Your erotic stories

I don't really care much for politics. I'm neither a Democrat nor a Republican. I'm not liberal or conservative. I'm just -- well somewhere between Independent and "I don't give a shit." Therefore some might consider it very strange -- I know that my parents did -- that in early July, 2011, I took a sabbatical from college to work on Republican Colorado Senator June Jepson's presidential campaign. The reason -- I was fascinated by her.

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Madeleine sighed and hit Disconnect on the call window. Another rude asshole. She thought. The days were supposed to feel shorter when you have a lot of work to keep you busy, however bad calls like that made them drag on forever. "Hang in there." A pleasant voice floated over her cubicle.

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Lena hummed tunelessly to herself as she put away her groceries. Her voluptuously curvy figure, kept in check by four sessions of yoga a week and strict adherence to a healthy diet, was cased in snug denim and a soft knit sweater. Lena tried to keep her kitchen stocked with only healthy foods—whole grains, fruits and veggies, Clif bars. She knew that if she let herself snack on processed food, her toned waist would gradually expand and soften, and she refused to let that happen.

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"Excuse me Miss, but... blah, blah, blah" a man spoke to me as he grabbed my wrist as I walked past him. "I'm sorry?" I replied, turning to face him. The music in the club was so loud; I couldn't hear everything that he was saying. Still holding my wrist, he bent forward and whispered in my ear, "I said that you have amazing breasts!"

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It was late, just after 2am, and my wife Lynn and I were finally getting around to going to bed. She hates to go to bed alone, so when I have work to catch up on, she'll normally stay up with me as late as is necessary, surfing the web, playing Solitaire on the computer, or reading until I'm done. Sometimes when she gets interested in something she finds online, I end up waiting for her instead.

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It's a beautiful hot summer day and I'm in the front garden admiring my hard work. Weed free beds, blooming flowers soaking up the water I have given them, bees and butterflies dancing to natures tune. "Hey Mrs B, how are ya?" I'm startled, shaken from my reverie. I see Robbie's friend Dean on the pavement, looking young and fresh in shorts, jogging on the spot. I smile my automatic welcoming 'Mummy' smile.

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I couldn't believe I was doing this. No matter what I said to reassure myself, nothing would make me believe that I was ACTUALLY doing this. I had always been the good girl, the one who went without, the one who put others first at her own expense. I had spent so many years bottling up my deepest desires that I almost couldn't remember them. But not anymore. Not this girl. No way, no sir. Technically, I was cheating. The papers weren't even drawn up yet, and here I was, fully contemplating a lusty afternoon chock full of sin.

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That Night Life was good, Alicia thought as she tugged the zippered front of her black top halfway down to her navel. The action revealed most of her large tits and another tug promised to release them completely. Her red-hot figure and wavy light brown hair were all part of her persona. So were the short, pleated skirt and knee-high boots that would make a holy man think 'sex.' She looked like a wet dream and her job as a DJ in the small London nightclub not only gave her access to the City's club scene, it hooked her up with a seemingly unlimited supply of young, liberated guys.

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Maxine stepped into the new black tube dress she'd bought and pulled it up over her body. It clung to every curve and she immediately regretted buying it. Her usual style was simple and classic, cut to her knee with a sensible neckline. The saleswoman told her that she wasn't to wear a bra or panties, as it would ruin the 'line'. At the time Maxine had dismissed her advice but now, looking in the mirror, she could understand.

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How do I get myself into these things? Because I'm a sucker for men who beg, that's how. Look on my forehead, see the big "S"? It magically appears whenever a man gets down on his knees, clasps his hands together, and says "Please, please, oh pretty please?" It must be some sort of motherly instinct. I never had any kids, and I always thought I transferred my need for raising children to my dogs.

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