Your erotic stories

I took the job as a maid at the golf resort because, one, I figured I'd be left alone a lot of the time while I cleaned, and two, because what else was I going to do after high school? Work a bar, work a cash register at the feed store, either one I'd have to deal with assholes who poked fun at me for being a fat girl. I didn't consider myself fat, just sturdy. It wasn't because I ate potato chips and candy bars all day, it was just genetics that made me as strong as an ox.

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The Forbidden Fantasies Resort, owned and operated by Jamir Antoine, is located deep in the mountains outside of Denver Colorado. Jamir, who stands 6 ft 2, is both intimidating and endearing to those who know him. Mocha colored with long flowing locs that hang to the middle of his back upon first glance would not be considered handsome but exudes a sexual charm that is undeniable.

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After my long and dull meeting ended I was eager to get away from the clichéd business speak and settle into a quiet bar stool for a slow gin and tonic. Maybe chase it with a beer. I took a walk several blocks from the convention center in hopes of not bumping into anyone I'd know and found a quaint little establishment that seemed perfect for what I was looking for. The lights were down low, the music not deafeningly loud and a cute bartender to boot. Perfect.

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By the time our second meeting ended, I had decided two things. First, my Master was very, very good at what he did to me. And second, there was no way I could wait until Christmas for our next visit. Almost a month had passed since our second "date." I had been teased, pleased, fucked, and damn well tortured during our short time together. Even though he had to leave early, we kept in touch over the phone. His contact was addicting;

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I waved down the waiter as I finished off my glass of wine. I asked for the check and scanned the room while I waited. The hotel restaurant looked bigger this early in the evening when it was relatively empty. Besides myself there were two other patrons, both male. One looked to be in his late forties. The man at the bar looked to be my age or younger. And he definitely caught my eye. He was about six feet tall with short black hair and a firm tanned body. His suit looked expensive and it fitted his slim figure like a dream.

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I was working out of town for a week on my own and staying in a rather seedy four storey hotel. The room was okay and clean enough, but the hallways and front lobby were shabby with old furniture and not very clean looking carpets. I had been there all week and seen some shady looking people around the hallways and in the elevators, but didn't think too much about them and just stayed in my room in the evenings. I had thought that maybe some of the girls I had seen around the hotel could be hookers, but it was hard to be sure.

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He picked up the envelope, knowing what it contained and struggling to figure out how to justify its existence at the front counter to his friends. "Hmmm, this must be the fax I was waiting for at the office yesterday, " he said, "shit, I may have to do some work tonight." His friends groaned, rolling their eyes, commenting on his inability to have fun even while on vacation. He smiled.

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Despite my best efforts, thoughts of what I wanted to do to Michael kept clouding my mind. Maybe coming up with that fantasy about him hadn't been the best idea. Instead of clearing my head, now I was wishing even more that it would happen in reality. But the pressure was on with our project and I forced myself to focus on the job at hand. The next four days of the convention were really intense. It wasn't easy because the others all knew each other and had worked together in this type of situation before, and I was still the new guy in the group.

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I always play it to him as though I don't really like anal sex... that it's only something I do for him. It couldn't be further from the truth, even though I'm still a nice girl. We were going away for the weekend. Peter needed to represent a client at a conference in Chicago, and though he only had to attend daytime meetings on Saturday, we booked the overnight in order to get reasonable fares on flights. We were making a mini-holiday out of it.

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All the time I was standing out on the balcony of Colleen Addison's house fourteen miles south of Athens, in Voula, overlooking Greece's Miroon Sea, and engaging in chit chat with her and the man who was introduced to me merely as Sam from the Economic Section, I kept thinking that I knew him from someplace but couldn't place him.

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