Your erotic stories

My name is Zake. I'm called that because my parents gave me an unpronounceable Ukrainian name, and that was the best fit that came out of kindergarten. It stuck, and it's been hard to get confused with anyone else in the phone book. I'm 34 years old and I'm an instructor for heavy equipment. I also dig vacant lots for homebuilders on the side with my own business.

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My first attempt at gay erotica and completely fictional. Hope you enjoy. I was only halfway through my first semester at college and already couldn't stand anymore of my obnoxious, slovenly constantly partying suitemates. Believe it or not, I came to college to actually get an education and I was tired of having to do all my studying at the library.

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"I'm so tired of today," thought Amisha. "I just want to get home and go to sleep. Is that too much to ask?" She had just finished an arduous day of work at her office and was on the way back from the restroom to her desk to pack up her things when her phone buzzed. As she checked it, she assumed it was her boyfriend, once again telling her that he was going out with his guy friends that night.

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The two travellers struggled to get through the swinging glass door entrance to the hotel. Ingrid, the maitre d', hissed for the young porter who was usually to be found lounging at the back of reception. But he was nowhere in sight and now the men and their bulky luggage were through the entrance and walking grim-faced towards the front desk. In an attempt to deflect any initial dissatisfaction, Ingrid put on her friendliest smile and, even though it was almost the end of a very long shift, greeted them with energetic efficiency.

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The outer door to my office jangled open just after 8:30 a.m. With no clients on the books all morning, I wasn't expecting anyone. "Hey, Mitch, are you back there?" a familiar voice called out. "Back here, Shannon," I said. As one the only lawyer in what was certainly our town's smallest law firm, I didn't have a secretary. Hell, I didn't have anybody, especially after my ex-wife split over a year ago.

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"Truth or dare?" asks Cristina. "Truth," Sammy answers. There'd be plenty of time for wild antics later. The slumber party was just getting started. "Okay..." Cristina looks around the room at her friends mischievously grinning, feigning serious consideration with a finger to her chin. She pauses extra long to build suspense and takes a swig of her wine cooler before posing her brilliant question: "Spit or swallow?"

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At first glance, you probably wouldn't guess me for the type that I really am. I look no different than any other college student. Eighteen years old, medium long blonde hair, nice smile, honest eyes, decently built. I spent most of my time like all my other friends. I go to lectures, I do my homework, I party, I go out with friends. Nothing really special...

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One of the first things I noticed when I started interning at this company was Matt, our "fitness consultant," a professional bodybuilder that's been hired to keep the office in shape by running exercise classes in the company gym and making various recommendations.

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Jenny was having a great day. During the morning shift she'd sold tons of clothes at the retail store where she had worked for the past year, and as usual received the enthusiastic praise of her boss Giulio. The sun was shining. She'd been out to lunch with her old friend Madeline for the first time in months, and they were heading back to the store side by side, chatting casually yet happily in the way you only do with really close friends.

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I got home late one night from my usual cardio session at the gym. Working out had got me sweaty and horny, so I raced home, glancing to be sure the DVD was still on the passenger seat, something I had grabbed from the gay section at the porn shop I worked at, before leaving for the day.

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