Your erotic stories

"Just because I come from a country town, and just because I speak kind of slow, doesn't mean that I'm stupid." I looked at the two men in the room with me. This was a different Tracy Bowman to the girl that they'd hired a week ago, the one with the good references from her previous employer that told them that she was a dedicated but not highly talented Para-legal, that she was a little shy, and while working well as part of a team, didn't tend to mix socially.

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I entered the office and walked to the receptionist. "Mr. Sam to see Ms. Goodhouse." The woman checked her book, nodded and told me to have a seat. The office was neat, efficient and quiet. I noticed that each time the door to Ms. Goodhouse's office opened she was either on the phone or giving orders to one of the secretaries that went in and out like worker ants in a colony. They were the ants and she was the queen. After waiting about 10 minutes, I was escorted into her office. I looked around, not a pencil out of place.

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After that little Halloween incident with my gynecologist, Dr. Markus DeShade and his band of kinky cohorts, he has been exceptionally nice to me. So has his wife Evelyn, although I think her interest is more on the Sapphic side. Tall, good-looking women tend to become attracted to me, as was the case with my German friend, Eva Reichman (see Cat's Discovery).

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To describe exactly why my stomach coiled and my heart rate increased when I saw him would be like trying to explain why the earth is round, or why Oranges don't have a more original name, or why, no matter how much gel I use, I can never get my hair to look like that model in the advertisement with the skateboard.

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My name is Kimmy and I was a college sophomore at the time. I'd just walked into the apartment I shared with my twin sister Karen. I found her sprawled on the front room floor next to her ex-boyfriend Roger. They were both naked. "What the hell are you doing here?"

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Her back was hurting. Kate would never admit that of course, but as she waited bent over at the waist, delicate wrists encased in the heavy wooden stocks, it was hard not to notice the tugging ache in the base of her spine. For the first few hours she had proudly kept her chin up, meeting the eyes of everyone that walked past.

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"Put a shot across her stern, Mr. Jacobs," Captain Seymour Butts yelled. "Uh, Captain, shouldn't that be across her bow?" "You can shoot them where you want them when you're Captain, Mr. Jacobs. However, since I'm the Captain, shoot them where I want them. They don't call me the Booty Pirate for nothing." "Aye, aye, sir." Mr. Jacobs replied as he rolled his eyes. This was taking an ass fetish a bit to far for his tastes.

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I started calling tattoo and piercing parlors after we hung up the phone this morning, and I found one in Orlando who sounded promising. It was Dungeon's Tattoos, owned by Master Michael. I had to ask carefully about what I wanted to know because all the kids were around me, but we managed to communicate well enough for me to find out it would be $35 for the piercing. He said under no circumstances could I be drunk during the piercing, so I got directions and called Cindy at work.

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This is a true story. At least it's the way I remember it. John and I had known each other since high school. He was a tall, dark, athletic and an extremely handsome "lady-killer". I never had a problem getting dates, but it was usually because I was John's best friend. Getting laid was a little harder, but sometimes the promise of a date with John would do the trick.

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Brad came to work for our company right out of college as a product specialist covering a three state area. He was tall and good looking, clean cut and hard working. He quickly made a positive impression on our customers, worked diligently and traveled extensively. His young wife Lori was a tall brunette with long legs, full natural breasts, a perfectly proportioned butt and a very pretty face.

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