Your erotic stories

For some time Dwight had told me that when the time came, when I'd reached eighteen, and if I was still interested, he'd take me to the Candy Shop for the first time. I tried to tell him that he would be candy enough for me, but Dwight was an honorable man. That's the only reason why we ever needed to discuss the Candy Shop at all.

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Sarah looked around her suite at the island resort. It was luxurious, with marble in the bathroom and a balcony looking out to the ocean. She unpacked quickly then she lay on the double bed and stared at the ceiling with tears in her eyes. This was the bed she had been going to share with Roger, her fiancée until two months ago when he had called off their marriage.

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"And a ten-inch cock." "You're shitting us now," Oliver said. "Yes, I'm shitting you," Porter answered. "But, really, I would want him to have a nice cock on him." "Well, high on my list is that he has to be willing to take out the trash without being asked to," Adrian interjected.

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"I was sure you were going to get the manager's job at the bank's new branch over on Castle, Don. Maybe it's because you can't be spared from this branch." "No, Ted, I don't think I'll ever be given a manager's job." "I don't understand." "Let's take our coffees over to the corner table there and I'll see if I can explain it." We'd planned on just picking up coffees to go and to walk back to the bank and have our break in the staff break room. But I wasn't really in the mood to be back there. The announcement of the staffing of the new Castle branch had come an hour ago.

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I came home early; it had been one of those days from hell. Murphy's Law at work--if it can go wrong it will. Well, it could, and it did. Meagan Murphy, the current number one box office sex symbol, who is scheduled to star in Ben Affleck's new movie, shows up on the set five months pregnant. The film has a four-month shooting schedule, and there's no way she can do it.

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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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I had a really shitty day. My secretary quit, to move to Texas with her new boyfriend. Somebody clipped my brand new Porsche in the parking garage, denting the hell out of the passenger side door and both fenders. One of my clients, the Avengers, tore up the hotel they were staying in. And Ozzie Schmuck, the drummer for Snakepit, got busted for coke and can't make the Australia tour.

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Stephanie sat alone in her home enjoying a relaxing day of nothingness. She had done her housework for the day and had nothing to do over the weekend. Plans could be easily made, but could they compare a lazy day of sitting around her cozy apartment sans clothes? The ability to lounge around in the nude had to be high up on the list of reasons to live alone.

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As soon as Bimbette walked out of the night and through the front door, she knew she had found the place she was looking for. It was a small, dark, run-down taproom, in a questionable part of town, population: nine, including the bartender - all male, mostly black with a few white guys.

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