Your erotic stories

My adolescent sexual experiences, beyond some clumsy groping under tops and skirts at the movies once or twice, were confined to my solo routine until going off to university. My first true lover was my dorm-mate Jane, who was as naïve and adventurous as I was at that time, and though she didn't have the same desire to have me play with her ass, she was always very considerate of my needs. After college, I was fortunate to meet another considerate woman, much older than I, who introduced me to a new world of pleasure with her vibrators and anal beads.

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John inserted the key into his front door as quietly as he could. He slipped inside, putting his laptop case down ever so gently, and closed his eyes for a moment. Oh, hello you! There she was, padding barefoot down the stairs. She did not come to him; she stopped three steps up, so that her womanly pubis was level with his mouth, so that he had to look up to her, almost look up her.

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"God, she's hot. It's so unfair," my friend muttered, looking at Kala. I followed her gaze, seeing the girl that lived across the hall getting the keys to her apartment out. She had long light brown hair with streaks of blonde that came down just below her shoulders, light golden skin, a perfectly shaped face with pouty lips and angled eyes, and the typical impossible combination of a thin, tight, toned body and large perfect tits.

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Allow me to introduce myself: I'm Heather McCormick and I'm a thirty-something m.i.l.f. living in suburban Atlanta, Georgia. The story I'm about to tell you is the God's honest truth, and I wouldn't lie, because lying is a sin. Six months ago I was a slovenly 158 pounds of bored, impetuous, spoiled housewife. Now I am a svelte 115 pounds thanks to the Wulfwinter Weight Loss Clinic. Here's my story.

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Rachel and I had been best friends since we were eight years old. We were always there for each other, through good times and bad. We had even been each other's maids of honor when we got each got married. While we were alike in many ways, we did have some personality differences. She tended to be a little more conservative and reserved than I was. I was always up for adventure and risk while she stuck to the straight and narrow path, always doing what was "right" and always maintaining order. For her, everything had to be in its place - she tended to be a bit anal when it came to putting things back where they belonged or turning off the light when leaving a room. Yet, I still loved her like a sister.

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It was a crisp, late November evening in Eastern Canada and we had just driven for an hour through back roads to our remote hunting site. My father-in-law, Edward, parked the truck in a tightly overgrown drive way of sorts, under cover of some trees. The rest of the way to the little cabin had to be by foot, and not just because the driveway was impassible, but because, "Deer don't like the smell of a warm, old pickup," at least that's what Edward would say. Ed was short and stocky and "rough and tough" - a label he'd give himself with a twinkle in his eye.

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"You get a line, and I'll get a pole, and we'll go fishing in the crawdad hole..." The chorus of young voices finally faded out as Nicole, her two sisters, and their seven kids made it back to camp from their fishing spot on the lake. Despite the still early hour, the heat was already oppressive. Fortunately, there was an easy cure for that.

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Life is full of strange twist and turns. Like the twist that brought me back to my hometown to live with my older sister, Cheryl. I never thought a circumstance would arise where I would find myself invading her privacy. But, she had just gotten divorced and was having trouble making ends meet and I had been laid off from my job as the company moved my job out of the country.

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They had inherited their hair, eyes, body and figure from their mother. Only their face showed a glimpse of the father leaving no doubt as to their parentage. They not only looked alike but they wore their hair in the same style and donned identical clothes. Their voice and mannerism were also alike.

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Terry Smith had been friends with Sandy Garner since they were six years old. They were similar in every way, enjoyed the same sports and hobbies and told each other nearly everything. The one thing Terry held back was the biggest secret of all, one that Sarah could never know. When she turned 18, she started a relationship with a man. An older man. Sandy's father.

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