Menage – part 1 of 3 [MMF, anal]

My best story written….

*“Meet me in the lounge bar at the Bond Plaza. And, wear something nice…underneath.”*

My lover’s instructions were simple and I clearly understood what he meant by “underneath.” In other words, wear one of my best lingerie outfits. But I as I left the cab and walked towards the glass doors of the exclusive hotel, I couldn’t help but wonder what was the special occasion? We had been seeing each other exclusively for about six months now. It wasn’t any kind of anniversary, nor was my birthday or any holiday coming up.

I smiled warmly at the portly doorman who greeted me and held a door open for me to enter. In the cavernous but elegantly decorated foyer, I felt a chill cascading down my back to the exposed lengths of my legs. The chill could have been caused by the brisk autumn evening breeze that followed me in. Or it could have been the anticipation I was feeling with my mind speculating what my lover had planned for us.

Eclipsys [M/F]

Her day was long but it was almost over. It was the second day of a 3-day conference, given by an Atlanta-based software vendor contracted by her employer. The conference consisted of interesting lectures, power-networking and dinner with boisterous, intoxicated coworkers. She really looked forward to returning to her hotel suite for a hot shower, cool bed linens and a good book.

Settling under the plush down comforter, she shared her attention between the book she had in her hands, and the news on TV. Suddenly, she heard a soft knock on the door. It was very late, but she wasn’t too concerned. After dinner this evening, she suspected that one particular person would be paying her a visit tonight.

She looked through the door’s peephole to see him standing across the hall. Tall, athletically-built, bronzed, devilishly- handsome and Italian-American. He was leaning back onto the wall, with his legs crossed at his ankles and his hands in the pockets of his slacks. His warm whiskey-brown gaze stared into her own eyes, even through the peephole.

She opened the door partially, only exposing her face to him.

“Hey,” he said in soft husky voice.

Commute [M/F]

This is a second story from my past venture of writing erotica. Amante, I dedicate this one to you.

Commute

Sam Sheldon preferred to ride the city’s MetroRail system to and from work. The commute was only forty-five minutes one way. The railcars were often filled to the hilt with people, and the cleanliness was sometimes questionable. But the expense of maintaining a car and parking it in the city made riding the public railway system the most economical and sensible way to go.

The MetroRail had become more than a means of transportation for him. Each railcar became a mobile temple where he could meditate on his mundane life, and hope to find some sort of enlightenment. He thought about his marriage and his wife, who was emasculating and sexually distant. He thought about his two teenage sons, spoiled by the privilege of living in the suburbs and not having to work for the material things they wanted. He thought about his home with its overwhelming spaciousness and expensive décor. He thought about his demanding boss at the architectural firm he worked, and the clients who were unrealistic and unyielding in their deadlines.

Samera’s Way [m/f]

There was a time in my past when I thought of becoming an erotica writer. This was first story I wrote.

**Samera’s Way**

“Damn it, Sam! Three months till the wedding and I haven’t even selected the menu yet!”

Samera sat quietly on the soft leather couch and watched in amusement as her sister searched frantically from room to room.

“What are you looking for, Joy?” she asked while popping a green apple jelly bean into her mouth.

“My caterer, Zeke, is coming over and I have to find my planning folder. I have to give him the menu selections.”

*Zeke. What a weird name for a man.* Samera thought to herself as she chewed the candy, savoring its luscious mixture of sweet and sour tastes.

Her sister stopped abruptly in front of her. She had her hands poised on her hips and her face was contorted with aggravation.

“You’ve seen my planner, haven’t you Sam?”

“Nah,” Samera replied. “It’s my eyes, remember? You said earlier that they’re getting bad due to me getting old.”

“You’ve only turned 35, Sam. Damn, can’t you take a joke?”