Your erotic stories

It was pouring rain as I pounded on the door to my best friend's house. The lights weren't on and her car wasn't in the driveway, but I was so enraged that I didn't care. I was about ready to give up on the door and just crash through the front window when the light in the front hall came on and the door flew open. "What in the hell..." Ashley's dad looked furious until he saw me. His jaw dropped as he looked at me, and he was silent for a moment. "Nicole, what's going on?"

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It started with an anonymous note: 'Frank, Dan has been seen with your wife. Check it out.' That was all it said. Did I need any more? Proof of my own, sure. I work for a large corporate retail conglomerate. I'm VP of Distribution. Dan works in the same company as a regional manager who happens to be based out of the same corporate headquarters for the local chain. He's a boss of smaller bosses, but he wasn't my boss. Dan is a hot-headed Mexican with a lot of piss and vinegar on an upwardly mobile track of well-earned success.

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Brock Barry Peterson was the handsomest man I had ever seen. He was over six feet tall and had smooth clear skin, blue blue eyes and white white wavy hair. He was always impeccably dressed in expensive well-tailored suits, crisp ironed shirts, and tastefully colored ties. He wore a special cologne. I don't know what it was, but it was heady. Sitting across from his desk, taking instructions, I was breathing in his aroma and getting absolutely intoxicated.

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Ivana felt like a prisoner being forced to lock her own cell doors as she slid the deadbolt on the restaurants doors into the cold steel jamb. She then plodded across the room and shut the blinds on the windows. The room grew darker and more like a dungeon as each blind was closed. The manufacturer had intended the blinds to be used to keep the sun out of the room. Keeping outsiders from witnessing what was happening in the restaurant was an unintended benefit of the shades. Ivana could remember a time when blinds weren't needed but that time seemed long ago.

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Traci and Heather were discussing whether or not Karen Cambell would show up at their five year class reunion. They could hardly believe that the 'bitch' would show up after what had happened just over three years ago. But if she did Traci had some three and a half year old pictures that would insure a memorable reunion for her classmates.

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I could hear the faint sound of music emanating from behind the door as I made my way down the hallway. Each step brought me closer as the music became louder and louder. I listened intently as I closed in, but could not make out place the song or the band, writing it off as one of the many independent, no-name artists that Laura always listened to.

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His eyes were closed, a vain token of propriety: if he didn't see what was happening, was he really responsible? Around his finger her mouth closed, warm, wet, sucking. He felt her teeth graze over the hardness of his wedding band, then those hot, soft lips closed about his finger, retreating slowly towards his fingertip with a delicious, unfamiliar suction. What am I doing? There is a reason I've worn this band for fifteen years.

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I took a long sip of my dirty martini and leaned into the bar, staring resentfully down towards the end of it. My boyfriend of three years, Ryan, was still engaged in conversation, feeding his ego with clever banter. I noticed the familiar animated expressions, grand gestures, and overly enthused laughter that captivated the small crowd of people he was talking to. I sighed heavily, and settled back onto my bar stool and played with the spear of olives in my drink.

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I shifted my computer bag on my shoulder as I hustled down the corridor. I hated being late, especially when it was my own presentation. I was cutting it close, very close, and at these things audience reviews were everything. The last thing I wanted to hear from my manager was that my reviews sucked because they were preoccupied by my tardiness.

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How could he? That bastard of a boyfriend of mine? Yes, despite living together we both had our freedom. He'd never been unfaithful to me before. Not that I knew of. Neither had I with him. Not with another man, anyway. A woman was different, of course. My boyfriend had no idea I was bisexual. That was, and is, a side I keep to myself. I love men. Love cock. But I love women, too.

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