Never really contemplating being with another woman in the past, for some reason the last few months Samantha, who much preferred to be called Sam, found herself looking at more girl on girl porn, reading lesbian erotica, and carefully scrutinizing, and in a way secretly admiring, the women that displayed themselves in the pages of her husband's Playboy. Being a tall long legged strawberry blonde, Sam was successful at keeping herself in shape, and sometime imagined herself in one of those "Sexy Moms' types of photo shoot the magazine sometimes displays.
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"It's only going to be a few guys over to watch the UK Basketball game." I said.
"Autumn wants to come over and she is in the mood to play." Becky whispered in my phone.
Now my libido went into overdrive. Becky had told me that Autumn had gotten some toys at a naughty wedding shower last week. My dirty mind went straight to Becky, Autumn, me and toys. But I could not tell the guys no.
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Miranda Warren watched her friend K.C. West pace back and forth in the coffee shop in which she worked. She could tell that the attractive young blonde was nervous. K.C. had no reason to be. She was the pretty young blonde with the vivacious personality. If anyone should be nervous, it should have been her other friend, Casey Carter. How often does a 40-year old insurance broker get to go on a date with a 21-year old blonde model type?
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Having read stories on Literotica for a few years, I finally started writing and posting stories at the beginning of this year. I never knew what an effect it would have on my life! I always imagined that this site was a place where we described our fantasies. I never suspected it would lead to one of them actually happening.
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I moaned loudly as the phone's ringing refused to stop. I rolled twice toward the sound, tossing blankets to the side as I did, and reached up to grab the phone. "Hmmmm?" I voiced into the receiver.
"Ms. Calista Holiday?" a deep voice asked.
"Yes," I responded.
"This is Aidan Conner. I must regretfully inform you of the death of your great-aunt, Faye Michaels." The man's vaguely familiar accent registered, but his words didn't.
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I've lived on a relatively quiet street for the past three years. Usually keeping to myself, focused on work and not much else, my routine has continued without much deviance for the duration. That was true, until a young hot Russian babe moved into the complex, just two doors down from me.
It was a cool evening in September when I first caught glimpse of this fantastic blonde. I was out walking the dog, on my way to collect the day's mail when I first noticed the truck pull up.
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During my speech she had caught my eye, a blonde bombshell in the front row. Was it just me, or was she licking her lips at me? Her massive cleavage spilled out of her white, unbuttoned-at-the-top shirt like two giant balls of vanilla candy... I could nearly see straight up her oh-so-short, classy, black miniskirt... Did I catch a glimpse of some sky-blue panties? Or even half of a pussy lip or two peeking out from behind the fabric? I nearly forgot what I was saying in my speech...
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I can still see it in high def, up close and personal; the image is engraved on my brain. The bald, glistening vulva of a teenage girl — a squirming, moaning teenage girl, knees up — is not to be forgotten. The best night of my life was the night my sister had a slumber party.
To save money during my last year of college, I moved back in with my parents and commuted from their home in a Boston suburb.
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Staring down the lane, the air shimmering in the baking sun, Kate let her mind wander for the first time that morning. She had spent the last few weeks of term looking forward to the summer break as the end of her first year at university drew to a close. Just three long months of lazing around in the sun and catching up with old school mates. Well that had been the plan, but now, just ten days in, all that seemed a distant dream.
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Mr Valens reached towards the numbers on the alarm panel inside the front door of his modern, two storey home. The red light was not flashing. He paused and cast his eyes around without moving, noting the gleaming kitchen bench, the bleak smell of domestic cleaner. Then he remembered. Today was Wednesday - Sharni Peller's cleaning day.
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