Your erotic stories

Let me tell you about my infatuation with my paper carrier. Before you start to think of me as some sort of pervert (which I may very well be) my carrier is not a young girl or boy. She is a very attractive woman in her early 40’s. I’ve known her for a number of years, even before she delivered the paper. Janet is very friendly and will always stop and talk for a minute on her route. A couple of times I asked her in and she would sit and visit. Every time she would come in however, my dick would get hard as a rock and I would look like a klutz trying to hide it.

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"You may enter the room now, sir." A pause. "Sir...Daniel?" I was off in my own little world, oblivious of the kind voice speaking to me. "I'm sorry," I offered, snapping back into the current reality. My eyes focused on the receptionist, a warm, middle-aged woman, smiling understandably at me.

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On the outside I've never been weird in any way. I'm popular, with girls and guys. I have normal interests. I go to parties, get drunk, have fun, have normal relationships. I could have sex, normal sex, and enjoy it a normal amount. But it is only when I think about rape that I really start to feel that heat like nothing else. A hollow aching inside me, yearning to be filled.

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The day dragged on and on. Claire watched as the last few minutes ticked away. She had already organized her affairs and was now just waiting until she could go. It was Friday, so the traffic would be horrible, but at least she had a few days off. She longed to be home in her quiet apartment. Eventually, the clock struck five. She walked briskly down to the parking garage and started her car. She hurried and managed to get five minutes down the freeway when she ran into grid locked traffic. She sighed and turned up the music.

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"I'm not sure why I went through with it, Gyen. Five years later and she still hasn't grown up!" Dave complained to his closest colleague at the Advertising Agency. "Look at her, out cold on the couch again. She won't even admit that it happens every time she drinks, or even that she almost always gets drunk when she does drink!"

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Sitting at the computer in my office, the problem wasn't solving itself. I needed a break. I ran my fingers through my hair, leaned back, stretched my arms, moaned audibly and then decided to take a walk. I pushed my chair back from my desk, stood up and headed for the door.

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