Your erotic stories

All I could see were mirrors, yet the voice resounded in the room. I could hear a woman speaking to me. She'd tell me to walk in one direction, yet I wouldn't be able to get past myself, my own image. Offering words of encouragement, she tolerated my inability to overcome my own obstacles.

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I was in Montreal on business, though this day certainly wouldn't be as arduous as others. A client of mine had invited me and 100 of his closest friends to celebrate the purchase of his fourth home. Known for his extravagant tastes (usually quite urban), this house was surprisingly located on Lake St. Louis in Beaconsfield—an upscale, but very private area.

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