Your erotic stories

The next day I had no classes. Thank god. I tried staying in bed, hoping that everything had transpired over the last week would simply cease to exist. My reverie was cut short by a burst from the telephone which was sitting way to close to my pillow for comfort. Unwittingly, I answered, still weary from the prior evening, "Hello?"

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I guess I didn't know what I needed to set me free. When it finally came, it wasn't really like being forced, or made to give in to his desires. In fact, the whole night was more like living out a dream; it was strange, a little scary, and always threatening to come apart, exposing itself either as false or worse, as real and inescapable. But, it was the most difficult sexual adventure we've ever taken together, and I think it's what allows our marriage to work, as strange as that sounds.

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Chapter 1 -"No!" My shriek got my friends' and some strangers' attention in the waterpark. "What's up?" Cody asked with scrunched up brows. He looks like a cute little puppy with that concerned face. That along with his boy-next-door look always got attention from the women. "I can't find my bikini anywhere!" I half-sob, half-shriek with a frown on my face. "This is all your fault."

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I was busy with my usual Monday morning office routine, sipping coffee, browsing a large stack of phone messages and sorting through my email. Five messages were from Cal Ryder, sleazebag journalist for the local news. What the hell could he want that's so important, I thought. As the mayor of a large midwest city, I was used to calls from the local paper, but it wasn't often that I would get a call from Cal.

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Thinking back on it now, I guess it was because I was pissed off with Jeff that I let it happen. We'd argued that morning. I can't even remember what about. He wasn't my favourite person right then. "Bedrooms upstairs," the assistant estate agent said – the older of the two, clearly the junior of the team. Dick Glover, of Glover and Glover Real Estate Agents, looked the part: sharp creases, white teeth, lot of bowing, sparkling eyes.

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It had been a rough week. Fighting with the wife had made my night life quite quiet. To top it all off she had decided to go and visit her mother for the weekend. She must have been really pissed off as she told our daughter that she could have one of her college friends spend the night. I wasn't really impressed as I was now responsible for the two of them and all their miscreant behaviors.

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The second estate agent was in his forties. He had a heavy, ponderous look about him and a blue shadow round his jaws as if her were poorly shaved. His name was Cheetham. It was he who watched her. She looked to be early twenties, seemed nervous, as if she was unsure of herself. They'd been married three months. The husband's name was Christopher. He was in a wheel chair.

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"Let the game begin!" the Gamemaster shouted. The girl opened her eyes and looked quickly from side to side. One of the warlocks took this as a cue to let out a spontaneous: "Welcome to the feast princess." Followed by a mocking laugh. The girl was quick to join up on that track.

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Prologue The Right Hon Mrs Grace de Vere Cobblehaugh sighed deeply. Mrs Cobblehaugh (pronounced "cobbler") was not happy. Yet why should this be? The heiress to the vast de Vere estate had every right to be content with her lot. After all, she was a beautiful, intelligent woman with a handsome, dashing husband. It was a glorious summer day in 1895, and the lawn outside her holiday cottage stretched down to a pretty little river.

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Jeannie and I were just hanging out around the pool like most 18-year olds do the first summer after they leave high school, but before they land a job or run off to college for the next four years. Jeannie and I had plans for Berkley. Together. We did everything together and had since we were children. We even wore the same clothing. Perfect size 10s in a world that valued size 4s.

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