Your erotic stories

We'd met several times in our local pub on a Friday night. There were various couples used to come down to listen to the live music, and we'd exchanged a few words and smiles now and again. So we kind of knew them. They were in their forties, a bit younger than me and my wife, but I what most attracted me to them was her gorgeous breasts, and the way she always seemed to show off in tight sweaters and cardigans. Sometimes thick and chunky, other times soft, like angora. But always so sexy!

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It was before noon and I had checked into my hotel. I called the potential customer to confirm my afternoon appointment, only to be informed that something had come up and he wouldn't be able to meet me that afternoon. Agitated, I fumed for a few minutes, for if I'd known that, I would have waited to fly into Rockford until the next morning. Now my afternoon was wasted, not to mention the needless expense of a night in a hotel. Then I remembered that my old running buddy, Vincent Zemoza had been transferred to Rockford about five years ago.

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Kim was enjoying her summer break. She was working part time as a cashier at a grocery store, earning money for college. She was enjoying the freedom of being “in between” boyfriends, and enjoying going to clubs and casually dating a few different guys. She made several friends at the grocery store, including Dylan and Jon, two stock clerks who worked in the back of the store. They were both friends who had graduated from the same high school that spring. Kim went to clubs with them sometimes and really enjoyed their company.

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I remember the summer after my first year of college as if it was yesterday. Even though my freshman year at the university had opened my eyes to new and wondrous things, the summer that followed changed my life forever, in more ways than one. I had grown up in a small town in Northeast Iowa, following in the footsteps of many young women before me. I was on the girls basketball team, learned home economics from a spinster who thought cooking nutritious meals was the most important part of making a marriage work, and discussed the secrets of boys, sex and rock 'n' roll at slumber parties at my friends' houses.

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Wendy was married to Ben, she had a thirteen-year-old son who was now at boarding school, she had taken a part-time job to relieve boredom. Ben was work abroad again on the oilrigs, he did three months on and one off. He had just gone back out to the Middle East and wouldn't be home for three months. Wendy was 34 years old, slim with a good figure about 5 feet 4 inches tall, shoulder length fair hair, 34c-bra size. There was a nice curve to her hips and she had a delightfully rounded ass.

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Kate had always been one of the guys. Not by design, it had just been one of those roles she fell into easily, since she had grown up with two brothers. Thus, it didn't strike her as unusual when Jason and Eric, who had been planning what they were calling "A Manly Camping Trip" casually asked one day if she'd like to tag along. "I don't know if I qualify for this trip, since I don't have a penis," she pointed out.

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Fiona Lindsay sat to the rear of the coach, slightly dreamy and looking forward to her day out. She was with friends, lots of them. Since her boyfriend David and she had split quite amicably, she hadn't really been looking for a new serious boyfriend though she had to admit she missed her Sunday afternoon shags with him. She was just 19 and if she hadn't been Scottish, you would have called her an 'English Rose'.

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It was a beautiful Spring night, or rather, early morning, as he drove his cab across 53rd Street cruising for a fare. He thought about his recent decision not to re-up and decided, for the umpteenth time, that he had made the right choice. He served two tours in Iraq with the Marines and managed to get through relatively unscathed, thank goodness. Brad had rugged good looks, a 6’4” frame and looked every inch the Marine Sgt. He had been for the past 4 years.

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It was raining and we still had nine or ten miles to go down the long glen before reaching a road and the dubious chance of a bus. I and two mates were backpacking in the Scottish highlands in our first university vacation. We'd bagged a couple of Munros, slept in a bothy, waded a few rivers and almost run out of food. We were sweaty, footsore and tired.

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After being poked and prodded, giving up blood, sperm and DNA samples I was directed to a solid oak door. The smell of wax and old wood filled the air. I opened the door on a room cast in shadow, lit only by a guttering oil lamp on a table in one corner. A low step stool, a ceramic pitcher and basin were the only other furnishings. In front of me was the reason I was here and had gone through all of the prodding and poking. Three female rumps were at the far end of the small room. A thick black curtain bisected their torsos.

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