Your erotic stories

Spots of dappled sunlight streamed through the trees and danced and twirled on the pavement as I waited for her outside the building. She was always late, frantically trying to keep up with her life. Not that I would ever want her life, I snorted to myself. Immediately regretting the thought, I focussed on the distant rush of traffic echoing softly through what had to be the last quiet street in Brisbane's central business district.

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I'm 44 now and the following scenario has been going on for the best part of a year. I have a lover, who at 24 is not only much younger but the best thing I have ever ended up in bed with. Every weekend and the odd week night is spent in the kind of sexual bliss a woman only dreams about. My name is Pat; I have dark hair hanging in ringlets past my neck and a good body for my age, a legacy of having a super pair of cycling legs. I used to work with him and on the Xmas night out he drunkenly offered to go down on me. I was surprised and flattered.

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I hate it when they keep moving stuff around. When it comes to things like fish or produce, I find better quality at the local health food chain store. But the produce department here seems to like to move things around from week to week, I guess to create a more seasonally appropriate display. But I'm a pragmatic man, and I like to find things in the same place.

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Janelle had never heard of such a thing, but reading the description that day last spring had instantly moistened her pussy: "A tribute is a video in which a guy looks at a girl's picture as he masturbates, saying how much her picture turns him on, how hot it makes him to see her body, her nipples, her butt, maybe even just the outline of her breast beneath a sheer top if that's all the girl is showing in the picture. As he talks and strokes for the camera, he gets more turned on, and it's clear that he's going to come.

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The ad read, "Urban domina, 40-something, tall, large breasted, and still menstruating, seeks slave to service lovely feet, legs, ass,....etc. Must have experience and great tongue. No inhibitions, please. Only those willing to serve need call. The curious will be ignored.". And it gave the number to call. A pissy woman answered, and asked how old I was, and WHERE I got the number. Very politely, I explained that I was twenty-two, a graduate student new to the city, and found the number in the local left-wing newspaper. She gave a dismissive chuckle, and asked what I was studying.

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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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