Your erotic stories

Carolyn couldn't sleep. Restless in her queen-sized bed, she glanced at the digital alarm clock. The numbers cast a faint green illumination in the still blackness. 2:37 a.m. Damn. She needed her sleep -- and her energy. But it was proving difficult. Tomorrow was the day. Now only hours away. The exhilaration coursed through her body again and her nipples began to harden.

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It had been a long night out with the girls and most of us were sober enough to call a cab and then Betsy starts talking about fantasies. "Men always have some fantasy they insist we try, am I right?" I nodded, as did Samantha, Alana and Jenna as Betsy continued to regale us with her latest pontification.

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Long day at work, she thought to herself, taking a swig of diet coke and placing it back into the cupholder. Road signs, stop lights, and pedestrians blurred past her as she drove home. She was already planning out her evening, starting by taking off her shoes, dropping her bag, and immediately making herself a very tall scotch—on the rocks, of course.

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The dictionary defines Valentine- a sweetheart chosen or complimented on Valentine's Day. I'm not sentimental or for that matter sensitive. At least, that is what I've often been told. You are so closed off! Unreachable! I disagree. I happen to have had a perfectly good reason for keeping my heart locked up. The problem, in my opinion, was with the people who never tried to slip by the barriers.

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I knew I was taking a huge risk. To change the game at this late date was to risk ruining a very adequate relationship. But, I knew I deserved more than adequate. I wanted so much more. I suppose a little background is in order. I am 43 years old, working in an office, I have a "boyfriend" that I see three to four times a week.

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Recently, while preparing vanilla icing for a tray of cooling cinnamon buns, I heard Todd yell from the bathroom. "Gloria, I haven't got a towel!" It prompted my memory: I'd washed them earlier and had forgotten to replace them. However, there were plenty in the hallway. "Linen cupboard," I called back. He thudded down the passageway naked and wet. Hot, I thought.

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As a newly appointed detective assigned to a special police operation Georgina was less effective than the effect she had on men, which was electric. It wasn't just a pair of long legs or the tiny waist emphasizing large breasts, it was more than that, it was the innocent look upon her face when listening to them. She had a way of tilting her head to one side looking intently into a mans eyes as though he were the only man in the world and what he had to say was important. Sitting in his car with her Sergeant, Angelo was getting the full treatment.

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The night was your friend. It was always important to remember that. The night was your friend because in it you were dominant. In it you had the control, the power and the mastery. The night was your friend because you made it the enemy of those who deserved to be your enemy. It was a mantra that The Wight repeated to herself regularly, and not least before starting a patrol.

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He found himself pacing back and forth from the picture window to the door and back, several times, since he'd hung up from that phone call that informed him his gift for services rendered was on its way; and that it was coming by limo from the airport. He lived about an hour inland from the International Airport that was on the outskirts of the city he lived in.

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I look at the dashboard clock as I pull up the driveway. It reads half past eight. She must be nervous as hell, at this point. I'm never late. It was the unexpectedly dense traffic that caused me to arrive half an hour after the appointed time but as I consider it, it's not so bad to keep her waiting in anticipation, once in a while. She's used to me being punctual and this must really freak her out.

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