Your erotic stories

Suzanne lay naked on her stomach across Tim's bed with the top of her snorkel shoved in her ass. The rubber of the mouthpiece flopped in the air when she shifted her weight. Tim climbed onto the bed beside her and propped his head on his hand. She was waking up from her nap. He had put her through a rough morning. He ran his other hand down her back to rest over the crack of Suzanne's upturned ass, the snorkel rising up between two of his fingers. He nudged it and asked, “Has it been in your ass the entire time?”

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It had been six months since Katie left to go back to South America. Six long months without anyone to play with – six months of frustration with only my own fingers to satisfy my sensitive nipples. – And now, back in my apartment, dressed in only a white cotton top and g-string, I rubbed my aching buds back and forth through the material, releasing my pent up and frustrated feelings.

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My husband and I had never done any swinging before but had talked about it many times. It was just kind of a fantasy thing that we shared. Then through a friend of ours, we were invited to what was billed as a swing party although it turned out to be more like an orgy. The party started out mildly enough. Val, our host had only invited couples. We kept to ourselves at the beginning and found ourselves in a darkened room.

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Heavy rain hammered loudly on the roof of our porch. Strong winds whipped through the mesh screening, blowing the heat of the summer day quickly away. The wind pushed raindrops through the screen, vaporizing the droplets into a fine, refreshing mist. The random lighting strikes that brilliantly lit the night-time sky were quickly followed by deafening claps of thunder. The room was pitch black, interrupted only by the persistent flashes of bright white light. Being out in the elements, experiencing the power of mother nature was intensely stimulating.

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The sky started clouding over as I found the cafe called 'Chances Are' down on Santa Monica Boulevard and pulled in. In 1974, I was nineteen, and had found a man in a swinger's ad magazine, and was here to meet him.

Inside, it was different than any other restaurant I frequented. The clientele was all men, not a woman in sight. I felt a shiver of guilt and fear as I waded into these unknown waters, looking around for a man in a black suede jacket with a large red book. That would be Gary. 

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Maxwell Anderson Jr., or Max to most of his friends, had waited years to be allowed to attend his parent's annual Mardi Gras party. It was considered by many in their social circles to be the grandest party of the season. Max's mother, Edwina Anderson, was born and raised in New Orleans, and left when she married Maxwell Sr. so he could take a position that ultimately led to his running his own law firm. Edwina, like so many other wives of wealthy and successful husbands, was a 'bored housewife' who did charity work, worked out, and drank too much.

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This is a retelling of an experience a very good friend of mine (I'll call her Judith) had 2 years ago before she met the fella that she recently married. I have her permission to retell the story so long as I did not use her name or the names of anyone else connected to this. Her experience was so good that I don't need to embellish it in any way. So here goes ....

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The air conditioner kept the tractor cab to the same comfort level as my living room in spite of the ninety-five degrees of searing, July heat. I hit the hydraulics to raise the cultivator, made the turn, and lined back up on the next eight rows of soybeans. Another tap on the hydraulic lever caused the gleaming sweeps to bite into the rich, black, Illinois soil. It used to be hotter and harder work, but I liked it more when my ears were filled with the sound of the tractor exhaust instead of the local radio station, and when I could smell the freshly turned dirt and herbal scent of the weeds.

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Eighteen-year-old Kristina entered the Dean's office. The busty blonde was wearing her school uniform which consisted of a white blouse, which was currently unbuttoned enough to show her ample cleavage, a short skirt and her white knee-high socks with black shoes. "Miss Mitchell, please come in and have a seat." said Dean Whitmore.

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I want to tell you what I have planned for the next time Mollie and I get together. She is by far and away the most incredibly sexy women on the face of this planet, completely without inhibitions or hang-ups, totally devoted to pleasing me and allowing me to please her. But before I get to our next encounter, let me share with you some of the details of our first time together, and you will immediately see how lucky I am that I found her, and why everything I plan to do with her will culminate in intense satisfaction for both of us.

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