Your erotic stories

It's a beautiful day. A cool breeze blows, lessening the warming effects of the shining sun which has already begun its descent into the horizon. The smell of freshly cut grass and fragrant flowers adds to the ambience, creating a soothing environment as the sounds of music begin to fill the air. I lounge back in my seat, relishing the warming sensation that begins to fill my body as I enjoy my fourth gin and tonic of the afternoon.

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PRELUDE Cathleen walked into my office and as she had so many times, she closed and locked the door and then put the door brace in place. This was so no one would walk in on us unexpectedly. I looked at her and smiled but I reminded her of my schedule. "I have to go to President's Council in 30 minutes," I told her.

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It was dark. It was raining. I was tired. I was also nervous. I considered calling the whole thing off, but it was too late now. She was waiting. I peered through the rain spattered windshield, between the squeaking wipers in a vain attempt to make out the names written on the overhead street signs. "I really should get some glasses," I muttered to myself as my eyes squinted to see through the driving rain.

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Jordan was being tortured. It was the day before Valentine's and Glen was torturing her with her gift. He wasn't torturing her with intrigue and suspense. On the contrary, she knew exactly what she was getting. She had known for a long time, and he had purchased it a long time ago. It arrived a full two weeks before Valentine's Day. But rather than give it to her, he taunted her with it. He constantly flaunted it in front of her but wouldn't let her have it.

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"I have a special dessert for you, sweetie", Christina said to me as she cleared the dinner table. "I was wondering where all this was headed" I replied. My wife Christina is a complete ass-play freak, and tonight she prepared a wonderful dinner for me while dressed up as a sexy french maid. Her curvy figure was accentuated by a jet-black satin corset with white lace edging.

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I glanced around nervously as Mya dug through her purse, searching for her keys. "What time is your boyfriend coming home again?" I asked, waiting impatiently as she continued rummaging. "Stop worrying about it?" she chided, pulling her keys from the purse, fumbling them in her drunken fingers. "He won't be back until the morning."

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Today was different. Today she wasn't going to. She watched her husband's steel-gray Jaguar pull slowly down the driveway. The summer sunlight glinted off the hubcaps as it backed into the street, reversed, and was gone. She supposed she had better clear away the breakfast dishes. Or maybe she'd take a break and read a magazine. Something to pass the time, anyway.

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I always knew of the man who lived in the house at the end of the dead end street as the Creeper. His real name was Mr. Manson, and I thought that his first name was Barry or Barney or something like that. The word around the school was that he liked boys, and from the time I was in elementary school, to the time I was a senior in high school, I was warned by other kids to stay away from his house.

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I knew before it was over that I had to write this story, to cement the memory in my mind. To somehow make this surreal experience that once resided only in my darkest fantasies even more real. This was a once in a lifetime experience that's simply too good to let fade with time. So here's my story...

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It had been a very bad winter. It had been freezing down in the village, and there was no fruit or fresh vegetables of any kind left. All they had was salted meats and tubers, a state of affairs that left Samantha, not accustomed to not getting her own way, very frustrated. The manor house, up on its lonesome hill, was a perpetual temptation to the people in the town below.

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