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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Can a woman be a flirt and still be a loving wife? I say, yes, because I'm married to one! Barb and I have been married for many years. We were high school sweethearts and married young. My Barb is tall, slender, attractive, and very vivacious. She meets people easily and has seldom known a stranger. Part of what drew me to her was her flirtatious manner.

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"I don't believe it," Randi said, tying her bathrobe around herself as she walked out of her bedroom into the apartment's living room. "What's the matter?" Anna asked. "Steven... fucking... fell asleep." "Right after sex?" Calista asked.

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Susie could feel the Reverend's eyes burned a path up and down her slender form as he stood in the doorway, waiting to be invited in. They started at her auburn hair, tied back into a one-foot braided ponytail, flicked casually over one shoulder.

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Jessica turned off the tap and stepped out of the shower, steam billowing out from the open door. She grabbed a soft cotton towel and wrapped it around her flushed damp body. She had rushed home from work and was now pleased that she had made the effort. There was more than enough time to get ready before Charlie came home. She planned to have her way with him and if he wasn't too tired she would sit on his face so he could use his expert tongue to make her scream. Simple and hot - just how she liked it.

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Jason stood on a rock overlooking a deserted beach beneath him. The cool sea breeze that sent an occasional whiff of salt up to him was a delightful refreshment under the glaring sun. He felt slightly dazed, uncertain if that was due to the heat, the amounts of red wine he had been drinking the night before, or ... he rubbed his eyes, incredulously.

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Given the choice between a young, hot, ravenous stud and an older gentleman, simmering in passionate wisdom and experience, my preference will always be without a single doubt the old man. I often wonder if men realize that while a woman is walking down a street being appreciated for her eye catching silhouette, offering them a break in the usual nothing to get excited about scenery, that she may be doing a little appreciating of her own.

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Most of Matt's friends went to Lauderdale, or Daytona, or somewhere typical for Spring Break, looking to abandon themselves in the slick, sunscreen- and alcohol-laced musk of ten thousand horny college kids in a space too small to contain them. Matt had another plan, though--he'd head down to the smaller towns, along the Atlantic Coast. Just as much sex in the air, but better parking. I suppose, he thought, I shouldn't complain. The mile markers whipped by as Rachel goosed the accelerator on the old Chevy wagon.

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When a man comes home to his wife and a houseful of women, it's either really good or really bad, especially when the conversation stops as soon as the door opens. And most especially when the women looking at him have those expressions suggesting they know something he doesn't (and of course they do -- it's always that way). His wife stepped forward and walked toward him.

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I was having dinner with my long time girlfriend Cassie. It was a place we had seen many times but never tried. We had heard the food was pretty good, and it was. But it seemed to be more of a hangout than a restaurant. Our table was in the middle of the room. I sat facing the door, Cassie faced the back wall. Behind me was what seemed to be an office party of some sort.

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