Your erotic stories

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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Valerie stared out the kitchen window at her neighbour across the alley. She'd met Patrick when he'd moved in, and while he had been polite, they hadn't maintained any contact more than a smile and wave if their paths crossed. But she'd been up close to him and that face had stuck in her memory. He was so pretty.

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Joan looked up at the clock. It seemed to have stopped at 3:28, but that was probably just her imagination. Her watch also said 3:28. Mind you, she'd been pretty sure for a while that her watch had stopped too. Maybe both of them had stopped. Time seemed to have been doing funny things to Joan all day. At some points, it had been going by unpleasantly quickly, sneaking past her when she wasn't paying attention.

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Could I really be doing this? I'm following some guy at a garage to the back room - seriously, the back room - where he is no doubt going to fuck my brains out. I'm watching his muscular ass ripple in his tight jeans, and I'm already unzipping my leather jacket. It was barely holding me in to begin with, and since I don't seem to be wearing anything underneath it, I'm already bouncing free by the time that my surprise lover opens the stock room door. We slip in, I slam the door closed with my foot, and he reaches for me.

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I was panting pretty hard, just waiting for the orgasm to hit. The bullet was pressed hard against my clit, and I was watching a hard bodied man with a very big dick pound a nubile young blond on the screen. This usually didn't take too long, but it was starting to take long enough to frustrate me. I pushed the bullet in a bit harder and leaned my head back, just enjoying the sounds of the two people in the video going at it.

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Jennifer and Derrick rode in the cab holding hands. She had been living in the city since graduating from college just over a year ago and, in that time, had not had much of a social life as she put her energy into writing for a regional magazine. On occasion she dated but most of those had been setups by well meaning friends. She had been in only two serious relationships, both back in college, but that seemed forever ago.

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Shortly after I turned thirty-nine my mother died suddenly of a coronary thrombosis. Dad had died seven years earlier. So since my brother Kenny, a journalist and my only sibling, was living in London at the time, and my daughter was in her second year of college, I was left alone with the task of going through my mother's things and deciding what should be kept and what should be thrown away.

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"-Do you trust me?" Moira asked. The sun was setting over the southern Ireland countryside, sending long, soft shadows from to tree to hedgerow and slowly turning the sky red. They sat on Moira's couch in her quiet cottage. She had her arm around the younger woman's shoulders. Sinead's school books lay scattered on the coffee table.

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I'm a spa fanatic. It's the one thing I like to treat myself to. I'm pretty good about my spending every other way. I always put money from each paycheque into a retirement fund. I bought my own house as soon as I had the minimum down payment. I bring my own lunches to work. I don't make impulse buys, when I shop. However, I find it perfectly reasonable to spend $100 an hour to have someone exfoliate me with sea salt.

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Brooke lay back on the bed and her hands drifted across smooth, warm skin. She grazed one of her thick, dark nipples and it stiffened. Goose bumps rose on lush breasts and damp labia began to swell. She wished Allison was stroking her body, making her wet, making Brooke cum.

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