Your erotic stories

Kevin reached for the keycard when his mother handed it to him, and fought the urge to grin. Her guilt trip had been working. After a month of insisting that he had to go on one last family vacation, because he would be going off to college and they were never going to see him, he was ready to cave. If she'd waited until he got home that evening instead of calling his cell with the offer to give him his own room, he'd be bunking up with his younger brothers.

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The small sign hanging in the window of the entryway was innocuous enough. "Oriental Massage" it read simply. If one wasn't paying attention as they drove by, they'd likely miss it, and mistake it for a plain, white house with an odd location. It's not every day that you see a house in the middle of an otherwise commercial/industrial area. But I was observant, and had seen the sign driving to and from work many times. It always piqued my curiosity.

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Penny had never had quite so much fun—or felt so much anxiety—during work as she had today. As a saleswoman in a lingerie store in the mall, there were always those fantasies. Spending hours in a room filled with large posters of half naked models and couples searching for a sexy outfit to get nasty in could really get the mind churning, even for a straight girl like Penny who was usually never sex-starved enough to have to daydream about it.

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I had made the trip from the little cottage across the street and about 50 feet down countless times but never faster than that afternoon in June of 1976. After I sprinted blindly from our neighbor's back yard, a yard I had mowed for the last four years - not even watching for cars on the rarely traveled gravel road - I ran into our house and closed the door. Closed it and locked it and then looked through the blinds for what was about to happen.

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