Your erotic stories

We were talking in the kitchen when his friend came and stood between us. I glanced over at him, but looked back at Jose, a little confused by his insistence that his friend come and hang out with us. Suddenly, his friend, whom he had introduced moments before as Alec, was on his knees in front of me, slipping his fingers sensually along my inner thigh, just above my knee. I was shocked, and immediately moved back while pushing his hand away.

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"He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff . . ."

The rich, resonating, calming baritone of the La Lectura began to weave Ernest Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea for us for perhaps the hundredth time, as we Torcedores settled once more into the rhythm of preparing our bunches of tobacco leaves perfectly for the press. We could not have done our demanding work without La Lectura, the reader who sat on the dais on the cigar factory floor, reading to us, first from the daily press and then from classical works—and sometimes, to our great privilege, reciting poetry to us in perfect rhythm to the set movements of our leaf bundling.

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'An escape to warmer climes' was what Lauren had said. Yes, by all means, a holiday, thought Natalie. Amid the dreary greyness and cold of a typical winter, just the thought of it was exhilarating to her. But in the end, it turned out to be so much more than mere escape, since it involved both surrender and submission. She knew she would be surrendering herself to the sun and sand, but what she could not have predicted was that she would submit herself to a whole other realm of pleasure and experience.

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