Your erotic stories

I recall a trip I took to Chicago, it was 1977, almost 15 years ago, and my first unaccompanied business trip. I was 29 then, and my career was just taking off. My schedule called for three days of meetings and seminars. But, I had my own room, with my own king size bed, and I was looking forward to two evenings of uninterrupted privacy.

Almost six years had passed since I felt the touch of a woman. I hadn’t acquired the skill of meeting other women, or in seduction. I lived in a small community, none of my friends had approached me, and I couldn’t just come out and ask them. Not that there weren’t women around who excited me! If they only knew what they did to me. There was a girl in my office just out of school, tall and lean. She wore simple suits and dresses, very tasteful, but I’d seen her in the ladies room, fixing her clothes, with the most sensuous lingerie. There were others too, even some of my neighbors, Enough to keep my pants wet and fingers busy all the time. I masturbated often, imaging it was the fingers of some woman I knew. I imagined her coming on to me, seducing me. Like in the videos my husband brought home. I fingered myself, alone or while my husband watched. Anxious for the day I’d meet my next female lover.

I had just taken charge of our sales office, and the boss asked me to go to Chicago for further training. At the end of the first day of seminars, and a quiet dinner, I locked my hotel room door, kicked off my shoes, and propped some pillows up on the bed. I turned off all but the reading lamp over the bed and poured a glass of wine from the bottle I picked up in the lobby deli. I felt warm and secure as I stretched on the bed, admiring my long legs encased in sheer stockings. There were some very attractive women in the course I took that afternoon, and I examined them in my mind, their faces, their clothes, their bodies. I felt very sensuous, my body alive with growing passion, and I imagined what they might look like in sexual arousal, how they might touch themselves for pleasure, as I knew I would be doing soon. I’d brought some favorite magazines with me, as familiar as long time lovers, and equally satisfying. With photos of beautiful women, in various stages of undress, and sexual positions. Using fingers, tongues, toys. I lived in many of these pictures, especially the clothed, or partially clothed women, kissing, fondling, humping, bodies side by side, or one atop the other.

During a coffee break, I walked outside for some fresh air and saw a row of newspaper vending machines. One said “Singles Scene,” and in smaller letters, ” Articles, Personal Ads, and Adult Entertainment Listings.” I had grabbed a copy and stashed it in my bag for later. I remembered it and fished it out, certain I would find something to add impetus to my growing sense of arousal. Flipping through the paper I saw an ad for a bar. It was a drawing of two women, facing each other, breast to breast, with their lips just touching. It said, “For women only, Les Ms.” I looked at the street address and noticed it was right near my hotel. How exciting. I’d read about such places, but there were none I was familiar with. In my head I visualized this bar, where a woman might go to meet other women, in search of a prospective lover. Eyeing each other, dancing, flirting, touching. With this vision in my head, I felt the a pleasant warmth all over and dampness growing between my legs.

It was Wednesday night. I was staying till Friday. I reclined, sinking into the pillows, and looked at the drawing in the ad. This bar, Les Ms. A room filled with women, strangers. Gay? Bi? Would they be there otherwise? I got hotter. “What goes on in a place like that? Is it dangerous? Would I have the nerve to walk in there?” I found my fingers in my lap, stroking myself gently, through my skirt, my lace trimmed slip sliding against my panties. I slowly lifted the hem, caressing my thighs through the nylons. My fingers searched under my skirt. My panties, damp already, became saturated as I pressed the crotch into my labia. I dropped the paper, and rubbed the free hand over my breasts.

My eyes closed partly, and lost their focus. And I felt that I was on the dance floor, in the bar, with a lovely women in my arms. I opened my blouse, released the front hook of my bra, and pinched my firm nipples. The hand in my lap pulled the panties aside. I gently parted my lips, and entered myself with two fingers. They were quickly coated with my juices, and I drew them up to my clit, circling, teasing. I needed a quick release, I saw the bar, beautiful women, hot strangers acting out their lust. I rubbed the fingers in a circular motion, faster, harder. My body trembled, stiffened, and exploded as the urgent tension was released. I felt good, but I wanted so badly to feel a soft, feminine body under mine again. I pulled the bedding together in a heap, and rolled myself on top. I hugged the soft bundle to myself, and wrapped my legs around it, thrusting my pussy in fucking motions. My passion peaked again, and I stopped counting the times I came. When I looked at the clock it was 3 AM, and I found myself there in my clothes. On my belly, with the skirt hiked up around my hips, the bedclothes still balled up tightly between my legs. Soaking wet.

All day Thursday I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Les Ms. I had another free night, my last. As I sat through the final seminar I found myself becoming damp again. I thought, “I could actually go there tonight, but would I have the nerve?” After the meeting broke, I had drinks, with my colleagues, in the lobby bar, two margaritas, three. Then fond goodbyes, hugs, and kisses. By myself again, my mind drifted back to the fantasy. Would this be another night of my own fingers, or perhaps, another woman’s fingers? Les Ms.? What a naughty thought. Me, in a gay bar, surrounded by other women. There’s a first time for everything? Right? I was so excited, and it was there, waiting, accessible. I ordered another drink. As I held the icy glass, temptation overcame anxiety.

I returned to my room. I felt turned on, excited. I was going on the make for the first time in many years. I started with nice hot shower. Like being single again, I was hot and free! I wondered what to wear. I hadn’t planned for anything like this. What kind of outfit would attract attention, and feel sensuous? The best I found was a tailored suit, gray, with a jacket and slacks, Excellent for business, but cut with style, to wear in a man’s environment, but it could be feminine, especially with soft lingerie underneath. Stockings first, and a garter belt. But tonight, no panties. Under the slacks, the stockings felt wonderful. The fine, soft material of the slacks against the cool nylon. And nothing covering my vagina, the seam of the slacks caressing my trimmed pubic hair, touching my sensitive lips. A nice white linen blouse, cut low, over my finest lace bra. low pumps. Single breasted jacket. My red hair swept back, over my shoulders. I studied myself in the full length mirror. Turned, and turned again. There were butterflies in my stomach.

I walked the few blocks on a well-lighted street and turned to walk halfway down a side street. The impression I had walking through the stained glass doors will remain with me always. The room was narrow, but it went far back. Along the right wall there was a bar, with maybe twenty stools, and a series of booths opposite, lining the left wall. The back bar was mirrored, bevelled, very ornate, with well stocked glass shelves. Three women were tending bar, dressed in hot pants, stockings, boots, and tank tops. Women were scattered at the bar, and in the booths in groups of twos, threes, fours. Mostly well dressed women, some casual, some in business clothes. A few very dressed provocatively, in tight jeans, low cut tops, boots. And a few whose clothes and manner identified them clearly as butch.

As I entered, I felt eyes on me. Some were just glancing at the newcomer, and returning to their companions. But others lingered, appraising me, a fresh face and body. I walked slowly rearward, between the bar and the booths. Women were chatting, gently touching one another. I felt some eyes follow me as I passed, looking from my red hair to my black heels, and back again. I looked closely at them. I found some very attractive. I returned their stares, and was stunned by the sensations that the eye contact, mutual and deliberate, caused in my nipples and between my legs.

At the end of the bar, the room opened up to the right. The bar made an L, with another group of stools, a dance floor, and still more booths in dim light beyond the floor. Along the left wall was a small stage, but it was empty. A jukebox played in the corner. A few couples were dancing. And others were visible through the smoky haze of the rear booths.

While my eyes adjusted to the light, I asked a blonde bartender for a margarita. She delivered it, leaning across the bar, her nipples visible through her top. She said she knew almost everyone who came in, and asked if I was new in town. I explained my visit, and caught myself staring at her beautiful breasts. She noticed, smiled, said, “Have fun sweetheart,” and turned away to fill another order. I took a sip of the drink, and focused my attention on the scene around me.

I’d gone out to my share of bars in college, and from that, I knew what a male’s appraising stare felt like. His eyes making contact. And then mine, returning the contact, as an invitation. I’d been picked up, when I wanted to be. Not surprisingly, I had the same sensation here, and I wondered who, if anyone, might make a move to pick me up tonight. At the same time, I found many of the women around me decidedly attractive. I’d felt the same attraction many times before, in the gym, or at the beach, or even in my seminar. But these women were different, by walking through the same stained glass doors, they advertised their desire for the intimate company of other women.

I studied the women around me. It seemed that nearer the front of the bar, women were primarily engaged in conversation. Further back, toward the dim dance floor, and even darker booths behind, the social interaction took on a more physical nature. I found my eyes riveted to the couples on the dance floor. Arms around each other, some openly caressing their partners through their clothes. In a booth, I saw two women, brunettes, one in pants, the other in a skirt and blouse, in an embrace, their lips pressed together in a passionate kiss. A tall young girl, with black hair and tight blue jeans danced with an elegant woman, whose long blonde hair and tasteful jewelry complemented her exquisite dress. The blonde’s legs were parted, and as the two rocked together, the younger girl’s thigh pressed into her most sensitive parts.

Watching these women hardened my nipples. I felt them dragging against the lacy confines of my bra. And my bare pussy, dampening, caressed by the seam of my slacks as I sat with my legs together, rocking them from side to side in time with the music, fabric and nylon sensuously rubbing against each other, pulling the prominent seam from side to side.

So engrossed was I, in my voyeuristic trance, that I didn’t notice the woman who took the adjacent stool until I felt her brush against me. She was a woman I had noticed earlier, standing at the bar when I walked in. A few inches taller than I, at about 5′ 8,” with her dark brown hair just touching her shoulder, and beautiful silver earrings and necklace. She wore a straight, black suede skirt, to just above the knee, and a loose, gray sweater. About my age, I guessed. I found her quite attractive.

When I turned to look, she introduced herself. “I’m Jean,” she said. “I saw you sitting by yourself and Gina, the bar girl, said you were from out of town, I thought I’d offer you some company.”

“I’m Carol, I’m from New York,” I replied, taking her outstretched hand in mine, and surprising myself, I continued, “Your company is just what I’d like right now.”

Jean had an easy way about her. She explained that she was married, owned a nearby travel agency, and lived in the suburb of Glen Ellyn. Her husband was unaware that she had been involved with a woman after graduating college, and that she still desired the touch of a woman from time to time. To satisfy her needs, she developed the habit of stopping by Les Ms. some evenings, before going home. Her husband accepted the excuse of a late meeting.

I felt myself the target of Jean’s attention for the evening. She complimented my attire, and listened intently to my story. When she spoke, she touched my arm for emphasis, and while I was talking, her fingers trailed lightly over my thigh. I felt myself being seduced by this lovely woman, and I wondered where this would go. Jean paused to say hello to someone, so I lifted the glass to drain my drink and looked back at the couples on the dance floor. The young girl with the black hair had backed her partner, the elegant blonde, against the wall. In time with the music, the trapped blonde hunched her crotch against her partner’s jeans! Right on the dance floor, fucking her leg with open abandon. Her eyes half open. Suddenly, I saw her stiffen, and I realized that she had climaxed!

Jean asked me to dance. She led, I could feel her body sway with the music. Even though she had to be on the 10:20 to Glen Ellyn that night, she whispered that I excited her, that she wanted me, I told her how she excited me too, but that this was a new scene to me. She said, “Relax, Carol, just let go,” and pulled me against her. I felt the friction between our bodies through our clothes. I was so hot that if she wanted me right here it wouldn’t matter.

And perhaps she did, because her hands roamed over my body as we danced. Around my waist, under my jacket. She swayed against me, her hands sliding over my hips, up the side of my blouse, under my arms, along the edge of my breasts. Then she pulled me close again, applying pressure with her hand against my ass, so that my pussy rubbed against her thigh. I did likewise, drawing her against my own thigh, lifting her skirt in front for better contact. While we were locked like this, she bent her face to mine and brushed her full, soft lips against mine. I couldn’t hold back, I devoured her lips with mine, forcing my tongue into her mouth, and intoxicated by her musky cologne. I brought my right hand up, behind her neck, and pulled her face closer, and with my left hand I clutched her breast through her sweater.

She must have been waiting for this evidence of my readiness, because she drew me back further, into the dimmer part of the dance floor. Around us, couples engaged in similar activity. It drove me crazy to be among these beautiful, hot women, with Jean in my arms. Jean reached down to the crotch of my slacks. I was not aware of how wet I’d become till she took my own hand and pressed it to the saturated fabric. She breathed, “Oh Carol, you’re so hot, I want you to feel what you’re doing to me honey.” With that she took my hand and lifted her skirt. I felt her stockings, then bare skin. She wore open pantyhose, and no panties. I ran my fingers along her labia, gently parting the wet lips. When I reached her clit, she gasped. Then shoved her bare pussy against my left leg, pulling me to her in earnest, rubbing her clit on my slacks. I felt my slacks becoming wet at the point of contact. Remembering the couple I’d observed earlier, I pressed her back into the wall, and bent my left leg at the knee and hip so she could ride me. And ride she did, kissing me crazily, and pulling at my nipples until she was overtaken by a powerful orgasm.

I couldn’t believe what we had done, this beautiful woman and I. I reached down and felt myself, excited by the wet material of my slacks. As we stood there, kissing, her breath coming in short gasps, she said it was my turn. I was ready to repeat her performance, humping her leg. I’d have had no problem coming right in my pants, but she said no. She took my hand and led me back to the ladies room. As we entered the lounge, I saw myself in the a full length mirror, my blouse half out of my slacks, and the dampness visible as dark spots on the light gray fabric. In the mirror, another couple was visible. They were behind the door, kissing gently, and touching each other’s breasts.

Jean led me through the lounge into a larger room with a vanity, two sinks, and four stools. A woman of about 40 sat on a stool fixing her makeup. There were four private stalls, each like a small room with a toilet and a vanity shelf at counter height. The stalls, and the entire room were beautifully finished, with soft carpet and tasteful pastel shades of gray, peach, and green. The doors to two of the stalls were closed, and Jean guided me into the last one on the right. As she closed the door, I looked past her and saw a smile on the other woman’s face, and then the lock clicked. I leaned back against the shelf, and Jean stood facing me, about three feet away.

The music was barely audible in the stall, and I could hear her deep breathing clearly. I traced my hands seductively down the sides of my breasts, over my hips, and brought them together at the junction of my legs. Jean moved toward me, and as she approached, her hands came up to caress my breasts. When just an arm’s length away, she bent to her knees, drawing her hands down to cover mine. I felt my own knees buckle, and supported myself by resting my elbows on the shelf. I watched her open my belt and release the catch. My zipper clicked as she pulled it down, tooth by tooth. She lowered the pants to my ankles, leaving the garter belt in place, caressing my legs in the sheer nylons, then removed my shoes. I stepped out of the trouser legs so I could open my thighs to her, and she studied the shining labia surrounded by my close cropped red hair.

I needed her now, and I pulled her face against me. She devoured me hungrily, alternately sucking and licking my swollen lips and clit. Her hands clasped my legs, and I massaged my tits through my blouse and bra. I thrust my pelvis to her and rose up on the balls of my stockinged feet as I felt my excitement build. I tried to hold back, savoring the first woman’s face I’d fucked in years, but she pushed me over the brink, and I spasmed violently as she drained my sopping cunt.

When I relaxed, Jean rose and brought her face near mine. Her face glowed with my juices, and I smelled on her face the same aroma I’d enjoyed so much on my fingers. I kissed her lips, tasting myself to complete the pleasure. Returning to reality, Jean looked at her watch and said, “Shit, only 25 minutes to catch my damn train! You are incredible Carol.” I said the feeling was mutual. She straightened her clothes as I pulled up my pants and stepped back into the shoes.

I looked behind me and noticed that just one stall was occupied. The other three doors were open. Then I turned back toward the mirror. After redoing my face, and tucking my blouse into my slacks, I examined myself. “Does it show?,” I asked. I felt the flush of post-sexual release, the glow, the warmth. But I didn’t look different than any other woman on the street. Would anyone know? The women I’d seen this evening, could be any of the women I’d fantasized about, here, or at home. “I need to be more open to the possibilities around me.” I realized happily. A sound interrupted my musing, a low moan, and I knew that it came from behind the closed stall door. “Have fun ladies,” I thought as I rose, looking once more in the mirror. I touched the cool wet spot on my slacks once more, and walked out through the lounge to the bar.

When Jean left I returned to the bar. I caught several faces looking at me, not like before, hungrier. Many of the women around me were paired off by now, I noticed. But before I could take a seat, I saw Nancy enter. Of course I didn’t know her name then, but I liked her looks. I stood back and watched her. She was about my height, with real long brunette hair and blue eyes. She looked a little older than me, maybe 40 or so, and was dressed in a very business-like suit, much like mine, but with a skirt. She had a briefcase flung over her shoulder, looking self-confident, and successful. To me, Nancy was the incarnation of the women I most often fantasized about. I wondered if she was available, or just meeting someone.

I was pleased to see that she took a seat alone and ordered a drink. No one approached her, I wanted to be the first. I stopped next to her and asked if she had the time. “10:15 ,” she said, “Do you need to be somewhere?.”

“No,” I replied, “May I join you?”

I introduced myself. She did likewise and explained that she lived in Los Angeles, with another woman. She was gay. She practiced law, she explained, and her firm required her to spend a week or more at the Chicago office a month. The firm kept a room at another hotel near here for her use.

“Come with me, Carol, let’s take our drinks where we can be more comfortable,” Nancy said, and led me to a plush booth in the rear. I slid in first and she followed. I didn’t know if I were seductress, or seduced. Nancy said she found me very attractive and said she’d like to kiss me if she could.

We faced each other and made love first with our eyes. Then our lips, then our hands. We sat very close. I touched her small, but firm breast through her blouse and felt the presence of a camisole, with no bra. Her nipple became hard almost immediately. I opened the top button, and reached my hand inside, rolling each nipple around in my fingers. This pushed her button, for she did the same to me and I felt my fever building. She was the first to move her hand lower. She said, “Damn, Carol, you’re so fucking wet!” And I was, she was rooting her finger around, pushing her finger and my slacks into my soaking hole. I felt like I could come just like that. I pressed harder against her. She commanded, “Come arol, dance on my finger.” And I felt the juices flowing down my ass, wetting even the velour of the booth, as she drove me over the edge!

Nancy continued to hold me close. I stroked her and lifted her skirt. I wanted to feel what she was like underneath. She was wearing a slip that matched the camisole, and pantyhose, without panties. The pantyhose slid over the lips of her pussy in her own sticky juices. I wet my fingers thoroughly through the sheer fabric of her hose and brought them to my lips, I tasted her and smelled her sweet aroma. My mind was reeling. Nancy said, “Not like this honey, can we go to your hotel room?”

In my room I poured two glasses of wine. The bed was turned down, Nancy sat on the edge. I walked before her and basked in the glow of her need. I touched myself, all over. She watched, her breath quite audible now. I gently pushed her onto her back, and asked her to slide up on the bed. I crawled up till I was lying on top of her, our breasts and hips pressed together.

She pulled my face to her in a hot kiss, and I moved my hips over hers in a circular motion, feeling the lingerie sliding under me. She bucked her hips into mine, and I forced her legs apart so I could put my thigh against her cunt. I, too, parted my legs so I could get stimulation from her leg. I reached down and yanked her skirt above her pussy. She pushed me away so she could open her blouse, and I took advantage and opened mine, the bra too. I felt the soft satin of her camisole separating our nipples. It felt so good to be fucking her.

Nancy pleaded, “I want to feel your tongue on my clit!” I moved down her body until my face was facing her pussy. I ran my fingers over the sopping pantyhose, and inhaled her scent. Her musky aroma made my heart pound. I put my lips against her labia, and blew my warm breath at her through the sheer fabric of her hose. I rubbed the hose into her clit with my nose and mouth, and she rucked herself into me. “Inside, Carol. Please,” she moaned, and I pulled the pantyhose from her in one quick motion. With my fingers, I spread her swollen lips, exposing her hard clitoris. She moaned again, “Please Carol!.” Holding the lips apart, I lightly tongued her clit with rapid motion. When I felt her straining against me, I sucked her clit into my mouth and held it between my teeth. Her back arched, and I released her clit, and resumed oscillating my tongue over its inflamed tip. This gave her the lift she needed, and she came, bucking and smearing her juices all over my face.

She pulled me up to her, and kissed me, hungry to taste herself on me. I craved closer contact. As much as I love clothed sex, it was time to undress. I asked her to leave the cammy and slip. She asked me to leave the stockings and garter belt. Fair deal, I thought. She laid back again, and I got on top of her arranging my body so that my pussy contacted hers. I thrust my pelvis against her, while she held hers forward for me. She was turning on again. My fingers spread our slippery lips, and brought our clits into contact. Our faces kissed, and we whispered encouragement in each other’s ears. I took her left breast into my mouth. I sucked on her nipple, and when it was rock hard, I bit gently. I let go and moved up over her, letting my tits brush across her lips. She stopped and gently pushed me up again.

I watched her turn on the bed so that her legs faced mine, and she brought herself closer, with our legs scissoring each other’s hips. When we were as close as we could get, I was hugging her left leg against my breasts, and she was hugging mine. In this position, our wet cunts were each nestled together. Her juices mixed with mine as we hugged and hunched. The friction of her hair, lips, and clit on mine was sufficient stimulation to consummate our lust, and we worked at it fervently! I could feel her leg in my arms stiffening, her toes pointing. I knew we were both getting close. She was bucking madly.

I came first, with a violent shudder. And my jerking spasms released her passion once more. We lay spent, shivering with gentle aftershocks. We were lying on the wet bedding, with our clothes draped on the adjacent chairs. Nancy turned to face me again, and pulled down the covers. I got under them, by her side, and we snuggled together to find a position with the greatest possible contact!

In complete satisfaction, and a warm glow, we fell asleep until Nancy woke me with a kiss at about 6:30, and whispered that she had to leave. I watched her dress in the dim light, and I saw the florescent lamp of the bathroom when she used it to refresh her hair and makeup. When she was done, she gave me another long, gentle kiss, and said good night. I thanked her for her company and her tender loving. She kissed me again. Then she picked up her briefcase, and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

In the morning I packed to return home. I hoped my new position would lead to more trips, the freedom was refreshing. I packed my well used suit carefully on a hanger, with a plastic bag over it. I expected quite a welcome waiting for me at home, and I looked forward to arousing my husband, wearing the suit while I taunted him with the story of the newspaper, the bar, and my one night stands, Jean, and Nancy.

That suit was never cleaned again. The scent on the slacks lingered, and I found myself refreshing it frequently, alone or with my husband. They were worn out about two years later, and had to be retired. The memory of Les Ms. will never be retired.