Your erotic stories

"Good thing we left early. We need gas," Angela told her husband, Kurt. He grunted, not happy with the announcement, but taking it in stride. He was nervous. His kid brother was going to propose to his girlfriend tonight, and he'd invited the whole gang out to witness it. So, they were on their way to a posh drinking spot - formal ware required. So, Angela was in a beautiful blue silk evening gown, and Kurt was in a fancy black tie affair he'd had to rent.

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I still remember the first time I laid eyes on Annette. She was standing on my doorstep, looking up at me, a hesitant smile forming on her full lips. She was holding a portfolio under her left arm. With her right hand she pushed a wave of auburn hair away from her eyes.

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She had a number of surprises for him... We had just gotten back from a friend's wedding. They had a nice ceremony on a golf course under some trees and then a party afterwards inside the club house. It was an open bar and they had hired a band. We spent most of the night making the rounds saying hello and visiting with both families. After several drinks and a couple of dances we said goodnight.

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Your heart is thumping, the adrenalin and anticipation beginning to be usurped by arousal. This whole scenario has an element of the surreal, and yet you stay fixed to this spot. He stirs behind you, moving close enough for his cologne to caress your senses, even if his hands are yet to.

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As the train slowed down and drew into York station Mark smiled at his wife Serena and asked how she felt. 'Nervous, and as horny as hell,' she replied. The train slowed to a halt and Mark and Serena got off and made their way off the platform where they were due to meet Robert, Mrs Wyles' assistant. They held hands as they approached the ticket barrier and walked through it.

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So how long have you been into feet? Who am I? What's my name? Irrelevant. You don't need to know my name, my age or my star sign. What you do need to know is that I work as an S2 auditor for Deloitte, a global financial services firm in their Islington based London England branch. I'm attractive, hard working, driven and get on very well with my colleagues, so with this in mind I think you can see how, when I was chosen amongst five other members of my department to take part in the prestigious upcoming Rising Stars exhibition at the Estoria hotel in Manchester, it didn't come as much of a surprise.

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Lori walked into the conference room with confidence, swinging her hips with each step. Her boss, Ryan, gazed at her legs as she strode past him, her heels clicking loudly on the floor. She took a seat next to his, crossing her legs with a rasp of fabrics as her black pencil skirt slid over her nylons. The meeting chairs were leather, cozy, and the large table was glass. Sitting next to Lori, Ryan had an excellent view of her legs and that's the way he liked it.

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Now, it's not what you might think; I'm not talking about that annoying Microsoft Office pop-up. No, I'm talking about the London Clippy, more properly known as a bus conductress. This was long before the Oyster Card method of payment that you wand as you board a bus, through concertina folding doors. Back then there was no door, just an open platform at the back left hand side (e.g. the side facing the pavement). A driver would pull up almost one bus length beyond the painted sign that was attached to a post.

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Guys are normally so predictable. Flirt with them, joke with them, be interested in "their" sport, and all of a sudden a girl can have them groveling at her feet. Give them a glimpse of leg and they will actually slobber. At least the majority of guys are that way. Occasionally there are the mutants. They are hooked to a specific girl and won't tell you the time of day. They might be totally devoted to work. They might like guys. Whatever.

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Average, that's pretty much how I saw myself. Brown hair, brown eyes, busty for sure, but could stand to either lose 20 pounds or grow 4 inches. Nothing particularly remarkable about me but what I lack in the supermodel, standard cutesy looks department, I probably make up for in personality. Great. Just how every woman wants to be described: "she's not really pretty, but she's got a great personality!" Whatever.

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