Your erotic stories

Television just wasn't cutting it. I couldn't get her off of my mind. I'd fallen right into the same routine I had every night. Beer and TV usually made me groggy quick, especially on a full stomach. One pull of a lever, and my aching feet were up and my hands were behind my head in the recliner. The same recliner where she had climbed into my lap without her panties and rode me like a stallion.

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Little Devil Chastity was dressed like a cheap whore. Short, black semi-sheer mini-skirt. Braless, she wore a too tight and too small, neon pink tube top that barely contained her boobs. Cheap costume jewelry and knee high faux leather black boots. Poofy blonde hair, overdone make-up and strong perfume. And underneath, lace, red crotchless panties. It made her feel like a slut. It made her feel liberated. It made her feel excited.

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It was as I was returning from a trip up to Manchester that I saw the sign: 'Stewartby Park Prestige Hotel'. I vaguely remembered hearing that the old place had been converted, some years after she died, but it hadn't really hit home to me until that moment. Before I'd even realised it I'd swung the car between the gate posts and started up that familiar wide, sweeping gravel drive, framed by rhododendron bushes. After a few hundred yards I rounded a corner and saw again the huge, sprawling former stately home I'd last set eyes on more than 30 years earlier, its crooked Tudor chimneys silhouetted against the afternoon sky.

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The bride worried that she would shatter. She felt as fragile as the glass bottles of oils and perfumes set out for her bath--a bath she didn't welcome, and one she knew would never make her feel clean. In the water, a gilded lion gushed rose-scented water from his mouth. Julia had always thought the fountain beautified the room, but now the lion seemed like he was just another predator waiting to pounce.

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From the moment I saw her hunched over the register, I knew I needed her. Her soft doe eyes awkwardly begged my forgiveness as she pulled the damp fingernail from her pink lips and ran her hand down the side of her worn jeans. A slight smell of menthol cigarettes wafted from her sandy brown hair as she reached for one of the items on the conveyor belt.

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When I walked into the club for Gina's bachelorette party, I was too frazzled from work to wonder who else might be there. I'd left the office closer to seven than six, ran home to change into my one appropriate dress, and now I was late. A broken chunk of sidewalk almost made me later, but I managed not to fall. I was sure I looked ridiculous as I stumbled towards the door, but I got in without further trouble.

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It had been a year since I'd seen her...months since we'd last spoken. When she walked up to me in the lobby of the hotel where our convention was being held all those feelings rushed back to me in an instant. The heat growing through my body. I tugged at my clothes and patted my hair as I watched her walk towards me with that easy gait. Her strides long and confident. Her clothing all black, just like always.

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This story is meant to serve entertainment purposes only, it means no direspect towards Muslims or the religion of Islam. I had a crush on a girl, and it just happened that she was Muslim. Hope you enjoy the story. * "Oh my gosh, it's her again," I thought to myself.

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You are indeed my favorite fantasy, you are the vision I have when my skin becomes electric and my fires within churn and swell. You make my chest heavy and my mouth water. The way you look when your in your element that occasional glance and grin in my direction. The things I want to do to you, the desires I have.

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I. BACKGROUND Traci was a tall slender blonde who had been my Mom's roommate in college. They'd stayed in touch and I kinda knew her from her short visits. She was apparently rather wealthy and traveled a lot. I'd never understood exactly what she did but it was somehow related to the classical music and jazz business.

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