Your erotic stories

Gail Davis watched the young man, perhaps in his mid-to-late twenties, climb out of his sports car and walk towards the office of her small real estate business in rural New Jersey. As she did so, Gail began to feel an immediate moistness between her legs. Not much older than my oldest daughter, she thought, eyeing him through the tinted window, feeling her nipples stiffen through the confines of her half-bra and cotton blouse. Other than her frequent masturbation sessions, her nipples hadn't been this hard in far too long.

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"Look, they really are the same, isn't that cool?" Listening from the hallway, I could hear Maya's voice in the bathroom with my girlfriend, Lyn. I stopped cold and listened as once again Maya was comparing her breasts with Lyn's. The bathroom door was not closed and I could just see, through the space between the door and the frame, the sweet curve of Maya's breasts.

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"You're late." The steely tone in Amy's voice let Graham know he was in trouble, that was her "Don't-mess-with-me" voice. "I'm sorry, traffic was murder." Amy Welles didn't like people being late, it was one of her Pet Peeves. Graham knew full well it was a flimsy excuse and Amy would call him on it.

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I've always liked massage, especially the sensuous kind. Stroke and caress me and I'm like putty. I had found that the massage part of the activities at massage parlors was lots of fun for me, perhaps more so that the so-called happy ending part. The sexual part always seemed so much like a business transaction. It felt like a contest between seeing how fast the provider could make me finish, and how long I could hold out.

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Wish I had someone to sleep with. I lay there today in my tight shorts and blouse, sleeping prone with the front door wide open to the street and my bedroom. I dreamed of someone--the tall, dark-haired driver from work, maybe--, walking in and running his hand down might ass, sensitized by the denim stretched over it. Maybe I'd be half asleep...in a fantasy, I can pretend I don't sleep with one eye open. I picture him running his hand down my ass, and I'd try to flip over from where I slept on my stomach, one leg pulled up.

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Sometimes, I think he really, truly does understand how to handle me- how to keep our relationship in line the best he can. I've tried to explain the overwhelming need to submit, to be controlled, to be HIS- and he tells me he knows, has always known, what makes me tick. This makes me question why he doesn't employ it more often, take the authority that I am happy to hand him, but too often, we are at odds instead. Nearly every time I have finally given up on his dominant side, he turns around and shocks hell out of me again...

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We are driving home, you are so very satisfied with yourself. Looking out the window the way you do and at me. Smile on your face, happy. We are wired, it's late but I don't feel all that tired. I look at you, your cheeks are flushed. You still have that little girl outfit on I love so much. Your hair is this outrageous explosion, which is something I also find so amazing about you, your freshly fucked look is so delicious. Your lipstick is still smeared - I don't even think you've looked at yourself in the mirror. The smell of sex is everywhere.

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PRELUDE Carol Simpson was on a short flight from Detroit Metro Airport to Chicago's O'Hare airport. She was going to spend a four day weekend with a guy she had met months ago in the Detroit suburbs. They met at a bar and hit it off and since then they had sex every time that Walt was in town. He had often talked about having her come to Chicago and spend a weekend with him. Carol took Thursday and Monday as vacation days to make it a long weekend visit.

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My daughter announced she was getting married. I had been expecting it for a while now. Mark was a great kid. Well, I guess young man is more accurate.

He and Abby had been dating for almost three years. They had finished school, he passed the bar exam, and now was working in his father's firm. She had just come in from dinner with Mark and his parents, Robert and Louise. They have a membership in a very nice country club. 

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My senior year in high school, it looked as if it were going to be a bigger bore than all the rest. I had just turned 18, the weather was getting warmer and here I was with no job, no car and that meant no girl. On the rare occasions my father let me use his; I'd head to the local drive-in restaurant. I'd sit there ogling all my buddies' girls, not to mention their cars.

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