Your erotic stories

"The roads look like they're getting bad fast. You might as well stay here for the night." It was a reasonable statement of reality. Factual, logical. Looking out their front room window at the raging winter storm the last thing I wanted was to go out into the middle of it. However, the second-to-the-last thing I wanted was to encroach on their privacy.

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Two middle age men walk down a rain-soaked street on a dark night, and a small neon sign directs them down an alleyway. JIGGLE HUT, it reads. A bright red door at the end of the alleyway is well worn and has a big 'JH' painted on it in yellow. Marcus, the taller of the two, pushes it open and they walk in. Dark stale air glows with dim purple light, and bass heavy music throbs. A fat man on a stool that's way too small for him looks them over.

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I typed it in an IM window. 'Come fuck me' it said. Her reply was simple. 'Yes, Master.' How many times had I typed that to her in role-playing chat when I was on the opposite coast of the country? I've even typed that when I was close enough for us to make it happen. I would be there with my laptop in the king-sized bed at my hotel in D.C., messaging her at her home in New York. Close, but far. 'Come fuck me,' I typed. 'Yes, Master,' she replied. Odd how the same words looked different this time -- that was last night.

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It was early afternoon, and it had been a quiet day. I had gotten a few things from the shops and done some things in the garden. Staff party tonight. Christ, I can't be arsed. All that brown nosing. I'll have to stand with the boss, and he won't be listening to a word I say. He'll just be leering at my wife, Jane. She copes well with it, but I know she hates it. We're both in our late thirties now. There was a time in our 20s it would have been funny. We would have laughed about it. But now? He's a lecherous old man in his mid-fifties and it's just sad and very annoying.

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In his novel "I Will Fear No Evil," One of Heinlein's female characters remarks that, until a woman has been in bed with two men who love and trust one another as much as they love and trust her, she's still got "One virginity to go, and an important one." When I first read this as a teenager, I felt a visceral response. Yes, I thought to myself with deep conviction, that's for me!

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Its been the team Christmas do and I am all dressed up....heels, sleeveless black dress, cleavage. All evening I have been trying to concentrate on having a good time with everyone, but my mind keeps wandering to what's coming up, and my face is flushed with excitement along with several glasses of white wine.

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It started out as normal day. I woke up at 6:30am, and finally rolled out of bed at 7:00. I got a shower, got dressed, and headed out the door for school. I was running late as usual. I had a 45 minute commute to the university I was attending, but only had 35 minutes before my class started. I live in a very small town, and had to take back roads to school.

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She was sitting at the bar, dressed like a nun compared to the majority of the other women around. It was Vegas, baby, and the outfits ranged from the slutty to the half-naked. The woman I was interested in, and maybe it was the outfit that did it, was all business. Charcoal black suit, white blouse open at the throat, blazer draped over the back of her stool.

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I wiped the condensation from the bathroom mirror and leaned close, applying my mascara in the small window I'd made on the glass. The tiny room was full of steam and the smell of shampoo and soap. "How can you take a hot shower in this weather?" I said, capping my mascara and leaning in even closer, scrutinizing my face. I'd had a shower a half hour ago and could already feel a thin film of sweat on my back; it was going to be another boiling hot day.

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Bob answered the door as I approached, opening it wide to the gently lit foyer behind him. "Please come in," he said, beckoning me inside. "We've been expecting you." I thanked him and walked into the spacious home. The lights were low and music was coming from one of the back rooms. "Thanks," I said. I gave him a quick once-over. We had exchanged pictures online and he appeared to be exactly as portrayed; a fit, well dressed, handsome man wearing a sport coat, button-up shirt and what looked like expensive jeans. "I appreciate you taking a chance and opening your home to me."

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