Your erotic stories

"Am I glad to be leaving the office, I have been here for twelve hours!" As I exited the building, the security officer Scott locked up behind me. Thinking about the hour drive home, I remembered the toy in my purse. Scott was just walking back to his desk as I knocked on the door. He walked back over, unlocked the door and smiled. "Forget something?"

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The whole of this story is untrue, any resemblance to those people, places or events is purely coincidence. I always encourage you to wear protection, but in this story its purely fantasy. Working as an undercover cop posed certain risk I never new how much risk until I got my last assignment. I was working narcotics on the south side we had this particular band of dealers in our sights for a while now, but it was too hard to do surveillance on them due to their location.

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It was the stupidest thing I've done in my entire life; let's be honest, I knew that at the time but I still did it, silly cow! It was just before Christmas, and I'd gone with a few of my fellow teachers to the pub to celebrate the end of term – my first in my new profession. I'm Cathy Hull by the way, 23, pretty in a girl-next-door sort of way with a pale face, regular features, shoulder length brown hair (mousey, if I'm, being honest), and quite petite, five-foot-four with a slim figure. I'm from just outside London, and the school I teach at is about fifty miles north of my home town.

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When Carly awoke from the wild erotic dream in which she was the central figure, Jack was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking concerned. She rubbed her eyes, yawning. "'Morning, Jack." "Good morning, Carly. Sleep okay?" "Mmm, yes. Something up?" "Dunno. You were making some strange noises. Claire just sent me through to see if you were okay, or if there was anything you wanted?"

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Los Angeles, California, 1992 It's ironic that LA is known as the City of Angels. Work the streets and you see there is nothing angelic about it. It's a Gemini; the LA that tourists love, and the LA that cops know. Now Detective Bobby Morgan, a fifteen year vet, worked with seven other officers in the NGH Unit, working cases with three consistent elements; narcotics, gangs and homicide.

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Michael Powell was exhausted now. He lay very still, taking small, shallow, quick breaths. On his lumpy single bed, staring at the cracked, white ceiling of his room, Michael recounted the events of earlier that night, in his own private mind movie. He took one deeper breath, closed his eyes and smiled. He opened them again and reached over to pick up the toilet roll from the floor at the side of his bed.

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