Your erotic stories

Crack. The sound slices like a steel blade through the chatter of the conference room. Heads whip around, staring at me, while I stare at the broken glass of water. The glass of water I was supposed to bring. "Well don't just stand there, clean the bloody thing up." I bend down, black pencil skirt riding up slightly as I gingerly pick up the delicate shards of glass.

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Mark sat in his cubicle, hard at work. The monthly report on the department's finances, the production of which he had involvement in, was to be completed by Monday. Becky and Stan had already told him they were almost done with their part. No way am I going to mess us up. "Attention everyone," came a stern voice from the front of the office.

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To the average outsider, Paul had the world at his feet at the age of thirty. He'd been in charge of the entertainment agency since his father passed away four years earlier. He had a beautiful, spacious office that showed the city's skyline behind his desk, fine, mahogany furniture, with a imported leather couch in one corner. He drove a vintage Mercedes, lived in a dazzling condo in the best part of the city, and money seemed endless.

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When I was 19-20, I worked as a production assistant for a TV show which I won't name. It was not a huge deal. It was steadily successful in a small way, and is still on today. It was a fun job. Most PA jobs are not. You run shitty errands and never get appreciated. Usually the boss treats you like shit. This job was different. People were friendly.

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A meeting with the new boss, great. I hadn't met him yet so he called me away from my busy schedule just so I could meet with him. I hated meetings and was notorious for it, thinking they were usually a diversion from the task at hand. I walked down the hall toward his office, my face with an agitated grimace on it. Some of my co-workers caught on and began cracking jokes about it. "Mark Johnston," a sign on his office door proclaimed as I knocked.

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Ok, so here's the deal. My name is Marissa Adams, I'm 18 years old and I am a maid at a hotel/casino in Las Vegas. I'm not complaining, pay's good, my co-workers are great and I meet very interesting people and a few stars. Just last week Shaq was staying in the NBA Suite. But that's no where near the best part of my perfect job.

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Sheri was the center of attention and it pissed Brittney off. "Congratulations!" everyone told her at her promotion party. Brittney hung back and watched everyone kiss ass. The sad thing was that everyone knew why she was really getting promoted and it wasn't due to her work ethic. Sheri was a picture perfect blonde haired, blue eyed, perfect body woman in her mid thirties who all the guys adored and all the women wanted to be like. All except for Brittney that is.

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Bradley slammed the door to her room and leaned back against it, gasping for air. Shit, shit, shit. She held out her hands -- they were shaking. She couldn't believe she'd just had a screaming match with her employer. For the past two months she and Parker MacKenzie had coexisted peacefully in the large, empty house. She cleaned and looked after the grounds, and he spent all his time in his office working.

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Greg sat in his office smiling. He could not believe his luck. The 44 year old electrical contractor had been given the CCTV system by one of his customers. The installation of the cameras was easy. He and one of his electricians had mounted the five cameras up in the various areas of the office and had the entire system up and running in less than two hours. He had no idea the benefits that this thing would reap until now.

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When it was time for me to go to university my father arranged for me to stay with my aunt and uncle. They lived in this real big place, quite posh, it was. Aunt did all the housework herself and she was an excellent cook. They had a gardener in once a fortnight to keep the gardens and lawn under control.

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