Your erotic stories

Thursday August 14th started like any other day. My morning commute to work was uneventful, and the day itself was slow. My job as a financial analyst in mid-town Manhattan keeps me pretty busy, arriving early and usually leaving late. Most days I do not get to leave until 7:00 pm or so, but this day turned out differently.

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Jen's feet hurt, her legs were cramped, and she had to pee so bad she thought her back teeth were floating. She was beyond pissed, way beyond. The pressure in her bladder increased another degree, and a gnat started buzzing her nose. She tried to blow it away, but every time she did, the dam in her holding back the urine threatened to burst.

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Another sleepless night, the dark enveloping me like a lover’s embrace. My mind wouldn’t let me sleep; Aaron Black’s cock was ripping through my pussy and brain over and over. His muscles, his face, the power in those cold, cold eyes, they all haunted me.

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When I awoke this morning I immediately craved you. I let myself go to make love to you. I awoke facing you, looking into your beautiful face, your eyes opened, smiling into mine. I reached out, stroking your cheek, tears of joy in my eyes. We pulled closer to each other, holding, touching, silent but for our breath. Exploring, feeling, needing.

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Like many college students I take classes at all hours, after working a long day, I have night classes to face. All those subjects I never wanted to take, but have to, or I don’t get that beloved piece of paper that says I’m qualified to do my job. We park in deserted lots, huge fields of cement, that blend with the darkness as if waiting for the night to come.

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"There," she thought, admiring herself in the mirror. A cross stood out proudly on her chest, executed in black, cloth tape, the arms of the adhesive crucifix covering much of her breasts, the rest extending down her sternum to her belly. She adjusted her Catholic-school skirt, and reached for the makeshift headpiece with which she completed her revealing nun's habit.

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We've all seem them; an object of nostalgia and whimsy. It is a jewelry box, a place to keep secret and personal things, sitting on the vanity table of a particular kind of woman. There is the lingering hint of some perfume, a subtle reminder of the elegance of it's owner. It is the color of ivory, picked out in silver or perhaps gold, the edges frilled or otherwise decorated to soften the lines.

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Carolyn was a slut. I don’t like to use the word, but it fit her perfectly. She had a reputation in high school for giving it up to any guy who wanted it, but as far as I could tell not many guys claimed to have taken her up on it. She had an older sister who had graduated the year before, and the stories about her were even more widespread (pardon the pun) so I suspected that some of it was hand-me-down reputation.

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"You are a fucking whore!" His eyes blazed as he glared down at me and a reached up to grab his shirt. "Baby, wait it is not what you think...." I started as he shoved me away from him. "You were all over those guys on the dance floor! I saw with my own eyes, I am not fucking blind!" He stalked into the corner of the room and out the exit. I looked around the crowded club, only a few people close had noticed anything and they returned to dancing.

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I heard the door close downstairs. "Did you remember the bread?" I called down to her. "Shit! No, I'll go back." I knew she was tired but her voice said more. She was exhausted. I stood up and went down. "That's okay," I told her. "I'm out of beer anyway." I pulled my jacket from the chair where I usually 'hang' it. "Do we need anything else?" I do most of the shopping anyway, so I was pretty sure we didn't need anything critical. Still, she might want something.

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