Your erotic stories

I've suspected all along that Russ Adams is a take-charge kind of guy, and it turns out I'm right. As soon as we're back in my hotel room he carefully hangs up his sport jacket, then takes me in his arms and kisses me, admitting of no discussion or resistance. His neatly trimmed beard tickles my face; his lips and tongue are eager yet tender.

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After three days of the sales conference, Steve was sick. Sick of giant pieces of paper stuck to the wall covered with vague, ridiculous words regarding goals and mission, sick of pointless team building exercise but mostly sick of long evenings spent with amateur drinkers who felt free to let loose, particularly since they were far away from home in the French Quarter of New Orleans.

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