Your erotic stories

It wouldn't have happened, Dianne decided, if she hadn't been so damn conscientious about the job. She'd assured her boss that the amended tender he wanted would be on his desk when he arrived in the morning. And then she'd had to go home early for a family emergency. An emergency that wasn't, as if turned out. Her mother had been panicking over nothing. She should have got more details before rushing home, expecting to have to take someone to hospital.

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A week before Christmas, I ducked into the fifth floor men's room. It served as temporary reprieve. The first among twenty or thirty things I could invent to occupy myself while avoiding the remainder of the company Holiday party two floors below. One other occupant was in the room. He barely registered on my eggnog-addled brain. Most years I managed to escape the compulsory merrymaking by being unavoidably detained somewhere else on company business. This year I was unavoidably detained in Los Angeles.

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Ever had a co-worker you wanted to fuck so badly it almost hurt? I think that's fairly common, especially for men of my age and experience. But to have that coworker admit they feel the same makes it much more interesting. Add to that a 20plus age gap and endless creativity, and going to work can be almost dangerous.

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I had grown accustomed to the ordeal of waking up to the electrifying sensation that accompanied the sight of Jason's beautiful pink lips wrapped around my cock. He was, undoubtedly, the most gorgeous man that had ever come into my life. A ruggedly handsome face, framed by a French beard that always smelled of my cum and spiky jet black hair that made me melt each time he ran his fingers through them; all that was just an added bonus to the extremely lovable personality that I had fallen for.

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Knowing glances across the room. A smile as your eyes meet. A quiet hello as you pass in the hall. A flirtatious wink of the eye as you catch him watching you walk away. Innocent flirtation is how it all begins. So it did for Jack & Sara.

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Crack. The sound slices like a steel blade through the chatter of the conference room. Heads whip around, staring at me, while I stare at the broken glass of water. The glass of water I was supposed to bring. "Well don't just stand there, clean the bloody thing up." I bend down, black pencil skirt riding up slightly as I gingerly pick up the delicate shards of glass.

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He was sitting at his desk, exhausted from another long day at work. Tie loosened, his jacket thrown over the back of the chair, he looked as if he was ready to head home at any moment. And he was. Until his boss dropped another stack of files to go through. As if he didn't have enough to deal with already. He was working well into the evening, when there was a knock at the door. Finding this strange, he called out for the person to enter.

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Mark sat in his cubicle, hard at work. The monthly report on the department's finances, the production of which he had involvement in, was to be completed by Monday. Becky and Stan had already told him they were almost done with their part. No way am I going to mess us up. "Attention everyone," came a stern voice from the front of the office.

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“What’s the matter, Lizzie?” Sarah’s hands squeezed my shoulders and her hair brushed my cheek as she leaned over to peek at the papers strewn over the desk. “I think this is my 20th hang up in a row tonight,” I complained, rolling my eyes toward the phone. “They finish half this stupid survey and decide it’s too long and hang up.”

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There were only minutes left in the game and the score was tied – 3 to 3. Antonio knew that they'd have to keep the ball and then score in those final moments, for if the other team got the ball, they'd score quickly and Antonio's team – the PS Thunder – would lose this semi-final match. Antonio noticed Jose on the other side of the field, and signaled that he was open.

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