Your erotic stories

I'm sitting in the black leather chair as usual. The leather cool against my thighs. I'm dressed in a very short black skirt, a skintight low necked black top, black fishnet stockings and the main event: my six inch black shiny stiletto heeled shoes. I cross my legs and swing my foot impatiently, acutely conscious of the light reflecting off my shoe as it makes its arc through the air.

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I took another reading off the compass Velcroed on the thwart in front of me, and changed sides on the paddle. My arms were feeling a little tired. I’d been paddling for almost an hour and the shore was coming up slowly. I veered a little to the side to round a point and hit the cove I was paddling for. The canoe hissed softly in the wonderfully blue water of the White Partridge Lake. I was far up in the Canadian Province of Ontario in Algonquin Provincial Park

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I was 23 when I met Pat, who was 42 at the time. We were work colleagues and got on really well. Pat had dark hair hanging lustrously loose and a super pair of legs. She wore skirts every day and my gaze often followed her legs and ass around the room at work, or in the bar.

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I take my daughter to a dance class each week. Her teacher is Nicky and I have to admit I have always had a thing for her although as a married man I never intended on acting on my desires. What is more I always thought the fit and bubbly dance instructor was way out of my league. Standing about 5 foot 6 inches tall and weighing around 110 pounds, Nicky is 30-years-old.

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Abbey was on her way to the job of her dreams. Growing up, she had always wanted to work at an investment firm like her father, who was very successful at what he did. She worked hard all of her life, determined to make it on her own. She went to the best schools and did all the right things. After a few notable internships, she was finally able to land an entry level position at a major investment firm in the big city.

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I take the bus to and from work as a matter of choice, but even though one of the reasons I use public transportation is to avoid the aggravation of driving during the rush hours, there are times when the bus can be just as annoying. Like last Monday, for example. For whatever reason, the bus was much more crowded than usual, and I was forced to go toward the back and stand up while hanging on the pole in the center of the aisle.

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I love my life. I don't know if this happens to other people but I have a recurring theme in my life where past experiences come back, not to haunt me, but to enrich my life even further. My life is not without pain and tragedy, to be sure, but I think I am blessed with good fortune nonetheless. This story is an unexpected continuation of another tale of mine, "A Night at Karen's House," and I suggest you read the original first.

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I was working from home today, when the doorbell rang. It was Gary, my son's friend from the local community college they both attended. "Hi Gary, Bobby's not home right now, but I expect him shortly," I said. "You are welcome to wait for him." "I think I will do that Mr. Thomas, thanks," Gary replied to me.

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It was a Friday night. Both Toni and Patsy's husbands had gone out of town on business. Given that their husbands were friends, they had socialized on occasion, but not on a regular basis. Toni's husband had actually suggested that, while they were gone, she might take in a movie or something with Patsy just to keep herself entertained. Toni, looking toward a very boring weekend, had figured she had nothing better to do, and she liked Patsy personally, so why not?

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She never had any concern about crying in front of Jason. To everybody else she would always smile, but Jason she'd always allowed to see her when she was hurt, as she was so badly now. He'd come over the moment she'd called, frowning disapprovingly as she had opened her front door for him and he had found her a mess of tears and tissues. Then he'd simply enveloped her in his arms and let her cry it out without even telling him why she was upset.

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