Your erotic stories

For those of you not familiar with the British 'pastime' of 'Dogging' let me explain that it involves numbers of people meeting up in secluded public carparks for sexual frolics. It's become a bit of a cultural cliché over here, with the tabloid image of seedy loners and old slappers getting down and dirty in dreary locations in the dead of night.

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The Wrightsville yacht harbor dipped beneath the horizon off the stern of the big sloop. As its hull neatly parted the waves, the rigging beneath the taut sail hummed while the breeze of the yacht's passage gave relief from the muggy July heat of the North Carolina coast. Brenda watched the coast disappear for a few minutes and then turned to the woman sitting beside her.

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It had been a week since my friend Emily and I had experienced one of the most exciting nights of our lives, a night when we visited a local swinger's club. The week finally passed but it felt more like a month because all I could think about, every minute of each day was going back. Emily had told me that night, when I dropped her off at her apartment that I was to call her the following weekend so we could go back for more.

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Shari awakened later with a feeling of laziness. There she was on a boat with Tony and Mychelle still naked from the thrashing she took earlier. As she started to head towards the rear of the boat, she saw Mychelle on her knees before her. Shari saw her wrists bound in thick leather cuffs that were attached together by clips.

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Author's note: To Kait, whose kindness, friendship and intelligence proved inspirational. Part I. New York No, I had never actively sought a call girl before and it wasn't helping that she had to have rather special qualities. She had to be young, experienced, smart, and bisexual; a combination of features which excluded everyone I had stumbled across so far.

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I was sitting at my desk when I heard the familiar tap tap on my cubical wall. Not having a door means you make do with whatever approximation you can. "Mark, I need you to go to Japan for me," my manager said. I looked up from my monitor. I had been engrossed in a riveting and fascinating technology brief (not!), and welcomed the interruption. Even so, though, it took me a second to register what he said.

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"Do you want to stop at Subway for lunch?" "Yeah, I'm really hungry." Stacy and I were driving back toward the office after a meeting on the other side of town. We were in different divisions but had worked together on a few projects. Stacy was a 24-year-old strawberry blond who had a cute face behind her somewhat nerdy glasses. She usually wore conservative business attire that made it hard to tell much about her figure;

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Henri smiled. Susan liked the cheerful, guileless concierge-come-garçon de café that was as much a part of the pavillon as the faded, not-quite-peeling paint, the louvered shutters and the balmy salt breeze. She'd come to treasure this quiet little place on the Côte d'Ivoire. Henri's warm grin and genuine welcome greeted her every time.

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Kelly Wurtz had always gotten her share of attention from men. Her body was a most exquisite collection of curves, from her perfect 36C's to her extraordinarily lush backside, she was the subject of stares wherever she went and enjoyed her choice of lovers while avoiding long-term relationships and the dreaded 'M-word'. She loved the excitement of motorcycles and the company of the men who shared that passion, although seldom did she engage in intimacy with those men.

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About two years ago, while working for the space agency, I was sent to a one week training/workshop in Huntsville, Alabama. I stayed at a hotel within walking distance of the Marshall Space Flight Center, where the workshop was to be held. There were about 75 people there, composed primarily of engineers, technicians, research scientists, a few administrators, and some military personnel.

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