Your erotic stories

Most secretaries would be fired for wearing a low-cut blouse like hers. Most secretaries wouldn't get away with a tight pencil-skirt and the almost-visible suspenders around her thighs either. Most secretaries, however, aren't married to their bosses – and today is their anniversary. There are flowers on Lana's desk when she comes in, high heels clicking on the oak floor. That gets a smile from her, which isn't always easy this early in the morning; it's still dark outside.

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Hi my name is Rob and the story that you are about to read is completely true. It happened two years ago and I have to say that it was probably one of the strangest nights that I have ever had. A little about myself, I am 50 years old, 5ft 10 inches, 185lbs, with about a 7 inch cut cock. My wife doesn't like a hairy man so I do man-scape and keep myself trimmed close or completely shaved.

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I was to be the entertainment for this evening. I knew this. I had freely agreed to it. After all, my sex life had hit a very long dry spell. When Clarissa, one of my girlfriends, had mentioned this club that she belonged to - a "kinky sex club" was her description - it sounded like just what I needed.

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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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Let's just say that I didn't get much sleep that night. Hannah turned out to be insatiable in the bedroom. Usually they say that the girl can't remember at some point how many times they have sex. But in the bedroom of her lakeside cabin, I lost track after five times.

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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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