Your erotic stories

After three days of the sales conference, Steve was sick. Sick of giant pieces of paper stuck to the wall covered with vague, ridiculous words regarding goals and mission, sick of pointless team building exercise but mostly sick of long evenings spent with amateur drinkers who felt free to let loose, particularly since they were far away from home in the French Quarter of New Orleans.

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The flight had arrived on time, but the luggage was taking ages to arrive. It was already midnight, and I was feeling tired after spending full day at work and then flying to Cyprus. I was just waiting to get to the guesthouse and get in a good night's sleep. Watching the other passengers I could tell this was what other people were thinking as well. Soft bed and hopefully a nice and peaceful hotel. No parties for me tonight!

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It was my birthday and my husband, James, had promised me a surprise I'd never forget. He handed me a box. When I opened it I discovered a beautiful black dress. It was cut low in both the front and back, came just above the knee, and was slit up the thigh. He told me that I was to wear the dress with nothing on underneath it. As I looked at it, I realized I couldn't have worn much underneath it anyway. The dressed hugged every curve of my body. I felt incredibly sensual as I slipped it over my skin.

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When a man comes home to his wife and a houseful of women, it's either really good or really bad, especially when the conversation stops as soon as the door opens. And most especially when the women looking at him have those expressions suggesting they know something he doesn't (and of course they do -- it's always that way). His wife stepped forward and walked toward him.

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One thing you should know, about me and the man I describe here, is that we've never really been 'together'. What we have had is more than ten years of friendship, the best and worst of shared experiences and, most importantly, the most insatiable, uncontrollable desire for each other that either of us had ever experienced. On this particular day, we were heading out to a concert, but I also happened to be introducing him to one of my best friends for the first time. I arrived at his place just as he was getting home from a run.

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I typed it in an IM window. 'Come fuck me' it said. Her reply was simple. 'Yes, Master.' How many times had I typed that to her in role-playing chat when I was on the opposite coast of the country? I've even typed that when I was close enough for us to make it happen. I would be there with my laptop in the king-sized bed at my hotel in D.C., messaging her at her home in New York. Close, but far. 'Come fuck me,' I typed. 'Yes, Master,' she replied. Odd how the same words looked different this time -- that was last night.

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