Your erotic stories

Most secretaries would be fired for wearing a low-cut blouse like hers. Most secretaries wouldn't get away with a tight pencil-skirt and the almost-visible suspenders around her thighs either. Most secretaries, however, aren't married to their bosses – and today is their anniversary. There are flowers on Lana's desk when she comes in, high heels clicking on the oak floor. That gets a smile from her, which isn't always easy this early in the morning; it's still dark outside.

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"Ugh. Whatever happened to standards Sharon? Why does everyone think all you need to be a secretary is to look good?" Meet Jake Andrews, a 38 year old CEO of a medium sized business firm. Jake looked pretty average with his brown hair, brown eyes, and an unassuming Caucasian face, not ugly but not handsome by any stretch.

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"Ohhh . . . Jesus . . . God!!" Ernestine's orgasm was going on so long I was beginning to worry. "Fuck . . . me . . . again!" It was a groan, a begging, sluttish moan. She lay on the floor, sperm smeared all over her, her pussy drooling a white stream from the last guy's load, her mouth creamy from its last visitor. She was beckoning to me. "Take me," she murmured. "Ram that big thing in me!"

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I had been back at work on Monday, but Blake didn't act as if anything had happened. I guess I should explain. I had tricked Blake into taking me with him on one of his business trips by telling him that the escort service couldn't provide anyone and I volunteered to go instead. I expected to do whatever I could to secure a renewal of the contract and make him proud of me.

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I hired her solely on her looks, I'm not even going to begin to pretend there was any other real reason. She was midwest-innocence, sex-on-a-stick, dumb as a brick, yet sweet as a farmer's daughter, all wrapped in one. Nikki Lacy was her name. I couldn't make it up if I scanned the strip club advertisements in the newspaper and looked for the stage name of tonight's featured pole dancer.

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