Your erotic stories

Trying to keep the band together had been a right pain. With constant changes of personnel it was proving an impossible task. We'd just get the band fully rehearsed, when the singer would leave, or the drummer, or the keyboard player, and then we would have to start from scratch all over again. I was at the point of giving it all up when I was approached by Mark, who offered to manage and promote the band.

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"Oh fuck," I cried. My index and middle fingers plunged in and out of my pussy as my thumb worked my clit. My hips bucked. I could feel my orgasm building. I thrust my fingers, deeper into my sopping cunt. I moaned with pleasure. Finally the dam burst, my body became rigid and my cum soaked my fingers.

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Part 1 "You WHAT?!" "Honey," he said, his eyes wide and pleading. He put his hands out in front of him, palms down, as if urging me to take it easy, to slow down. But I felt the world suddenly spinning out of control. He tried to grasp my shoulders. "Please... you don't..."

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The hum from the washing machines was a chorus of white noise drowning out the street sounds, the wail of sirens in the distance, the crazy-looking homeless man shouting profanities two doors up the sidewalk and the god-awful street rapper free-styling just outside the door of the 50 Cent Washeteria.

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"That was a lot of fun." Lori said as she leaned toward her husband and softly kissed his ear. Mike and his wife Lori were driving back home after a night out to dinner with a group of friends. They were a fairly typical middle-class couple. Both were 35 years old, they had no kids, and held above-average paying white-collar jobs.

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My name is Emma. I was born and grew up just outside of Buffalo New York. My father worked very hard in a plant thirteen hours a day that smelted iron ore that was brought in off of the great lakes. My mother had her hands full with my seven siblings and me. I was the eldest and had just turned eighteen in 1877 when the widowed butcher of our town that was in his late thirties asked for my hand in marriage.

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Karen sat quietly on the edge of the bed waiting. They would be here in just a few moments and she wanted to calm her beating heart. She was about to meet her best friend's latest lover. After weeks of hearing about him and being amazed by all the talk of raw sex and positions and role playing, she was excited and a bit afraid.

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Art had completed his training as a masseuse and he was now working part time at a salon near the college. He was in his junior year at the university and he was doing very well in school with a cumulative 3.6 GPA. Art would graduate in a year with a degree in business and he hoped to be accepted to graduate school. Art was an impressive young man of 21 years and he had dated many girls in college.

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For those who follow my stories know that I was not involved in sexual play until after I became a widow at the sweet age of fifty-six. I am now sixty-seven and during the intervening eleven years I have made up for lost time so to speak.

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It was one of those rainy days when all you want to do is sleep. I however had other things to do. This was my day to volunteer at the local library. Today was "Help a young person lean to read day." For what ever reason children between the ages of twelve and eighteen that had poor reading skills were given two days a month to get help reading. It was my turn to volunteer for this chore.

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