Your erotic stories

I was to be the entertainment for this evening. I knew this. I had freely agreed to it. After all, my sex life had hit a very long dry spell. When Clarissa, one of my girlfriends, had mentioned this club that she belonged to - a "kinky sex club" was her description - it sounded like just what I needed.

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I was in my mid thirties, happily married to a man who I considered my best friend and my sexual partner as we both had healthy sexual appetites that filled the nights well and I had the satisfaction in my job to make the days pleasant. I think I am fairly attractive, blonde hair, green eyes and I was pretty trim for my age;

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I thought at the time I had the worst luck in the world. There I was, standing on the shoulder of an interstate somewhere in Western Pennsylvania, eighteen wheelers rumbling by as I stared at my 1982 Toyota Celica. I'd opened the hood to see if I could figure out what was wrong, but had no clue. A few minutes earlier it started making a worrisome thumping sound and then stalled out. I was barely able to maneuver my way onto the shoulder safely.

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"I dread coming to the office everyday". We were sitting eating our lunch in the common area of our shared office space. Me and the two other women in the office doing our twice weekly eat, gab and gossip session in the lunchroom. "I thought you loved your job Maggie. Don't tell us you're thinking of leaving," responded Leigh. I would miss you so much."

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I was 23 when I met Pat, who was 42 at the time. We were work colleagues and got on really well. Pat had dark hair hanging lustrously loose and a super pair of legs. She wore skirts every day and my gaze often followed her legs and ass around the room at work, or in the bar.

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Honey, you really need to blow off some steam." Those words, coming from my wife of three months, are seared into my memory, no less so than if she would have branded me. Like any watershed moment in a person's life memories come fast and easy, some good, some not so good and some are a combination. The words came fifteen years ago today, while I was still a young attorney fresh out of law school and climbing my way up the corporate ladder.

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Erica was in my humanities class. I haven't seen her in five years. At the time, I was already looking for a real job and she was living in the dorms. We started talking—complaining really, early in the semester. The first time we spoke we were grumbling our annoyances with our professor, but a week later she was punctuating her sentences with emotive slaps to my shoulder as she shared her worries about our midterm.

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My name is Colin and I'm 23 years old. I was never a real jock as I grew up. I was taller and more broad-shouldered than my friends, but I didn't exercise much and so didn't develop a strong physique. Until I landed a sweet job as an engineer at a big electronics company right out of college. The campus where my office was located had a big fitness center that was free to use for employees.

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He was 34 and had been in her sandwich shop a few times now. And he was handsome too; but running a busy shop and with a family of her own, most conversations with customers were cordial. So when the franchise company had their annual meeting at the hotel and she saw him there, they had a laugh but it was all very cordial. At 42, she didn't think she had much appealing about her but she was wrong.

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Karen March 2001 I first encountered Miss Chapman at school. She was the home economics teacher and a guidance teacher too. Teachers tended to view me as a generally intelligent pupil who inexplicably did stupid things to get in trouble occasionally. One such occasion when I was in my second last year resulted in me waiting to be called into Ms Chapman's office for trying to play truant that afternoon.

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