Your erotic stories

"329, 331, 333..." I muttered to myself, reading the numbers off the doors as I made my way down the narrow hotel hallway. I could almost hear the sound of my own nervous heartbeat over the quiet buzzing of a nearby ice machine as I pushed my hand into my pocket to pull out a folded, crumpled piece of paper. Cursing myself for the inability to calm my shaking nerves, I unfolded the small parchment and read the number scrawled upon it.

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Like so many of his colleagues, David Smith was worried about his future in hard economic times. It was not that he was no good at his job, or that he felt vulnerable compared to all the other guys in the office, but rumours were that the business might be "downsizing" and some cuts might be inevitable. As usual, management weren't exactly forthcoming by way of reassurance -- workers scared for their jobs work twice as hard.

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I had been dating Doug, a big, blonde, football player, for about a month. Though he wasn't the sharpest crayon in the box, he was handsome and popular, and fun in bed. One evening, close to the end of term, I swung by his apartment to see if he wanted to go and grab something to eat. I was surprised when Doug's roommate, Warren, answered the door. He was hardly ever home.

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Meredith was excited. She had lived all of her life in a small town; only ever catching echoes of other cultures, with no direct experience. Now she had been given the opportunity to travel abroad and have firsthand experience of another culture. At least, as much as one could between lectures at a professional conference. It was intimidating and exhilarating at the same time.

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Kayla sat at the kitchen table fuming. She had intended to ask her husband about it last night, and then this morning, but she couldn't bring herself to go there. Part of it was that she was terrified of the answer. What would she do if her husband was fucking his secretary? She remembered her father telling her mother that he had fallen in love with his secretary, and she didn't want to be her mother. The words still pissed her off. She wasn't about to give her husband, Marty, the chance to tell her he had "fallen in love" with that cow of a secretary. He might be fucking her, but it wasn't love.

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The last thing I expected to see when I got home was my girlfriend naked on our bed, her legs spread wide, her own tits in her hands and her fingers pinching her nipples. The most surprising part of it, though, was that face down in her crotch was a guy that wasn't me. He was eating her madly, his hands under her ass, holding her to him.

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So, this is it, I thought to myself. I had not told my wife of this plan, of course. It was not something that I cared to share with her. Then again, I didn't share much at all with her anymore, except for our last names. She had made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with my "kinky stuff". That included spanking her, tying her up, and generally having my way with her. She was much more conservative than I turned out to be.

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For the life of her, Fiona Barrymore could not imagine why she kept attending these things. She had been with Spicer Industries for longer than she cared to remember, working her way up from receptionist to senior vice-president, and yet she could not remember a single Christmas party that was anything more than a wonderful cure for insomnia.

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Heather walked into the quiet little coffee shop that day to meet her best friend Shannon, noticing immediately that she had claimed a booth in the back. "Heather! I'm so glad you could come and meet me on such short notice! Please come and sit down." "No offense, Shannon, but this had better be as important as you said it was. I had to reschedule some very important meetings to come here today and my boss is oh, so pissed."

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The parties that went on at 69 Brentwood Street were legendary. When Luke Prescott received the invitation email by Blackberry during his final year at NYU, he had high expectations. The house was a three-storey brownstone on the Upper East Side, and was being rented by three of the hottest girls in university. Kendra, Lacey and Chloe were commonly referred to around campus as 'The Babes on Brentwood.'

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