Your erotic stories

The BBQ was an undeniable success. Sophie spent the first part of the afternoon pouring drinks, and filling plates or chasing after some of the children that were running about. It was a sunny day, but the Oak trees in the Jacobs' backyard made for a cool inviting picnic area. Every once in awhile Sophie would feel someone's hot gaze on her and turn quickly to find Alana staring from some distance away.

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It was Valentines Day and my husband, James, had told me to arrange a babysitter for the evening as he had booked ticket to a show as a surprise. I was very excited at the thought of a romantic night out, just the two of us. We didn't get to spend as much time alone as we would both like as he worked long hours and I stayed at home to care for our three young children, so I decided I was going to make an extra special effort this evening.

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My wife Joan is 62 years old. She is a doctor and a dancer; her lifelong devotion to the art has kept her slim and strong, with great vitality, despite thinning skin, age spots and thickening around the middle. I am passionately drawn to her, find her very attractive, love her with a depth I never knew was possible, and want to fuck her often. (All you young people out there, just because we're old it doesn't mean we're dead.

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Part of me hates this man, whom I'll call "X" for now. We didn't get along as a couple, which is why we broke up in the first place. I didn't even hate him when we broke up- it was very amicable, the old ‘we're just in very different places right now,' blah blah blah… but very soon after the split, I found myself fantasizing, over and over again, about the sex we used to have. It became totally consuming, to the point that I finally found myself breaking down and calling him on the phone one day.

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Well, Rob woke me up Sunday morning with a hardon and let me tell you that I was really enjoying our newly exciting sex life! We had been married for a few years and after the first we had slowly reduced our sexual encounters over the years, just like most other married couples. I had no interest in being a "hot wife" or screwing around and I really didn't think Rob had any ideas along that line but he seemed to really be getting off on displaying me.

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Can a woman be a flirt and still be a loving wife? I say, yes, because I'm married to one! Barb and I have been married for many years. We were high school sweethearts and married young. My Barb is tall, slender, attractive, and very vivacious. She meets people easily and has seldom known a stranger. Part of what drew me to her was her flirtatious manner.

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Little Devil Chastity was dressed like a cheap whore. Short, black semi-sheer mini-skirt. Braless, she wore a too tight and too small, neon pink tube top that barely contained her boobs. Cheap costume jewelry and knee high faux leather black boots. Poofy blonde hair, overdone make-up and strong perfume. And underneath, lace, red crotchless panties. It made her feel like a slut. It made her feel liberated. It made her feel excited.

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Fireworks burst in the night sky overhead and a menagerie of costumed men and women push past me on the crowded street. The inebriated celebrants shy away and let me pass when I glare them down with my practiced 'Do Not Fuck With Me' face. It takes quite a lot of practice to get it right when you're a five-foot-six woman. I scan the crowd and regain sight of you as you turn down a wide stairway and into an underground concourse. My lips can't help but curl up in a smile.

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Mark Walker was sitting at a table for four in what was rapidly becoming a crowded bar. The place had been almost empty when he came in thirty minutes before, but was quickly filling with an after work crowd. Normally, Mark would have been facing the room but he had some work documents he needed to read and didn't want to spend any more time in his hotel room than necessary, so he had ducked into the bar figuring he would have a Manhattan while he worked. Who says men can't multi-task?

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I washed my bowl out and set it in the sink. Glancing over at the stove, I put the lid back on the pot of Chili and wiped my hands on a towel hanging from the oven. Turning up the glass of iced water, I all but chugged it down to wash the spice from my mouth. I knew I needed to quit eating hot chili. I dreaded the inevitable heartburn I would no doubt experience later.

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