Your erotic stories

I was pissed off. See, I was supposed to head up to Canada with my buddies from university and spend our winter break snowboarding, but things never seem to turn out the way I plan. Instead my dad pulled rank and ordered me home for Christmas. He insisted that I should learn some values and spend "quality time" with my mother and sister.

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The club is crowded tonight, and hot. The press of bodies, half-naked and gleaming, is a feast. The warm brush of flesh against flesh is a fever. Bodies clashing and rubbing become a furnace fueling my desire. As I make my way to the bar, threading carefully through the throng, my hand touches a shoulder here, a well-muscled chest there, my bottom brushing against the crotch of someone behind me as I squeeze through a small corridor.

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I am asleep. Then, suddenly, I am awake. I can feel him. Standing there in the dark corner of the room. I can't see him, I only know he's there. Did he wake me? It's cold. And I'm naked under the covers. I sit up, thinking maybe I can catch a glimpse of him if I do. But I cannot.

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A story about a chance meeting from a while back. The young man is no longer quite as young but is much wiser. * Chapter One: Off the bus How I found myself at that bus station in Fort Wayne, Indiana is a long and not very interesting story that can be condensed in a few paragraphs.

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The pain was fighting with the pleasure; the fear with the exhilaration. The struggle for the dominant sensation was sending my adrenaline through the roof. God, I was skipping along the top of the clouds. Shit, I was skimming the searing flames of hell. Pain, pleasure. Pleasure, pain. Right there on the edge. Would he love me or kill me? Would he fulfill my desires? Or would he take me to the edge of release only to abandon me to want and frustration? Either way, this was the edge that made me feel alive. This . . . this . . . this, right here, right now.

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Sun, sand, and silence. The beach was gloriously empty. Susan had been coming to this stretch of the Côte d'Ivoire for years. It was her retreat from the whirl of business life. The pavillon was humble by modern standards -- only a few rooms, with aging fitments -- but its rustic charm somehow enhanced rather than reduced its appeal. It was a family-run affair: well, it had been. The concierge had mentioned a change of ownership when she'd arrived yesterday afternoon.

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I sat in the huge meeting hall of the San Diego Convention Center waiting for the keynote speaker to begin his insightful, though most likely useless, remarks. The hospital I worked for had sent me on an all expenses paid vacation from the drudgery of the nine to five office grind in hopes I'd pick up some gems on how to improve the bottom line. Such gems hardly ever come from keynote speakers. If gems are to be found, it will be in the working sessions later -- keynote addresses are about as useful and practical as your commencement speaker's advice to your class when you graduated.

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Katie hummed to herself as she strolled down the hallway, her small arms holding a large basket of laundry braced against her stomach. As she reached to door to the laundry room, she pinned the basket to the wall as she dug for her key in her pocket. As she produced the tiny key, she lifted a knee to help her shaking arm bear the weight of the encumbering load as she struggled to slip it into the door. As the towering basket tipped to the side, a sock fell off onto the floor.

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Alice van der Poole loved her boyfriend. Really, she did. Ben was perfectly handsome, perfectly sweet, perfectly... bland. Every kiss was preceded with a gentle, "May I kiss you?" and followed by a whispered, "You're so beautiful." At night, Ben would tell her how precious she was, how delicate and sweet and lovely. His fragile, perfect little rose. Alice wanted to scream.

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So, this is it, I thought to myself. I had not told my wife of this plan, of course. It was not something that I cared to share with her. Then again, I didn't share much at all with her anymore, except for our last names. She had made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with my "kinky stuff". That included spanking her, tying her up, and generally having my way with her. She was much more conservative than I turned out to be.

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