Your erotic stories

"329, 331, 333..." I muttered to myself, reading the numbers off the doors as I made my way down the narrow hotel hallway. I could almost hear the sound of my own nervous heartbeat over the quiet buzzing of a nearby ice machine as I pushed my hand into my pocket to pull out a folded, crumpled piece of paper. Cursing myself for the inability to calm my shaking nerves, I unfolded the small parchment and read the number scrawled upon it.

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My husband Tommy and I have always been a very open and honest couple. Our honesty extends to all aspects of our marriage including our sex life. We always take the time to share our fantasies with each other and make every effort possible to help the other person's fantasy come to life.

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It was a warm, sunny day and I decided to go outside and tend my flowers. Mike and I decided to give up our apartment and rent a house in the suburbs. It gave us much more privacy and I liked to spend more time outside gardening. Even a dominatrix can care for such delicate things as flowers.

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My Husband It really is amazing how many secrets married people can keep from one another. I'm not talking about small stuff either, huge life altering secrets can be kept from loved ones with relative ease. I can't help but laugh at the countless husbands and wives who sternly insist that they know everything there is to know about their partner. Usually, those that are the most confident in the marriages are the ones who are slapped with the biggest jaw dropping revelations of them all.

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Chapter One When I met my wife, Susan, she was a sweet, toe headed girl who seems entirely too nice to be in the bar that I frequented with a group of buddies, we were all there for one reason, get laid. I had gone up to speak with her for just one reason, she just seemed out of place. Out of all the freaks and sluts, I'd met there; she was a shining star in the middle of a dark day, a beacon of innocence.

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The engine ticked lightly, rhythmically, having only recently completed a twenty mile journey. Rain dripped from the frame of the car, from the edges of its bumpers. The windows were blurred, save for the two arches where the wipers had recently swept drops from the tempered glass. The car didn't belong there. Not in that parking lot. Not in that town.

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"Okay Heather if you want to be like that, fuck you! I'm not gonna stand here and take this shit. We're done." "Fuck you back you asshole! You damn right we're done! I want a man that treats me well!" "You mean you want a man that's whipped, that caters to your every idiotic whim, that hands over money because he's your personal ATM. In other words, you want a chump. I'm not a chump, nor that desperate. Besides, you ain't even that good. Goodbye."

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Well, I was old enough to know that life doesn't always work out exactly as you want it to. Justin and I had been married for ten years and, frankly, the passion had faded. We were both deep into our careers, I was a property manager for a local upscale real estate developer and hubby managed a district branch of a large insurance company. So, we were pretty happy career-wise and financially, it was the once-every-other-week fuck that I was getting that was disappointing.

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"Excuse me Miss, but... blah, blah, blah" a man spoke to me as he grabbed my wrist as I walked past him. "I'm sorry?" I replied, turning to face him. The music in the club was so loud; I couldn't hear everything that he was saying. Still holding my wrist, he bent forward and whispered in my ear, "I said that you have amazing breasts!"

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My husband and I always looked forward to the NASCAR season. This goes back to the day we met while camping in Rock City for the race at Charlotte. Every season we tried to make it to as many races as we could, camping out in the off field campgrounds and enjoying the total NASCAR experience. As time went on, and we became more successful, our camping equipment went from tents, to pop-up trailers, to a fifth wheel trailer then on to our current luxury motor home.

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