Your erotic stories

He is naked before me. His gym toned body is tan and beautiful. I love to see his muscles work. They writhe like ropes under his warm and smooth skin. His green eyes meet mine. He cannot contain his smile. I love turning him on. 

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He's coming tonight. I don't know how I know, but he is. I woke up trembling this evening. I've been in such a state, pacing through the abandoned corridors and empty cavernous rooms, turning on all the lights because I was frightened (the place is haunted, I'm sure of it), and then I turned them all off again because he prefers the darkness. Now I'm sitting at my desk writing it all down. That's why he gave me a desk, right? And paper, and a pen. There is precious little else in this manor, except for the books in the library, and I can't focus on what I'm reading when I'm like this.

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Thursday night, 10 pm. The waiting queue were shuffling their feet in the cold out on the footpath, waiting for the doors of the Stroke Bar to open. Hot new band-of-the-month The Suspected were playing a gig there tonight, and all the regular patrons, plus more, had turned up. Rosemary jumped up and down on the spot, trying to warm herself up, wishing for a moment that she put some warmer clothes on, but quickly brushing that thought away with a private grin as she saw the looks she attracted from her fellow queuers, enjoying the subtle attention.

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