Your erotic stories

There they were. The Barbie Dolls. The bleached-blond, silicon-enhanced, daddy's-credit-card-endowed, anorectic airheads, aka the Popular Girls, aka the Cheerleaders. They took their seats at a table in the cafeteria, chittering loudly about the upcoming prom. Dresses, corsages, limos, dates…

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I was bored as hell. Absolutely nothing to do on a usual Monday night. That's basically the way I've lived my life since my divorce. A devoted mother of one fantastic son. But today Andy left to spend a week's vacation with his dad and that ugly, old piece of shit otherwise known as his dad's girlfriend.

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Lexies's bare legs were crossed at the knee as she sat on the edge of the motel bed and carefully read the letter that Ted, the male college student, handed her. It was written by his friend David and contained the unique code word in the final paragraph. It was a code word that she assigned to every customer who referred another male to her. Ted was justifiably nervous. He had never had sex with a woman before, and Lexie was to teach him. At nineteen that was something he didn't want to admit.

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Chapter 1 (Some of the names, except for one friend who is now deceased, have been changed to protect their privacy. For the purposes of this story, you can call me Dan.) I know most of the stories here are fiction. This one is true and I'm writing it because it's the sexiest thing that ever happened to me. I've been sitting on this story for 14 years and now I have to tell it.

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'Happy birthday, baby,' Martin smiled when his wife finally made her entrance. 'So,' replied Cassandra after she'd kissed her husband lightly on his cheek, 'here I am, where's the "surprise" you've been teasing me with all week?' Martin smiled and looked into his glass as though suddenly mesmerised by its contents.

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She passed Fifth Street and checked her watch, right on schedule and thankfully the crossing light was on her side this morning so she eased across the intersection without having to stop. Music from her IPod spurred her on as she rounded the corner on Jackson Avenue, in the home stretch now. The warm early May morning sun at her back, she could see the entrance to the building at the end of the city block and urged herself to push a little harder.

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I started this a long time ago. I've finished it up and hope you enjoy it. It's a little different than my other work. You know you want me. You've been thinking about me ever since you saw me. I'm the cute young mother with gorgeous breasts you saw at the mall. I'm the fit looking soccer mom at the grocery store with the perfect ass.

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One of my father's crudest friends had a saying that he reserved for men he thought were losers with the women. He would say, "That guy couldn't get laid in a whore house with a pocket full of hundred dollar bills." I never thought about that much; I figured I was doing alright with the ladies until I turned forty. Then it dawned on me, I had never had one that truly cared about me. Through my blue collar hard-working, long-hour days, I had a long string who abused my trust, used me and made me pay too much for the attention I got from them.

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As the only secretary at the legal firm where I work, my workload was constant and I usually got to finish work on time. That was until a month ago, when a new solicitor joined the company. My workload has increased to the point where I am constantly working back. It is not uncommon for me to finish work well after 5pm. I have even had a few post 10.00pm finishes.

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The soft patter of rain that began to pelt against the roof grabbed my attention, and I paused, setting my fiery-red lipstick back on the wooden vanity below me. "Shit." I muttered to myself, disgruntled. The weather forecast hadn't called for rain earlier in the morning, so I'd decided on a costume with more involved makeup. I'd planned on arriving at the annual Crowley Halloween ball dressed as a sexy version of Harley Quinn, my favorite character.

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