Your erotic stories

The morning mist covered the grass and flowers; it was a beautiful May morning in Georgia. Birds were chirping and a slight breeze rustled the leaves in the trees that lined the long driveway that led to a spacious mansion. It was difficult for Nora to believe that she was only sixty miles out side of Atlanta;

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Trixie lurched through the door, heels clack-clacking on the laminate flooring as she stumbled. Failing to realise the racket she had just created, she turned and carefully shut the door, just in case her boyfriend, Gary, had gone to bed already. He had let her borrow his keys just case she came home really late, as he had an early start the next morning – a weekend away with the boys.

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I got home late one night from my usual cardio session at the gym. Working out had got me sweaty and horny, so I raced home, glancing to be sure the DVD was still on the passenger seat, something I had grabbed from the gay section at the porn shop I worked at, before leaving for the day.

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"You are joking. Please tell me you're joking?" I doubted my mother understood the desperation in my voice, but I was disgusted and disappointed. How could she do this? "I'm not joking Chris." My Mom was still calm, oblivious to reality as usual. "I told Megan to call you. She'll be in town next week and I thought it would be wonderful if you could take her to dinner. It's not like you have this busy social life and you can't fit her in. You're always telling me that you don't get out enough."

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The week had been pure hell. Work was driving me up a wall, and I was beginning to fear that I would soon lose it. I had enough stress to supply the eastern seaboard for life. Anyway, it was Friday night, and I wanted to put the week behind me. I picked up dinner on the way home, and fought my way through the evening traffic.

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When you love music and like talking about it, radio is the way to go. But as a bill-paying career, it leaves a lot to be desired. I'm not complaining...well, maybe a little. I'm a single mother driving a 17-year-old car and one income from my noon to 3pm gig at a local rock station wasn't cutting it. The drive-time guys make the big money, especially if their ratings are solid, and I would go play with them on the air sometimes just to feed off their fame and get a couple of weekend remotes to pull in a few extra bucks.

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It's early evening, about 7:00. Maybe 7:30. I've be at a 3D shoot all afternoon. I didn't win but I scored very high and did come home with some of the major prizes. The shoot was actually over about 4:00 but I stopped in at my parents on the way home. I dropped the kids off there this morning on my way to the shoot and they have been having a blast all day, what with the horses and all. Dad asked if they could stay the night, possibly the weekend.

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Josie Helling stood on the sidewalk in the sweltering heat of an extreme Manila summer. She waited patiently for the car to arrive, deciding against ducking back into the building where it was definitely cooler. The text message positively said 2:30, it was now 10 minutes before 3pm, and the car was still nowhere to be seen. She was going to be late for yet another meeting. This didn't surprise her anymore, being all too familiar with the horrible city traffic.

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Yaz knew that she needed a change; being a personal trainer was boring at least on the open road she would be free from the dumb bitches that frequented the gym; sure they wanted all the help they could get, but for what price, she wasn't willing to train them for favours and gifts any longer. "Yaz please reconsider? The place won't be the same without you." begged Jude the gym manager.

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It was the Friday afternoon, before the Holiday Weekend, and I was driving the car to the ‘Biker Rally’ and ‘Rock Festival’, when I realised that I had a ‘slow puncture’. My husband, Craig, had set off earlier, on his new Honda 750. My mobile phone couldn’t receive a signal, so all I could do was sit by the side of the road; smoke a cigarette and wait for help.

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