Erotic Short Story: The Waiter

TheWaiterCoverWebA bored twenty-one year old girl is on holiday with her parents, and finds herself fantasizing about the dishy waiter serving them dinner in the hotel restaurant. Flirting is fun… but what happens when her parents leave her all alone with him?

It was the third night of my holiday and I was enduring another dinner with my parents. Actually, I should probably give them a bit of a break and stop complaining about them so much; they might treat me like I’m twelve, but at least they care. Some people have it far worse.

I was feeling in pretty high spirits and ready to party. The parents seemed to be in a good mood too, and were even treating me to a meal in the hotel’s posh restaurant tonight, instead of the cheap canteen. I’m not sure what I’d done to deserve this. Maybe the sun was doing us all some good.

“Jenny and Phil were so pleased with your services last night. Phil seems quite taken with you dear,” I almost choked on my water on hearing my mum’s words.

“Huh?” I managed, wide eyed. For a second the image of Jenny peeling her dress over her head as I climbed off of her husband’s cock flashed into my mind. A dream, I reminded myself, it was just a dream. Continue reading

Erotic Short Story: Seducing the Boiler Man

I knew I had to have him to moment I answered the door to his knock and he stood there, all stubble and scruff, all manly man.

“I’ve come to service your boiler love,” he said, a line straight out of a porn film. I might have been immune to his rugged charms had I not just spent the morning writing my latest romantic tale of sex and seduction. But my characters were so real to me, the situations I created so vivid in my imagination, the physical effect was as intense as if I was right there. In fact, I couldn’t finish a story without having to satisfy myself, since i didn’t have a husband or boyfriend to take care of my desire. I always made myself wait though, until after my characters had been satisfied too – so my own desire, my own desperate melting need, would translate into the story I was writing.

That’s exactly where I’d been when he’d knocked on the door – coming to the climax of the scene, moist and sticky between the legs, aching to be touched. I’d been five minutes away from fetching my faithful friend to bring me to my own climax as I re-read the scene – as was my routine upon finishing every new sexy tale. So then I found myself staring at this beautiful man, my heart racing, my body crying out to be touched, wondering if he’d been sent as some kind of divine intervention to see to my every need.
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