Your erotic stories

The house was quiet for the first time in a long, long time. My wife had gone upstairs to get ready for bed and I took it upon myself to click the television off. I wanted to take advantage of the time and catch up on some reading. I was nose deep in War and Peace when I heard the shower shut off. For a second, I considered going up to our bedroom in an attempt to catch her naked. Then I considered the fact that I would be making an attempt to forego foreplay.

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I heard my name being called out from the midst of the teeming horde pressing in on the barriers after customs in New Delhi's Indira Gandhi international airport, and a head and arm waving a sign was bouncing up and down over the tumult. The sign the young man was carrying said "Clifford Jenkins" with "New York" written under it. That was me. But I wasn't being met by anyone that I knew of.

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They'd been our neighbors for over 9 years. We'd both moved into the community when it was first built, and watched as it filled out and grew, as did our children, moving up from elementary school through middle school and into high school. We were as close as most neighbors could be, easily at home with each other, free to come and go in each other's yards and garages, and even into the house. Our only child and their youngest, Cory, were only a year apart.

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I had come home for Christmas break during my second year of college and decided to get together with a longtime buddy, a guy I'd known since I was ten. He'd elected to go to a local college and was still living at home so we decided to meet up at his place, about five blocks from where I grew up.

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So much preparation, planning, work on the venue and time spent on the costume. Elise and her best friend Thuy loved themed parties and would host one every chance they got. Last year's combined birthday bash was a gothic theme. The guests that came put in the effort and Elise and Thuy quickly realized that if a person was willing to dress up, they were willing to have fun. A "Hippy Barbeque" followed that summer, but it was time once again for the girls to celebrate their birthdays together. Thuy thought up the idea of a "Pimps n Hos" theme and ran it by Elise.

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I woke up and looked at the clock, it was 8. Today was my 40 birthday. I was divorced, lived on my own and had an 18-year-old son who was at college 200 miles away. I heard the post come through the letterbox so I got out of bed and went downstairs to see if they were cards for me. There where two, one from my son Greg and the other was from my best friend Susan.

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Thinking back on that first time with Julie was enough to nearly push me over the edge all by itself. As I eased up and stopped at the next traffic light, I slid my hand between my legs and began to slip two fingers inside my leaking pussy. This time, I was so hot that I almost wished someone would see me. The anticipation, the dread, the memory of her sweet young body all combined to put me in that zone where I just needed to cum.

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I wanted to be raped. Not really raped. Just pretend, fun raped. So like everything you want these days, I looked online. Nothing. I placed an ad asking for what I wanted. Just like that. I can't remember what I wrote now, but I imagine it was some approximation of my fantasy. Or...not really my fantasy because only someone special could have made that happen.

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A light snow fell on the red lanterns and cobbled alleys of the Yoshiwara, the pleasure quarter of Edo. Ice broke thinly beneath the high, damask sandals of the courtesan as she swayed silkily past the raucous tea shops and restaurants, the gaudy posters of kabuki actors, and the many strolling men. They lowered their eyes when she boldly appraised them. She recognized a priest despite his merchant disguise.

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They had been married for several years and their sex life had been wonderful, although less frequent since the children had arrived. Candace loved to fuck, there was no question about that, she enjoyed every kind of sex her husband and she had shared, but it had become insufficient because of the infrequency.

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