I had often had gay thoughts and wanked over other men. So when my girlfriend told me that she wanted to fuck my arse with a strap on, I was interested.

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"Oh c'mon Tracey - Tom's a professional, or at least he could have been. He was well on his way to being a Certified Physical Therapist/Sports Trainer until I got a hold of him. That's how we met. He's very good with legs and hips. Besides George doesn't mind - do you?" Kim chided her friends husband.

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I'm out running alone, along the river road. It's a beautiful warm sunny day out, and I'm feeling great. Wearing a T-shirt and a pair of tight black spandex shorts. I stop to stretch at an overlook, and feel the sweat bead up and run down my tight leg. If only there was someone else there who appreciated the sight. "Having a good workout?" asks a masculine voice behind me.

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I heard my sister's boyfriend's car pull up into the driveway. I was in the house alone watching some DVDs while my sister was gone. Our parents happen to be away for the weekend on their second honeymoon. I couldn't focus on the movie because I was worried about my sister. Ten minutes went by and she still hadn't entered the house. I got kind of curious as to why she didn't come in yet since I didn't hear the car pull out of the driveway. To satisfy my curiosity, I decided to go outside and check.

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Rob Barton arrived home from work to find a letter stuffed beneath his door. After reading what was in it, he was in a mild state of disbelief. The thirty eight year old 'Resident Manager' of the small, two building apartment complex was thirty days away from losing his two favorite tenants. The prospect of which had left him feeling more than a little depressed. He went to his filing cabinet and pulled out the packet of forms that he would have to present to the pair of them.

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As might be expected, dinner that evening at the DeVries household was somewhat awkward. Christopher picked hesitantly at his pasta, not trusting his stomach. He just couldn't settle down. His heart would palpitate for twenty minutes at a stretch, and just as he'd start to relax he'd think of the delights he might earn in the next few months, and the whole process began again. He was getting exhausted just sitting.

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