Your erotic stories

I'm really quite a shy man, not one for chatting up the girls in the office. The flirting is sort of fun, but I never know what to do after the first few times. And then I see the light die in their eyes, and the conversation goes safe and boring. I do talk to them, but I hear about their boyfriends, families, domestic problems and holidays abroad. Never anything personal, never any hint about what they think about me.

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Steve found himself the last person in the office again. It was another late night, and Christmas was fast approaching but he just had to finish the sales proposal. It was a huge account and could make or break his bonus for the next year. It was all going to be worth it in the end, he told himself. He girlfriend, Beth, had been bitching constantly about the late nights that Steve was putting in.

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Insolent. That was the only word that came to mind as I looked at Jeremy Saitou. Everything about him seemed to radiate impudence: his brightly colored hair (red enough to rival any fire engine), his pierced brow and lower lip, the electric blue plugs in his stretched earlobes, his mouth, which—thanks to a small scar on the right side of his upper lip—was curled into a permanent sneer.

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A sound outside her office window caused Cindy to jerk her head up. She had been staring blindly at her fingers resting on the black computer keyboard. They weren't moving, but her mind was a blur of thoughts…mostly bad ones. Cindy was temporarily relieved to be back in the real world instead of the illusory place in her head.

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"If this does not solve your issue Patrick. I swear to God I am going to fire you as soon as you get back." "Yes, sir." Patrick muttered as he hung up the phone. Patrick was sitting in some therapist's waiting room. He looked around at the cream-colored walls as he debated reading Newsweek. He decided against it and his mind wandered.

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Things were going great at the office, we were making a ton of money and I had moved into managment as Mark's right hand man. We had closed deals that usually never were closed and things were going crazy. Mark had set up an office party that promised to be a huge blow-out. He rearranged the top floor of our building to make it one open area with food, a bar, dance floor, and a jazz band.

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It was time for my annual physical, and like always, I had waited until the last minute. I was afraid this would happen, "I'm sorry, Mr. Mann, but your doctor doesn't have any appointments for physicals available until February. I can try and set you up with someone else if you don't want to wait that long."

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She walked into his office knowing what this meeting was about. Earlier that day, Sarah had received an email from one of her professors wanting to discuss an important topic. While the email didn't specify what the topic was, Sarah knew her last paper was below standards. She had just started dating someone and, while she knew she shouldn't, Sarah was putting less effort into her school work and more into her new relationship.

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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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Jason stared at Marsha's ass as she leaned over the conference table in her office reviewing the ad layouts they'd been working on. Part of him was admiring her shapely ass, but most of him was still upset over the performance evaluation she'd given him yesterday. Jason was a 23-year-old artist, fresh out of art school, working for a medium size Ad Agency on the west coast.

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