Your erotic stories

She was sitting in a booth, facing the front door. I walked up to her and smiled. She was still beautiful, maybe even more so. Her hair was not as long as she wore it when she was a young woman; now it was just above her shoulders in a very chic, professional cut.

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The morning mist covered the grass and flowers; it was a beautiful May morning in Georgia. Birds were chirping and a slight breeze rustled the leaves in the trees that lined the long driveway that led to a spacious mansion. It was difficult for Nora to believe that she was only sixty miles out side of Atlanta;

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"-Do you trust me?" Moira asked. The sun was setting over the southern Ireland countryside, sending long, soft shadows from to tree to hedgerow and slowly turning the sky red. They sat on Moira's couch in her quiet cottage. She had her arm around the younger woman's shoulders. Sinead's school books lay scattered on the coffee table.

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Everyone in this story is over eighteen. It seeks to explore lesbian masochism, which I know exists. * It was my husband's fault. Really. Mike was a horny bastard, and something of a voyeur. And that was how he lost me – simple as that. We used to go to a lot of parties, with other young married couples, many of us fancying each other's partners like mad. Nothing unusual in that, I suppose.

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It was several months after my wedding that my growing but still largely unconscious suspicions finally emerged into a realization: I had a rival for my husband's affections. It was surprising, given how grateful he had seemed—after all, Eric had won a bride almost half his age—but I knew that he was possessed of a powerful sex drive and a taste for novelty and adventure.

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Megan and Jennifer had met on the first day of school, and had instantly become friends. They were both in their mid 20’s and were going to a Technical school to learn computers. On the first day of school Megan had come to her class for Information Technology. She had been afraid she would find all the other students were straight out of high school and they would think she was old.

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"Chrissie Christianson looks pleased with herself," Amy muttered into my ear, motioning her head towards the dance floor. I turned in my chair, looking for the petite blonde cheerleader. Grimacing, I spotted her. "Do you think she could have flaunted a little more of her body in that dress?" I kidded, smiling. "Look who she's with," Amy said pointedly, motioning again.

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Little Devil Chastity was dressed like a cheap whore. Short, black semi-sheer mini-skirt. Braless, she wore a too tight and too small, neon pink tube top that barely contained her boobs. Cheap costume jewelry and knee high faux leather black boots. Poofy blonde hair, overdone make-up and strong perfume. And underneath, lace, red crotchless panties. It made her feel like a slut. It made her feel liberated. It made her feel excited.

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It had been six months since Katie left to go back to South America. Six long months without anyone to play with – six months of frustration with only my own fingers to satisfy my sensitive nipples. – And now, back in my apartment, dressed in only a white cotton top and g-string, I rubbed my aching buds back and forth through the material, releasing my pent up and frustrated feelings.

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This is a retelling of an experience a very good friend of mine (I'll call her Judith) had 2 years ago before she met the fella that she recently married. I have her permission to retell the story so long as I did not use her name or the names of anyone else connected to this. Her experience was so good that I don't need to embellish it in any way. So here goes ....

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