Your erotic stories

This is the sequel to 'I'll just borrow Matt, sweetheart. Pure fantasy, so you don't need to tell me it's unlikely! Anne sat for a while after Matt left, with a smile on her face, remembering the taste of him in her mouth, the feel of his lips at her pussy as he ate her to climax, of the sensation of his rock-hard prick as he took her from behind, taking her over the top to another climax. After four years without any sex after her husband's untimely death, Matt's teenaged virility had certainly reminded her of the pleasures to be found.

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It was my fault, I'm sure. I was preoccupied and I was piloting the shopping cart very poorly so it's no surprise I bumped into somebody. I clipped her cart with a bit of a jolt which brought me out of my distraction in a hurry. "Sorry! Sorry, that was my fault." She gave me a smile, a sweet, forgiving thing that was a tiny ray of sunshine in my personally overcast day.

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[This story can be read on its own, but it continues the story of Jonathan and David into the next generation. All institutions and characters in the story are purely imaginary.] * Chapter 1 Early years One of my earliest memories is when I was about six years old being taken for a walk by Uncle Arthur Rockwell in the wood that he and my cofather had planted at Ixton some eight or so years before.

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Becky was deeply dissatisfied. It would have been hard for most to imagine that the lithe and very pretty undergraduate could have been hiding such morose sentiments; what with her well known wealth, intelligence, and good looks on the surface her life was ideal. Yet, despite widespread academic acclaim, a more-than-passing resemblance to Mary-Louise Parker, and a voracious sex life she could not shake off the feeling of an aching chasm within her, a driving and compelling need.

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Billy and Danny are fighting again, just what I don't need today. They think I can't hear them, soaking up the air conditioning and screaming at each other about the Xbox while I break my back weeding the garden. I took the day off at the bank to do chores on the farm; it's a precarious balance I have between getting fired and making my grandpa's farm turn a profit. Most days, I go to bed at night not knowing which side is going to kill me first.

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She was at work when her phone buzzed against her thigh. Making sure her customers didn't need her for a moment, she pulled out the small phone and opened up the text message that was waiting. 'I hope you didn't put panties on today.' She smiled at the text and wondered how to respond. Biting her lip, she put in a quick message.

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This is a true story, as told to me by a friend. I'm a New York cab driver. Yeah, yeah, I know. But it's a living. Yeah, I've been held up. Twice. But life goes on, right? Boring. Or at least until that fare opened the door and climbed into my cab. Brown skin, black hair. Hispanic, right? In New York, probably Puerto Rican. But his eyes. God! Blue, astonishing blue. Made me think of a raging river. Deep blue. Dark. Dangerous blue. His mama must have fooled around with a Norwegian tourist.

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A few years ago, Connie worked as a bookkeeper for a small chain of home improvement stores in Pennsylvania. At the time, she had been married for about 8 years and had 2 small children. From time to time, the company would send her to accounting seminars. Connie was happy with her personal life, but she relished the trips.

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It's Wednesday morning and I wake up early. It's the one day of the week I stay home and look after our toddler. Carrie is working part time, keeping in touch with her job as an academic so she can take up full time work again in a couple of years. Our little one goes to crèche two and a half days a week and I (being a sensitive new age guy) take care of her on Wednesdays. That way Carrie gets three days a week at the university.

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Let's see, I graduated high school in April of 1964, if I remember correctly. April of 1999 was my thirty fifth high school reunion. Had it really been that long? It didn't feel like it but then again my memory ain't what it used to be, to put it mildly. Since I had never made it to any of the other reunions, why should this one be any different? A phone call from my past was the answer to that one.

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