Your erotic stories

David Cross smiled to himself as he stepped out of his car, crossing the narrow, wooded street towards the house in front of him. House. It could hardly be called that. While not quite a mansion, the dwelling in front of him was beyond anything he had ever been formally invited to. Crashing the dean's annual Christmas party with this frat brother's years ago didn't count, he decided.

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It was another hot and sticky summer's day, so it was to be minimum dress and outdoors, with lots of cold drinks. Julie was wearing her yellow bikini and Simon his cut-off shorts - although he'd no plans to keep them on any longer than necessary! They'd had lunch indoors, during which they'd had a couple of glasses each of ice-cold white wine, and they'd just settled down outside again. They were seated in the recliner chairs, the remains of the wine in glasses beside them.

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I got home early and decided to go to the gym as I needed a good workout. That was one of the good things about this building. The gym was on the top floor so I slipped on a pair of track pants, tee shirt and sneakers and took the elevator upstairs. I worked the bar bells and then jogged on the indoor track for about an hour before heading for the showers. I undressed and left my things in the locker and, as I turned to head for the shower, I noticed a guy close a locker opposite me and as he turned to walk to the showers, I caught a glimpse of what looked like a very substantial organ hanging between his legs.

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When a man comes home to his wife and a houseful of women, it's either really good or really bad, especially when the conversation stops as soon as the door opens. And most especially when the women looking at him have those expressions suggesting they know something he doesn't (and of course they do -- it's always that way). His wife stepped forward and walked toward him.

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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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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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