Your erotic stories

Tuesday night. Quiet. I am sitting in an overstuffed striped chair by the window, a streetlight spreading a candle like glow over the pages of the book I’m reading. Hardly anyone here and it is quiet, except for the sound of my stockings scraping against each other when I shift my thighs, which I am doing frequently, given the content of the book I am reading. My face is warm with arousal, I’m torn between raising the book to hide myself and lowering it to hide the cover, embarrassed at what I am reading, but too absorbed in the stories to put it down.

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