Your erotic stories

It all started one evening at our local bookstore. I was browsing through the racks, Rachel having wandered off to glance at the science fiction section. I noticed an autobiography by a well-known porn actress and picked it up. The cover featured the author looking very hot in a black corset and matching boots. Rachel returned while I was reading the blurbs on the back cover. She saw what I was looking at and chuckled.

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“Come closer.” She stood by the doorway, teetering slightly on the outsoles of her heels. Peering towards the corner, she made out the silhouette sitting casually in the leather sofa in the corner. Her eyes had not yet adjusted to the light, but the shaggy mane and the scent of clean musk were enough to tell her he had managed, yet again, to enter her home. She knew it was pointless to ask how. More important was why.

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I sat nervously in my hotel room, a large glass of single malt Scotch whisky in my hand. I stared at the selection of tights I had earlier laid out on the bed, wondering which Tom would prefer. Tom was 19 and lived locally to me but we had never met in person, we had begun chatting in an internet chat room and found similar interests in a fetish for tights.

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IT was a typical Midwest high school in the late 1970's but what happened there could have as easily happened just yesterday. There were the usual Friday night football games and dances. There were several sub-groups within the school; you know the nerds, the jocks, the druggies, preppies, and most of all the rest of the kids who tried just to get by.

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A single lock of hair half-clings to your sweat-soaked forehead. I've fucked you with an untapped rage for the past hour, simply daring you to cum before I'm satisfied. Your lips, swollen from my savage kisses and the bottom split from a passionate bite, beg me to let you cum.

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"You're kidding? Right?" my ex-husband Alan asked incredulously. "Now, why would I kid about that?" I returned the question with annoyance. Alan was temporarily speechless and I could hear him fumbling for the right words. "I'm telling you because when you pick up Alana, Valerie might be there and I want you to be cordial," I stated firmly.

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I want to tell you a story. No, that's not right, I HAVE to tell you a story. It's not a true story. Well maybe it is, at least in parts. I'll let you decide. But I do have to tell it. The story is about Ed and Andrew, probably more Ed than Andrew. But you know, that may not be true either. You tell me. It's not the story you are expecting, but I think it is a pretty good one anyway. Ed, we'll start with her. Everyone called her Ed, but the name her parents blessed her with was Edwina.

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It was 10.10 am on a Thursday in April. My wife was away at work in the city and wouldn't be home for another 12 hours at least; there was some big take-over bid and lots of paperwork to sort out. She was bringing cases of work papers home at the weekends too for the past two months and I hadn't really had any free time with her for ages.

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There are limitations and opportunities connected to being an attractive older woman. The attractive men my age are generally interested in women half my age. Men half my age are attracted to me, but they're so immature and inexperienced. Sure, a youngster who gets off quickly and gets up again very quickly is great. But an older man who takes his time is usually far more exciting. What's a woman to do?

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It was just a summer job in between college semesters many years ago, but it was a learning experience and one that helped the younger man realize that some of the things he enjoyed that he thought strange were things that others enjoyed as well. *** "You okay, Tim?" my boss asked me as we sat under the tree after eating lunch. "Heat getting to you?"

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