Your erotic stories

You walk straight through the hotel reception and head over to the elevators. Pushing the button you wait for it to arrive. You are wearing the tight blue jeans red hoodie that you know I like. Underneath is the black underwear from one of the pictures you sent me when we first started talking to each other.

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Most secretaries would be fired for wearing a low-cut blouse like hers. Most secretaries wouldn't get away with a tight pencil-skirt and the almost-visible suspenders around her thighs either. Most secretaries, however, aren't married to their bosses – and today is their anniversary. There are flowers on Lana's desk when she comes in, high heels clicking on the oak floor. That gets a smile from her, which isn't always easy this early in the morning; it's still dark outside.

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He poured the warm oil across her shoulders and it slid down the curve towards the small of her back, drawn to the crease over her spine. Gooseflesh rose out of pure sensual bliss. That and the thoughts that sliding oil inspired: What if his hands, now warm and large and resting over her shoulder blades, thumbs turned inward, were to continue downward, the thumbs meeting in the center, the hands coming together as her waist narrowed before....

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Sitting at the computer in my office, the problem wasn't solving itself. I needed a break. I ran my fingers through my hair, leaned back, stretched my arms, moaned audibly and then decided to take a walk. I pushed my chair back from my desk, stood up and headed for the door.

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It had been months since that afternoon at LeAnn's. Neither had spoken about it and they had carried on as if nothing had ever happened. LeAnn had only been practicing her newly learned massage techniques... hadn't she? The activities had got them both more than a little aroused. Maybe LeAnn had been a little too intimate. Maybe Laura had overreacted to the attention. Maybe.

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You hot, horny, cock-craving slut. I know every slutty thought that goes through your dirty mind. I know what you need like no one else ever will, and bitch, I'm gonna prove it, right now.... That's what you want, isn't it, slut? A man who will prove it. A man who won't take no for an answer. I've been watching you through your windows at night, you whore. You moan on the phone like a slut in heat, while you cram sex toys inside your creamy wet fuckholes.

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"Then go fuck yourself!" I yelled as I stormed out of the apartment and slammed the door. I was fuming. How dare Matt accuse me of "dragging him away on holiday"? I'd done no such thing. Our holiday in France was supposed to be fun for both of us. Huh! Not likely! Matt had done nothing but complain; he didn't like the food, the beer was too expensive, he couldn't get a Wi-Fi connection. Whinge, whinge, whinge!

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"Hey guys, just hold on to my beer would you, I've got to go pee. I'm so full I'm bursting." A gang of us had come down from the campus to O'Malley's Bar, down on Victoria Road. O'Malley's is one of those bars that caters for a wide range of customers, from us university types, the art school arty kids, and the occasional corporate suit kicking out at the end of a long week doing whatever they do up in the city.

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I've been sitting on this one for a little while. I've been meaning to touch it up. Maybe if people like it I will. All participants are over 18 and fictitious. ...My name is Camille. I don't usually feel guilty for what I do. I don't now. It doesn't worry me, but it should. I feel the need to confess in some small way... ...My name is Audrey. I can't stand it any longer. I can't face my minister.

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"Have you been to the new club?" Pauline whispered her weekend plans to her friend in the next cubicle at work. "I want to go there, so bad, this weekend. I heard it's awesome. Do you want to go?" Here we go thought Amanda listening to the two airheaded young women discussing what and who they did over the weekend and who and what they want to do next weekend.

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