Your erotic stories

Karen had spent the first few days following her visit to the massage parlor savoring the memories. No matter what she did, something would cause her to think about Tess and she would be off on another long erotic daydream. It was a good thing she had little on her schedule requiring deep concentration.

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"No, not for over two years." "Any encounters within this period?" The soothing hum of an air conditioner drifts through the office. "...yeah." follows a moment's hesitation in the girl's response. "If you care to say so, roughly, how recently was this?" A rustling of paperwork fills the moment's silence as the young woman averts her gaze.

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It was about 3 o'clock on a Thursday afternoon, and everybody was winding down at work. Another long day inside a gray glass and steel skyscraper. My boss stopped by and looked at the paltry pile in my inbox and suggested I take the rest of the day off. Big deal, two extra hours. I had to wait for the train after 5 anyway. Two hours to kill. What to do? I wandered out into the street, slipped into a bookstore for a few minutes and then walked towards the train station. Then I remembered the massage parlor.

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It had been a quiet day at my salon this Friday. I run a small salon in a midsized town in the western U.S. I do hair styling of course, manicures and pedicures and some massage. Some of my women clients like a relaxing massage, but since I’m gay, I assure you, it’s strictly professional.

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"Are you feeling stressed?" "Yes," I muttered to the screen. "Is life getting on top of you?" "Yes again," I sighed. "Well I can help you – with a spiritually uplifting Aromatherapy massage." "Why not?" I asked myself, looking at the screen again before reading on. "Provided by a fully qualified Masseuse ...."

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Andrea and Mitch were enjoying their first real vacation since their honeymoon. It was late afternoon when they began to walk back from the beach, hand in hand. Mitch had a knapsack slung over one bare, sunburnt shoulder. He would blame married life and his desk-job for his complexion and physique before taking personal responsibility. He wasn't terribly out of shape, just a little thicker and a loss of the definition he'd had in college.

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"Well, here we are." My husband Michael holds open the glass door for me to enter the place. The Relaxation Station; a spa in a shopping center. I sigh inwardly; a tacky name, but as this visit is on him I can't complain too much...

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My fiftieth birthday, the big five-O, I was so determined to treat it like any other day, "It's just a number." I said to myself speaking out loud as I stepped out of the shower, wrapped a bath towel around me, tucked it into my cleavage and walked back to my bedroom across the short landing. Reality soon disillusioned me as I removed the towel from my naked body in front of the wardrobe mirror.

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Five o'clock was here and none too soon. This particular Tuesday had been a madhouse at work. Working at my computer terminal, answering the phone and talking to colleagues, often all at the same time, had taken its toll. My back and shoulders ached, and, to make matters worse, I'd overdone it at the gym during lunch hour on Monday. In a word, I was sore.

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You come home from work and find me waiting for you. I am wearing a French maid uniform with white thigh highs and black stiletto heels. I lead you to the bathroom where a robe and toiletries are ready for you. Relaxing music is playing. "We have about half an hour until dinner is ready, Sir."

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