Your erotic stories

You look out the window as the plane takes off, leaving home and your fiance behind. In a few hours you'll be where I am, at the conference on the west coast. You first really big conference. Your first time giving a panel paper before such an influential crowd. And your first weekend away with me.

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I grabbed her from behind and she screamed -- "Wha --Mmmm!" -- before I gagged her with my hand and crushed my other around her waist, pinning her left arm to her side. I could feel the softness of her white terry cloth bathrobe through my sweatpants and black turtle neck shirt. God, she felt amazing, and I wondered if she could feel my own heart hammering in my chest as much as my nine inch hard-on pressing against her ass.

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I had just graduated at Wesley Women's Academy and along with five other girls was taking a summer course that was a combination of horseback riding and sex education. We had finished our morning ride and were standing in one of the barns dressed in our riding gear listening to Miss Chambers our sex teacher. She was a tall woman with a broad ass and huge tits. She wore her usual costume: comfortable shoes and a long, white lab coat over a knee length, blue skirt.

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Dr. Kessa Brammer led him through a creaking metal door into the last storage room in the antiquities department. He stepped past her at her direction, looking around the chamber with slight un-ease. He was perhaps her brightest student, which was part of why she liked him. She pushed her weight against the metal door, which creaked closed, and latched with an echoing click.

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During my final year of high school my English teacher, Miss Jacobs, became pregnant. This alone is not so remarkable. The problem, however, was that Miss Jacobs was a miss and not a missus. Once the members of the school board found out about Miss Jacobs' pregnancy she was given the option of pregnancy leave (firing her was only an implied threat), after which she was shunted off to another school. Those who banished her probably thought it magnanimous of them to not sew a red A to her blouse before sending her off.

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The freight elevator seemed to be taking forever. Not that Alex was really in that much of a hurry. After all, he wasn't going anywhere for Thanksgiving. Home was too far away and he just couldn't to go home for Christmas and Thanksgiving. No, after work, all Alex had to look forward to was an empty dorm. His roommates and most of his friends that lived in the dorm had already left for their respective homes earlier in the day. But he didn't mind. Alex was actually looking forward to having the room all to himself. He liked his roommate quite a bit, but having a roommate meant having to be considerate of the other person.

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It had been a long day and I was happy to see the line growing short. I love book signings, but I'm usually pretty happy when they wind down to the last few stalwarts and I know I can finally stop being "on". I surveyed the line and only saw five more people and knew the end was in sight. The third to last person handed me the book and said, "Hi Mister M. Will you sign my book?"

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Alison May sat in her classroom, her delicate fingers tapping on the processed plastic-for-wood top of her desk. She had watched thousands of students sit in their rows as she droned the same information to them year after year. She watched them fix their eyes on the clock above the chalkboard, trying to mentally will the hands of the timepiece to move faster. This desperate act of telekinesis was a common one around the world, and she believed that it wasn't wholly unjustified on their part.

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Michael Halversun has a hard time recounting his memories, even now that he is safe in the small book laden office of his therapist. The twenty year old is filled with guilt, his voice wavering as he speaks into the tape recorder and his therapist sits across from him, listening to his tale. His upbringing told him that adultery was a great sin, and his masculinity told him that it was his fault. Whether either of those things were true really didn't matter any more to him. Michael had been raped.

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It wasn't until that very moment that the full gravity of the nation's economic downturn hit Lisa Ross. The newly hired Vice-President of marketing at an upstart South Florida publishing company, the previous handful of jobs Lisa had, air travel (usually first class) had been the mode of choice. Now she found herself seated and staring out the window of an Amtrak train as she prepared to embark from Miami to Washington, D.C. for a weekend conference.

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