Your erotic stories

"You may enter the room now, sir." A pause. "Sir...Daniel?" I was off in my own little world, oblivious of the kind voice speaking to me. "I'm sorry," I offered, snapping back into the current reality. My eyes focused on the receptionist, a warm, middle-aged woman, smiling understandably at me.

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The white cotton fabric of her panties made a scratching sound as it rubbed hard against her pubic hair. Wet heat was penetrating the only barrier to the pussy I had dreamed about since I was sixteen. The situation had deemed it necessary for hard, rough kissing. Our tongues were battling, roughing the other up, our mouths had become instruments for something other than verbal communication; instead it was a primal and taboo language we were speaking.

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When I was a junior in college, I got a part-time job doing computer work at a small consulting firm. It was a friendly, informal group - the founder, a handful of consultants, the office secretary, and me. The secretary, Patty, quickly became the object of many of my fantasies. She was in her early 40's, with short chestnut brown hair, green eyes, maybe 5'4", and slim, but voluptuously curvy. She was divorced and the mother of a teenage boy. We hit it off well, and quickly became friendly.

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"I'll try a 30 point question," Heather said. Jake drew a card from the thirty point stack. "What option do you want?" he asked. She pondered for a moment. "I'll take touch". "Ok, lie in the bathtub and let your partner pee on you." She made a face of disgust. "Ew! For thirty points! I don't think so!"

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Sitting in the airport is never much fun, regardless of the reason behind traveling. I'm a seasoned traveler though and even despite all of the new security measures and increasing delays, it seems that I'm at the airport more often now than not. In fact, with my relatively new job, I'm traveling more now than ever. But who's complaining, right? After all, it's putting food on the table. I've never been one to complain too much anyway.

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