Your erotic stories

I stepped away from the painting and arched my back to relieve the ache. The large canvas required me to stand, but the years and a legacy of arthritis from my father made it difficult. I always managed to become swept up in the brush strokes and the blending of subtle hues, and it wasn’t until I stopped that I knew I‘d been on my feet too long. The coffee was cold, and I poured it back into the pot to re-heat.

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Mark lay on his back, naked on the bed. The hotel room was quiet, dimly lit. My wife Jan, was naked as well as she sat next to Mark. She looked into my eyes and smiled and then turned to Mark and straddled him. She reached around behind her and guided his hard cock to her pussy. I was hard as a rock. Jan settled back a little and took only the tip at first. As Mark entered her more fully, Jan's eye's flashed open and she drew a deep breath.

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Sunlight in my eyes, burning through the eyelids, hot on the rest of my body, bad case of cotton-mouth, and an overwhelming need to take that nice long first leak of the day. Not the best way to wake up in the world, but not bad by any means. Last night came back slowly, and I recalled I was on the deck where I had curled up with a bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream as the party wound down.

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My wife of 40 years has always been reserved when it comes to non traditional sex. That's never stopped me from hoping though. About a year ago, she switched jobs to a project manager for a software firm here in Colorado. She really liked the work as well as the people she worked with. Her boss was a good guy about her age and they hit it off early.

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You're just waking drowsily to the morning light shining in your room. You roll over and are pleasantly greeted by the sight of me still sleeping, resting on my side with my back to you. You know that the 24 hours I spent flying to see you, the lack of sleep on the airplanes and the carnal frenzy of our first day together in 11 weeks combined with the wine we drank last night ought to ensure a deep sleep for me for at least the first two evenings of our visit.

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"I sure hope the weather holds," I commented, to no one in particular, even though my wife, Erin, was the only other person in the car. "The weatherman said it was supposed to storm around six this evening." "Yeah, well, he could be wrong." Erin voiced her mistrust of weathermen in general. "It's so overcast. If we get stuck in this storm, we'll be really screwed. I think we're about there. "

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I couldn't help myself. Reading the emails back and forth always put me into a frenzy, but the latest ones nearly threw me overboard. He had a way with words, you know. The kind that eat at your very center as you squirm away in your chair, feeling the fabric of your panties just growing wetter and wetter...

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The paper had been in my bag for a couple of days now and I’d only just picked up the courage to phone the number advertised. It was a voicemail and the guy leaving the message sounded as nervous as I felt. He just left a number and his name, Pete. He asked that anyone calling should do so during the day because his wife would be out at work. This suited me fine because I was in a similar situation, I worked at home most days and my wife rarely got home from her job till 8pm.

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I knew the girl had it. I had followed her from the coffee shop and saw her check into the motel. I had to get to her before she hid it, when she still had it on her. I was quick enough--she had opened the motel room door and stepped inside, and I gave her maybe 30 seconds before I was sticking a card into the keycard slot.

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On the year I turned eighteen I explained to my mother that now I was legally an adult I wouldn't bother to go with them to the country for our annual holiday. I'd stay home for a change. I could look after myself so there was no need for her to worry. My mother looked at me thoughtfully and told me to make sure I packed a decent jumper. I'd forgotten the previous year.

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