Your erotic stories

I love getting out of the office at lunchtime. It gives me an opportunity to clear my head, and listen to either Jim Rome or Colin Cowerd on sports talk radio, as I drive to one of the local eateries. Since I'm trying to watch my waist, along with my budget, I usually hit the local Subway at least once a week. It's a fairly popular spot, so there's usually a line, but they do their best to keep it moving along.

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The morning sun shining through the window wakes me up. It's Saturday morning, which at this point in my marriage means it's my weekly chance of getting laid. I roll over to see if Rose is going to be interested, and her side of the bed is empty.

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I've never written anything like this before, but I was encouraged by some friends of mine. Because of my line of work, I'm always telling crazy stories. My best friend Mark suggested I start writing them down, so now I'm sharing them with you. I thought I'd start with one of my most bizarre stories and see how it goes.

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It began with a dress. She had always loved it. Loved how men looked at her when she wore it. But she always felt a little guilty. She had built her rep and her career on being being smart, forthright and right pretty much all the time. She fought the office battles on equal terms and never allowed her sexuality to come into it.

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In the last chapter, my sub Peter helped me live out my medical fantasy. So wanted to help him live out one of his. If you've read my other stories (and you should), you know that he loved all things anal, including strap-on sex. His fantasy was to blindfolded and fucked in the ass by a stranger. Eventually, he'd want to see the stranger's face, but not until she'd cum.

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I've been at this gig for about three years now in a Northeast city. It isn't what I expected to be doing, career-wise, at my age, but I can't gripe about the pay. This is for a private apartment complex (not a hotel, mind you), so it's rightly what Europeans define as being a Concierge (attending to high-end residents' needs). I'm in my mid-twenties, tall and reasonably fit, outfitted in a blazer, gray slacks and dress shoes, and I sport a genuine-enough smile that's kept fresh every day.

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When she contacted me via here, she explained that she'd read my story and it had turned her on. My shameful story. The one about my desire to act as human toilet paper. In the exchange of emails that followed, Sarah told me she thought she wasn't anything special, just an ordinary lady of a certain age, a divorcee who worked in the City and right this minute was single and fancy free.

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We were five satiated, sleek bitches filing into the bathroom, drunk on orgasms and a little weak at the knees. And it was all my doing. See, there's nothing I like as much as arranging little dyke orgies for a gaggle of foxy babes like myself, good-lookers who know how to turn on a slut and make her pussy steam and her clit swell! Here we all were in the bathroom now, five ultra-feminine lipstick lesbians who had just spent the last couple of hours getting each other off with hot lips, wet tongues, eager fingers, and plenty of nasty toys.

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His fingers were in her pussy, tracing patterns on the sensitive and soaked flesh of her inner passages and lazy curly q's on her clitoris. His lips were on hers, roving tongue and all, giving her long kisses that sucked the breath from her. All in all, she was completely lost in the sensations of his lovemaking and would probably have done anything he wanted. Her mind was a mixture of numb to the rest of the world and alive with him. Her heart throbbed and the blood in her veins had turned into a molten river of arousal. Everything was perfect.

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It was supposed to be her night. It was her birthday on Friday, and it was a long hard week at work for Rose. All she asked for was a nice dinner, some dancing, and then to be brought home and tended to. She even made arrangement for the kids to go to her sisters, so he could take the entire weekend to please her.

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