Your erotic stories

I turned a whole different shade of red as I pulled my card out of my wallet. Seventy-three dollars never felt so embarrassing and I was more than thankful that the clerk was a young, beautiful woman. Maybe she would understand; then again, maybe not and her judgment was withheld behind her professional smile.

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I burst through the door to the apartment. I had left work the moment I received the text from my girlfriend: "Come home for lunch and help me try out my new toy." Now, I was home, hard as a rock and ready to help. "I'm in here." The sound of Sandy's voice comes from the bedroom. I bolt down the hall of our small, one-bedroom apartment, and am immediately struck by the sight awaiting me.

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Valerie Nicholls had found her motivation to work out regularly. His name was Connor, and he owned the gym that was incongruously tucked away behind an upscale European furniture store in what most people probably assumed was an area of tony shops and places where you paid four dollars for a small pastry that was wrapped up for you to take away in a small box tied with a ribbon. At forty-two, Valerie had been divorced for six years and was content enough with her situation not to settle for less than what she wanted and needed in a mate.

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