Your erotic stories

I showed up at the Fisher's house to baby sit in my typical summer outfit of white tennis shorts and a t shirt. Although I had turned eighteen months ago and was about to graduate from high school, I didn't mind babysitting for them. They had a big TV, well-behaved kids, well-stocked fridge and Joanie, their mom, was not only gorgeous, but as I had learned from the occasions when I saw her in a tennis dress and from looking at their vacation beach pictures, she had a great bod!

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Donna Gant sat reading a magazine on the couch in the family room of her center hall colonial. It was around one o'clock on an August afternoon, and the late-summer heat and humidity was swelling outside. Donna was enjoying her last "free" days before the new school year began, and she would have to get back to work. Donna was a science teacher at the local high school where here sons, Ryan and Mitchell, attended. She and her husband, Tom, had moved to the town some 12 years ago, when Ryan was just five and Mitchell was only two.

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I couldn't believe my luck – all my friends were going down to the beach, and I had to help my parents with a BBQ they were throwing. I had tried all the excuses I could think of but they weren't buying it. 'I've paid for you to study at University for 2 years Dan' my father said, 'it's the least you can do.' So I eventually gave in and agreed to help with the cooking and drinks.

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Laura walked back to her house. Still smiling. Still warm. Still electrified. She never would have imagined kissing her friend good bye after the lunch date they just had. Not even to mention kissing her that way... Gail has licked Laura's lips. That was nothing like kissing her husband. It was nothing like she had ever felt. She decided that she would indeed have a terrific rest of the day off. When she went into the house, she set the security system. She certainly didn't want her husband walking in on her. As she passed the kitchen, she picked up matches and then continued up stairs.

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It's a beautiful hot summer day and I'm in the front garden admiring my hard work. Weed free beds, blooming flowers soaking up the water I have given them, bees and butterflies dancing to natures tune. "Hey Mrs B, how are ya?" I'm startled, shaken from my reverie. I see Robbie's friend Dean on the pavement, looking young and fresh in shorts, jogging on the spot. I smile my automatic welcoming 'Mummy' smile.

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Damian paused at the edge of their territory and took a quick survey of the area. The conditions were right for the kind of prey he was after. The lighting was dim; the music gave a feeling of class. There were drinks being sold but nobody was uncultured enough to be drinking beer. A slower detailed look revealed that while there was a group of four sitting around a table lightly chattering most of the crowd was sitting alone or in pairs and all of the singles had roving eyes. It was time to throw out a little bait and see what happened.

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PRELUDE Louise Connor took me by the hand and led me over the doorway with the mistletoe hanging overhead. She took me in her arms and kissed me driving her tongue deep into my mouth. Then she released the lip lock on me and dropped to her knees in front of me. I remained still as Louise unbuckled my belt and unfastened my trousers. She took her time and then lowered them down past my knees. I could feel my cock rising to the occasion and my boxer shorts tented in evidence of my excitement.

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I've always loved Paris art cinemas. These old, worn-out theatres, showing forgotten films in bad state, smelling of rotten fabric and dust, nowhere in the world is quite like them. There is something special about Parisian art-house cinemas; the very bohemian meets the very snotty, the richness of the film and the beauty on the screen conflicting with the nastiness of the space and people.

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The bookstore was crowded with last minute holiday shoppers. I stood in a long checkout line and finally worked my way up to the front and was able to pay for my items. I was purchasing a few last minute presents, as well as, a book for myself. The checkout girl scanned the bar code on my book, then looked up at me with a knowing smile after noting the title of the thick volume.

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Ellie Carson was a fifty six year old woman who owned the neighborhood flower shop, or as she was fond of saying, the shop owned her. It was all she had to show for a lifetime devoted to a husband who had left her years ago, and she kept opening the door everyday out of habit pretty much because she had no place else to go.

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