Your erotic stories

"My name is Nario. You are Mr. Armstead?" "Yes. I was expecting my uncle." "He could not come. I am his boy." Yes, I'll just bet you are, I thought. But then he clarified, if not enough to make a difference to me. "I am his houseboy. Welcome to Naples, Mr. Armstead." "Call me Harry, Please. Is it far from here to Positano?"

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A week before Christmas, I ducked into the fifth floor men's room. It served as temporary reprieve. The first among twenty or thirty things I could invent to occupy myself while avoiding the remainder of the company Holiday party two floors below. One other occupant was in the room. He barely registered on my eggnog-addled brain. Most years I managed to escape the compulsory merrymaking by being unavoidably detained somewhere else on company business. This year I was unavoidably detained in Los Angeles.

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It was Friday at Two and I had Jack on top of me again. I could feel his large demanding penis filling my pussy, drawing the juices out of my flesh on each slight withdrawal, and then pressing down tight into my ever wetter channel. I know that I should be tired of all this and that I should be glancing at the watch on the wrist of the arm which was stretched around his neck, but Jack was such an expert.

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We'd gone down to Cancun for Spring break thinking we'd reserved two rooms, one for me and my boyfriend Tim, and the other for Nora and her boyfriend, Sean. But when we got there we found they'd screwed up at the hotel, and had only one room waiting for the four of us. They shrugged, apologizing that they were all booked up, but explained that the room they reserved for us did have two big king-size beds, so maybe it would do.

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You know what it's like when you lust after someone, really lust? Why is it that you lust after those you can't have? I suppose it's the same thing with those girls that follow boy bands around hoping they can bed the lead singer and knowing full well they never will.

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The train ride was smooth, the carriage seeming to glide along almost soundlessly. "This is a smooth ride," he said, "Like going up in a hot air balloon. Have you done that?" he asked. Matt grunted, glancing up from his laptop's screen, hand's poised, flickering fingers momentarily stilled before he looked back.

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QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS Part of the 'Butt Monkey' series of stories by Robert Furlong === I arrived at my office the next day to find an envelope on my desk with my name written on it in neat, if rather florid, handwriting. It read "Robert" which was slightly odd because everyone at work calls me Rob.

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I grabbed my coat and hustled out of the hotel room I had called my home for the last five months. I was running late and new that my trainer Dave hated tardiness. We were meeting to discuss the last week of my training before I finally got placed in my permanent position as a mid level manager. Dave wanted to meet at a bar and grill on the south side of town that had great food and a quiet comfortable ambiance. The problem was that this restaurant was on the other side of the city and there was no way I was going to make it before seven.

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We had become best friends by default. Quincy and I were the only long distance swimmers on our small college swim team and we were dating sisters. Our schedules brought us together. Eventually we roomed together. I am a reserved person and had never pressed for close friendships; Quincy was my first best friend since the third grade. He was more of an extrovert than me so it was he that initiated the conversation with the sisters that led to girlfriends. The girls were also members of the swim team and we were comfortable around each other.

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