Your erotic stories

The afternoon air was warm, but not unusually so for that time of year. It had been ten minutes since the local highschool had been dismissed for the weekend. Two eighteen year old students were making their way through quiet neighborhoods nearby. Ethan found it extremely difficult to walk properly, even on the smooth, level footpath. A mixture of nervousness and excitement was causing him to over-think every step.

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We'd only lived in the neighbourhood a few weeks, so when I first saw him mowing the lawn as I pulled into the driveway, I thought it might have been my own mistake. But no, I checked the house number, and I saw my wife's car in the other parking spot, so I knew I was in the right place. I shrugged and got out of the car. I reached back in for my briefcase, and then watched the young man mowing our lawn as I walked to the front door.

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1 Robert Rappaport is not only the landlord of a very nice apartment building but lives in the Penthouse unit where he lived with his parents before their untimely disappearance. He inherited some prime income producing real estate along with it from his parents who vanished on a trip to Thailand a few years back when Robert was only 18. They had left him legally in charge since he was already quite savvy, having learned a great deal from his parents about investing and their business.

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My name is Angeline Currie. You won't find that name in any history of Hollywood. In all the movies in which I starred from the '40s to the '60s, and the character roles I played in movies and on TV in the twilight of my career, I was billed quite differently. Not even my agent knew my real name but, trust me, if you heard my professional name you'd certainly know it.

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It truly was a day to remember. I stepped out onto my pool deck that Saturday afternoon, aiming to bring the water up to the proper level and check the chemical balance. Three neighborhood couples would be at our home that evening to share my locally-famous smoked ribs. I wanted the pool to be crystal clear in case we decided to swim too.

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My wife Angie and I have been married for seven years and despite having had two children Angie had kept her figure, she was a slim 34 year old woman with long blond hair and small to average, but beautifully formed breasts. We have had a good but not very adventurous love life. Angie would give me oral sex, usually while I was returning the favour but never allowed me to cum in her mouth. We had discussed anal sex but she had considered it too painful and dirty.

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I say goodbye to Diana as I climb out of the car. As I begin to walk, a bit unsteadily, towards the front door, I find myself reminiscing about the Sunday brunch we just had. It is always fun getting together with the girls to discuss family, life, and of course, sex! I can feel my nipples hardening against the satin top I have on, due in part I am sure to the amount of champagne I consumed, but also thinking back to the steamy conversation with the girls!

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In the spring of 1969 I landed a job as the overnight DJ on a radio station in Seattle. I was the only person in the station during most of my shift and enjoyed talking to listeners who called to request songs or just wanted to talk to someone. One of my regular callers, Kristy, had a pleasant voice and a thing for a particular Linda Ronstadt song. She would call two or three times a week for that song, telling me that she couldn't get to sleep unless she heard it.

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She didn't need to see him. She didn't want to. She trusted her partner after all as he knew her as intimately as anyone had ever known her. Instead she could sense him, sense him enter the bedroom behind her as she knelt on the bed and ran her hands over Dave, her partner. She liked him to be still whilst she massaged him, to 'give' to him, to feel his reactions and hear his involuntary murmurs as her hands explored his every contour.

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Jen and I had experienced an incredible sensual relationship, but after five years together the pressures of graduate student life in a large southern university had taken their toll. We both longed to bring back the passion we had previously enjoyed, but neither of us knew exactly what would work. Kate was a 20-year-old summer student who was working as a technician in the laboratory next to ours. She was very pretty, always smiling, and full of life. One evening, Jen and I were walking hand-in-hand across the campus when I ventured to ask her what she thought of Kate.

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