Your erotic stories

It was the night before Christmas eve, the night of the office Christmas "do" - my least favourite night of the year. It was already dark at around three thirty when I finally managed to slip away from the manufactured merriment in the stuffy and overcrowded Board room. I donned my coat, stealthily dashed up the stairs and headed for my usual 1st floor hideaway.

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So here it was, Thanksgiving Day, and I found myself in a strange man's bathroom, with my pantyhose pulled down around my knees, my dress hiked up over my hips, and that strange man's cock sliding in and out of my pussy. Well, in truth, he wasn't a complete stranger ... he was my boyfriend's father and I had met him two hours prior. But I'm getting ahead of myself, let me start at the beginning.

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The large house was silent except for the sound of Jennifer and Nicole's footsteps on the tile floor. Everywhere they looked, elegant Christmas decorations adorned the walls. They turned into a lavish living room and saw a single occupant—a fellow teacher named Cheryl—sitting next to an eight foot Christmas tree.

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It was the day before Thanksgiving. Denise was happy that the four-day school break was finally here. It had been a rough last few weeks trying to get her high school students to comprehend the World History material. She looked forward to dinner with the family the next day, and then lots of holiday shopping!

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The twins could see the distant vehicle coming up the mountain road towards the house. They looked at each other, grinning. "What do you think he'll be like?" said Anne. Her sister snorted. "Much like last time, but four years older. How the hell would I know?" "He was good-looking then. He's nineteen, now." Anne glanced across at Beth. "I wonder if he's got a steady girlfriend."

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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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Gina let out a quiet groan when she was awakened by the clock radio alarm. Blue Christmas by Elvis was playing, and the music merged with her feelings as she'd drifted off to sleep. The bed shifted, and she knew Brian was sitting up to shut off the alarm. In a fit of pique, she rolled over, facing the wall. A quiet sigh let her know that the gesture hadn't gone unnoticed.

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The halls vibrated with the music that flowed through them. Organ music swelled through the huge, drafty church and out the open doors. Passing people stopped and listened to the familiar tunes and the harmonic voices of the worshippers as they sang a 'thank you' to God for the birth of his son. After they had dragged themselves away from the church and the nostalgia that had surfaced, many of the people out on that cold Christmas night felt more in the spirit of the holiday. Spare change turned to a ten-dollar bill thrown into the hat of a homeless man.

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Mary was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am about to relate. Mary had been my wife for over twenty years, mother of our kids, confidant, no doubt the best thing that had ever happened to me. She was not, I hasten to add, perfect, nor was I, by any means, and we had the usual ups and fortunately few downs. However, one morning, Mary just didn't wake up.

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The wind howled like a symphony of sick dogs trained to sing commercial jingles. Jason slumped into the ski lodge, cursing God, snow and his uncle Errol, for sending him to some god-forsaken corner of the world where they still had fresh-air and blindingly white snow, which usually came in the form of ass-freezing blizzards.

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