Your erotic stories

I had only been out of work for a week, and already I was getting bored. And that's a bad thing for me . . . to be bored. It's how I always get into trouble. Okay, it's one of the ways I get into trouble. So here I am, back home in the mountains of Tennessee, and I need something to do. It's beautiful here, and very secluded.

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Introduction Sandie had just turned eighteen a month ago but she was so tiny – barely 5' 1" – and with such a pixy face, that she could have passed for 12 or thirteen. Adding to the image of youth was her long sleek black hair, which hung straight to her waist. Whenever I saw her lounging by their pool in her one-piece bathing suit over our neighbouring fence, I swore she had no breasts to speak of.

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It started with a telephone call, a couple of weeks ago, one of my former girlfriends called Christine, inviting me to her birthday party. I had nothing else planned for the evening, and accepted the invitation. When I walked into the venue, an upstairs room at a local pub, Christine was leaning on the bar, ordering drinks. She was wearing a very short, mini skirt, her long shapely legs were parted, and her J. Lo like arse, was pushed back, Christine, was on the pull.

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We had got drunk together numerous times, as part of a group, and just us I suppose, once or twice, he'd crashed at mine as well, a few times, came back for some chilli, a floor space. He was sort of funny, a little older than me, smart, he lived miles away.

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Ted groaned as he hit the snooze button on his alarm clock. He didn't have to go into work today, but he wasn't particularly motivated to start the day either. He'd gone to bed forty-six years old and woke up forty-seven and felt rather blase about the whole thing. His sex life was practically non existent, his wife gone nearly ten years, and a single daughter who was getting ready to leave for college.

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I was relieved when the flight attendants finally opened the doors, allowing the passengers to disembark from the plane. The flight itself hadn't been too bad, but I was tired of sitting in one spot for so long and the prospect of being able to stretch my legs had me antsy. Grabbing my backpack from the overhead bin, I began shuffling forward.

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I was one of the lucky ones. After catching me on the living room couch, wearing a pair of her panties jacking off, my wife was not only cool with me wearing them, she actually really got into it. Even going as far as throwing out all but one pair of my boxer shorts and taking me shopping, on a regular basis for new panties.

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This is as true a story as my memory will allow. It's been quite a few years....15 or so, come to think of it. However, all of the actions are burned into my memory, and what I write of is what truly happened. The dialog, not so much. I remember the gist of what was said but, except for a few specific parts, not exactly what words were spoken. So, I'll ask your forgiveness in advance. I'll convey the gist of the dialog, but not the true words spoken.

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The late afternoon sun shines strongly, casting long shadows on the ground. I search through the crowd, looking for my friends amid the mass of people standing, staring towards the stage. Where I am is still some way from the band currently playing, with only the tallest able to get a decent view. So everyone is mostly stood like near-inanimate zombies, their only movements are the odd step to the side, or a tilting of their heads as they seek that perfect view of a few guys playing guitars and drums.

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We were in the study of Professor Hendrick's house, in the late evening, nearing the end of the tutorial he was conducting. At least I assumed it was nearing the end, because I was very close to coming. We were in a straight chair facing his desk. Professor Hendricks, his hands wrapped around my waist was sitting in the chair; I was sitting on his hard cock—or, rather, fucking myself on his cock in slow risings and fallings and me moaning in tenor to his groaning in baritone.

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