Your erotic stories

My mother left my father when I was 15. She went off to "find herself" in California. Strangely, my father was upset but also understanding. I think that made it easier for me. I still loved her and she was in touch with us and said she loved us both. I believed her, but also knew that she had moved on as we must. She always was a free spirit and one that was hard to hold onto.

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It had been a long time since we had a girl's night out. I have known Kristy, Grace and Terri since high school. Unlike many kids that graduate and move away, we all got married and set up our lives in this small town south of Los Angeles. High school seems like a million years ago when in fact we were all in the same graduating class 20 years ago along with Kristy's husband Dan. Terri's husband Bob and my husband Jerry were two years ahead of the five of us in the same school.

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Part 1 - Wakeup call The blonde in the chair frantically blinking at me is the client. We'll call her Wife or Wifey. She's blinking because, like most clients on their first experience, she's panicking early. The blink is her safe "word".

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It was Friday evening and as per my weekly ritual, I put on a clean pair of jeans and a button down shirt and made my way over to Abel's, the neighborhood dive bar. As I entered I glanced around the room, waved to the usuals and took a seat at the bar next to a girl I've never seen before. I sat down and ordered a Labatt. As the bar tender grabbed a glass and began to fill it, I turned to the new girl and said "I'm Jack and I don't reckon we've met".

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She arrived exactly on time; seven o'clock. I heard the doorbell ring and felt a small rush of adrenalin. With Amanda, I had learned to expect the unexpected. Thus the adrenalin. I opened the door to all 5'11" of her, and smiled. She was so good at this. Standing there with her massage table and linen bag, dressed in loose‐fitting pants, a collared work shirt and tennis shoes, she looked every bit the part of a normal masseuse.

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His eyes were closed, a vain token of propriety: if he didn't see what was happening, was he really responsible? Around his finger her mouth closed, warm, wet, sucking. He felt her teeth graze over the hardness of his wedding band, then those hot, soft lips closed about his finger, retreating slowly towards his fingertip with a delicious, unfamiliar suction. What am I doing? There is a reason I've worn this band for fifteen years.

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She passed Fifth Street and checked her watch, right on schedule and thankfully the crossing light was on her side this morning so she eased across the intersection without having to stop. Music from her IPod spurred her on as she rounded the corner on Jackson Avenue, in the home stretch now. The warm early May morning sun at her back, she could see the entrance to the building at the end of the city block and urged herself to push a little harder.

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I sensed her controlling presence as soon as I entered the room. It was like a force field around her, something that I could instinctively feel but from which nothing could be seen. First I tried to ignore it, thinking it came from my overactive imagination. Eventually, it started to overwhelm me. It intoxicated me like too many drinks at a party, making me do things I otherwise would never have dreamed of doing.

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If you'd asked me if I would want to watch my girlfriend fuck another man in front of me a year ago, I'd have promptly punched you in the jaw. The idea would have disgusted me, as I'd heard of cuckolds and thought that they had to all be subs, and maybe even closeted homosexuals.

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Monday always began with a meeting, and this Monday morning was no different from any other. We were all sitting around the long wooden table in the conference room, listening to one voice after another explaining how good their department was. Everyone was showing graphs over the growth of our company, but somehow it all seemed so distant from the reality we had to live with in the small office rooms.

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