Your erotic stories

My wife of 40 years has always been reserved when it comes to non traditional sex. That's never stopped me from hoping though. About a year ago, she switched jobs to a project manager for a software firm here in Colorado. She really liked the work as well as the people she worked with. Her boss was a good guy about her age and they hit it off early.

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You're just waking drowsily to the morning light shining in your room. You roll over and are pleasantly greeted by the sight of me still sleeping, resting on my side with my back to you. You know that the 24 hours I spent flying to see you, the lack of sleep on the airplanes and the carnal frenzy of our first day together in 11 weeks combined with the wine we drank last night ought to ensure a deep sleep for me for at least the first two evenings of our visit.

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Okay, so a little about me. I am 48 years old, 6'1", 185 lbs, single (divorced many years ago), live on Cape Cod but love to travel and am an independent investor. Last September, I drove to one of my favorite North American cities, Montreal. My intent was to research several local companies and as well as to soak up the local culture. I am convinced that many of the most gorgeous women in the world live in Montreal. Unlike most parts of the States, many of them dress in a sophisticated manner and show real outward personality. Their accents also drive me crazy. Unfortunately many of them smoke cigarettes but that is a complaint for a different venue.

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"I sure hope the weather holds," I commented, to no one in particular, even though my wife, Erin, was the only other person in the car. "The weatherman said it was supposed to storm around six this evening." "Yeah, well, he could be wrong." Erin voiced her mistrust of weathermen in general. "It's so overcast. If we get stuck in this storm, we'll be really screwed. I think we're about there. "

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He was too handsome for his own good. I'd long since recognized that it might very well lead to the end of us. My sore whipping arm was longing for an overweight sub with the face of a pug. Good thing for Precious, the rest of me was not. Eyeing the furtive glances of the young girl, I immediately knew she wasn't his type. She was submissive, for one thing. It leaked from every pore of her overly exposed skin.

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The police chief called me into his office. "As you requested, Guitarez, you're off Vice and back on detective work," the chief said. "Thank you Sir," I said. "And I've assigned you a new partner, the new guy from New York, what's his name," he shuffled some papers, "Rodriguez. Alejandro Rodriguez."

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I couldn't help myself. Reading the emails back and forth always put me into a frenzy, but the latest ones nearly threw me overboard. He had a way with words, you know. The kind that eat at your very center as you squirm away in your chair, feeling the fabric of your panties just growing wetter and wetter...

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The paper had been in my bag for a couple of days now and I’d only just picked up the courage to phone the number advertised. It was a voicemail and the guy leaving the message sounded as nervous as I felt. He just left a number and his name, Pete. He asked that anyone calling should do so during the day because his wife would be out at work. This suited me fine because I was in a similar situation, I worked at home most days and my wife rarely got home from her job till 8pm.

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I knew the girl had it. I had followed her from the coffee shop and saw her check into the motel. I had to get to her before she hid it, when she still had it on her. I was quick enough--she had opened the motel room door and stepped inside, and I gave her maybe 30 seconds before I was sticking a card into the keycard slot.

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On the year I turned eighteen I explained to my mother that now I was legally an adult I wouldn't bother to go with them to the country for our annual holiday. I'd stay home for a change. I could look after myself so there was no need for her to worry. My mother looked at me thoughtfully and told me to make sure I packed a decent jumper. I'd forgotten the previous year.

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