Your erotic stories

In the spring of 1969 I landed a job as the overnight DJ on a radio station in Seattle. I was the only person in the station during most of my shift and enjoyed talking to listeners who called to request songs or just wanted to talk to someone. One of my regular callers, Kristy, had a pleasant voice and a thing for a particular Linda Ronstadt song. She would call two or three times a week for that song, telling me that she couldn't get to sleep unless she heard it.

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"I don't understand it," Gem said with growing irritation. She checked her watch for the tenth time in three minutes. "The girls should have been here by now." "Relax, baby," Ron purred in her ear. He had come up behind her as she stood looking out the window, and was now running a hand over her rounded butt cheek through the fabric of the short skirt she was wearing. Gem was five and a half feet tall, with long, honeyed hair, hazel eyes, full breasts and a body well-toned from regular exercise.

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I've been working down on the south side of Corpus, for about a year and a half. I was going all the way to the east side of town to have a beer. It had taken me several months to find a bar that I felt safe and welcome in. One problem was the distance and the cops and the other was that I wanted to practice my darts but no one wanted to play. The only time the dart boards were used was on league play nights and that was for team members only.

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So after the back seat experience with Tara, Rob and Trevor, (See my story "Tight Places") it had been pretty routine. It was back to the grind with school and Trevor and I had hung out a few more times and slept together, but nothing noteworthy. Tara had gotten a job on campus and I had not been seeing too much of her with our busy class schedule. So when an evening became available when both of us had no plans we jumped at the chance to do something. Being boorish, we had decided to go over to Rob's and hang out.

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You have a better chance of appreciating this story if you have a large closet full of dresses that were carefully chosen to look professional and a small drawer of lace and silk originally intended for your husband alone. If you're a man who wants me to swallow a big load of cum by the second paragraph, then you'll get along with my husband; but you'll have to look elsewhere for a story. Even in my husband's stories, I never seem to get laid by another man (or women) until the bottom of the first page or the top of the second.

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My job is something most people wouldn't understand. I am in stress management. Companies call me in when the stress level of their employees becomes an issue. I am happy with my job. I make lots of money and enjoy what I do. Today I am dressed in black thigh highs, a tight black skirt and a very low cut red sweater that clings in all the right places. My hair is in a French twist, my makeup applied perfectly. I smile at myself in the mirror as I turn and get ready to leave.

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Tough to know where to start this story - in media res, as it were, I suppose; the dramatis personae: me, my girlfriend Selene, and a girl named Pam, a friend of mine first and ours later. Selene was a small and buxom redhead, with a peaches and cream complexion and a body the old masters would have brawled to get to - five feet two, long red curls, Irish eyes with a tiny determined chin that quivered when she was sad and jutted when she was angry;

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As he departed his office, Brian Miller noticed that the wind was blowing harder than he thought. He should have left sooner, but wanted to make certain the Ford Enterprises Gulf Coast office was secure. An inconsiderate Category 2 hurricane was approaching and had chosen late evening to arrive. The building had survived previous storms and would, no doubt, make it through this one. But still, the hatches had to be battened down.

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I sat at the casino bar all morning and into the afternoon. Even though I looked old enough to drink, I was sure the only reason I wasn't asked to leave was because I ordered only soda, and I probably looked like I'd been through enough grief. I didn't talk to anyone, and they quickly understood it did no good to try. My eyes were fixed on the floor behind the bar, but I saw nothing. I didn't even notice the bartender shift changes until I snapped out of it around 4pm. I had been sitting in the same spot all day.

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She didn't need to see him. She didn't want to. She trusted her partner after all as he knew her as intimately as anyone had ever known her. Instead she could sense him, sense him enter the bedroom behind her as she knelt on the bed and ran her hands over Dave, her partner. She liked him to be still whilst she massaged him, to 'give' to him, to feel his reactions and hear his involuntary murmurs as her hands explored his every contour.

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