Your erotic stories

On a very hot and unreasonably humid summer day around the middle of August, I found myself on the receiving end of Mrs. Nadine Broome's affections. I was mowing her lawn that day because their regular groundsman was off sick and word was getting about that my services were excellent and highly recommended. The lawn covered approximately 6 acres alongside the River Thames. In some ways it looked more like a bowling green than anything else, Rob always mowed and groomed it to perfection.

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I met Brian Carmichael in early July. I remember this because it was almost a week after my fifth birthday. I was in the driveway of our yard, playing with a Tonka dump truck and bulldozer that my Uncle Jake had bought me for my birthday. I looked up and saw a small black dog (a Labrador retriever, I later found out) run across our lawn. The dog wandered over to me, his tongue hanging out and his tail wagging.

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It was eight o'clock in the morning as I puttered around in the kitchen. The sun was already up and it promised to be another beautiful August day. But, this wasn't just any day. Today was our twenty-eighth wedding anniversary. Could that possibly be true? Just thinking about the number made me shake my head in wonder. I still thought of myself in the same way that I always had. However, a quick glance in the mirror was more than enough to remind me that I no longer resembled that young, thin twenty year old that had walked down that aisle so long ago.

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As the pontoons of the seaplane separated from the calm waters of the small harbor, two sentences of Uncle Frank's parting conversation echoed through my head - "Are you sure?" and "See you in a month." All of a sudden I felt more alone than I'd ever felt before. A tear rolled down the side of my nose. I waved until I could no longer see the plane.

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Before I start I should really tell you a bit about our village. If you are used to planned gridiron building then our village will be a shock to you. People have lived here and hereabouts for at least a couple of thousand years. There was a Roman camp nearby, and there are carvings in rocks that are much older than that. What I am saying is that the village was not organised, it had just happened. Most people only see it from the main road, lined as it is with shops, houses and a couple of pubs.

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"Buy me a drink sailor?" Blearily I swiveled my head towards the sound and tried to focus my eyes to see who was addressing me. The barmaid who stood by the table finally came into focus. She was short, perhaps 5'2," blond, and what I'd once heard described as "healthy" by a good old boy from Texas. She was what would now be called a BBW, not overly fat, but pleasingly plump and pretty to boot with sky blue eyes.

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I stood there in the hallway, staring at the door. The rest of the hall was empty, and I could hear my heart pounding as though it was trying to leap out of my chest. When I reached up to knock, my hand was shaking. The voice from within the room did nothing to ease my anxiety. "Juste un instant, s'il vous plait ", melodically reached my ears. Well, we were in Quebec, and she was my french teacher, so.... perhaps I should fill in some history leading up to this moment.

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"Damn, damn, damn!" I thought to myself, "What in the world have you gotten yourself into now, girl?" I squirmed against the intense sensation of the vibrator as I felt and heard the unrelenting driving, pounding sound of the mini stallion as it forced the dildo deep inside me, then back out. Chuk-a-chuk-a-chuk-a-chuk, over and over and over, no stopping it.

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I had just gotten out of the shower, blow-dried my hair and was lying on the bed lightly running a finger between my moistening pussy lips when the doorbell rang. I groaned in frustration. I wanted so bad to touch my pussy and cum. As usual, after trying to entice my husband the night before, I went to bed without a cock. For some months now, Jim hadn't touched me once, and I was sure it was because of another woman.

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Carly Adams walked her two children to the end of the cul-de-sac to catch the school bus. Her two young daughters, aged 10 and 12, had the good fortune of inheriting their mother's striking good looks. Having recently turned 37, the slim and sexy soccer mom was constantly mistaken for a much younger woman. Very petite, barely topping 5 feet tall, her jet black hair was styled in a classic concaved bob cut, parted on the side, long side bangs flowing down to curl erotically just under her jaw line.

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