Your erotic stories

As a newly appointed detective assigned to a special police operation Georgina was less effective than the effect she had on men, which was electric. It wasn't just a pair of long legs or the tiny waist emphasizing large breasts, it was more than that, it was the innocent look upon her face when listening to them. She had a way of tilting her head to one side looking intently into a mans eyes as though he were the only man in the world and what he had to say was important. Sitting in his car with her Sergeant, Angelo was getting the full treatment.

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The night was your friend. It was always important to remember that. The night was your friend because in it you were dominant. In it you had the control, the power and the mastery. The night was your friend because you made it the enemy of those who deserved to be your enemy. It was a mantra that The Wight repeated to herself regularly, and not least before starting a patrol.

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"Now you've got yourself into a bind." I snorted softly. It was a very unladylike sound, but at the moment, the only thing I could think about was what would happen next. Had he really read between the lines of all of our Emails? The online chats? The late night phone calls? Maybe I should have been more subtle. That's what all the magazines said, right? Guys needed to be told what to do.

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He found himself pacing back and forth from the picture window to the door and back, several times, since he'd hung up from that phone call that informed him his gift for services rendered was on its way; and that it was coming by limo from the airport. He lived about an hour inland from the International Airport that was on the outskirts of the city he lived in.

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I look at the dashboard clock as I pull up the driveway. It reads half past eight. She must be nervous as hell, at this point. I'm never late. It was the unexpectedly dense traffic that caused me to arrive half an hour after the appointed time but as I consider it, it's not so bad to keep her waiting in anticipation, once in a while. She's used to me being punctual and this must really freak her out.

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Cat squirmed on the hard wooden chair and watched the seconds tick by on the clock. 4:55 on Friday afternoon. Five minutes until doomsday. She worried at an almost non-existent hangnail, nibbling it smooth. Was she a glutton for punishment? Had a death wish, perhaps? She smiled ruefully to herself. Why, oh why, was it so hard to get kicked out of school?

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Mr Valens reached towards the numbers on the alarm panel inside the front door of his modern, two storey home. The red light was not flashing. He paused and cast his eyes around without moving, noting the gleaming kitchen bench, the bleak smell of domestic cleaner. Then he remembered. Today was Wednesday - Sharni Peller's cleaning day.

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She had gotten drunk, very, very drunk. She had no clue how she'd gotten home. She sat up only to flinch as she opened her eyes. Ouch! She saw two pills and a glass of water by the bed, along with a note. She reached for the pills and water, hoping they would help kill the pain from one hell of a hangover. Damn it, what had happened last night? As she drank the water, shadowy memories of the night before crept into her mind.

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I'm so done with this school, with these ridiculous uniforms and my jackass classmates trying to look up my skirt and down my shirt. (Who picked these clothes? I mean the skirt is halfway up the thighs for god's sake. And these shirts must have been designed for girls who, well, didn't develop as early and as, uh, fully as me - which, trust me, is not all it's cracked up to be, big tits are huge pain even in clothes that weren't poorly designed for someone a lot _smaller_.

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The smell of autumn was in the air, as the gentle breeze kissed my cheeks. Strolling through the farmer's market on an early Saturday morning, the sun was just starting to emerge. The rays of light dancing around me, I couldn't think of a better place I'd rather be.

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