Your erotic stories

Brandon leaned over the low, padded cubicle wall and winked at Colleen and told her she was looking mighty fine today. Then, as he turned and moved down the corridor between the cubicles, a large, apparently heavy file box under his arm, he barely missed running into Rhonda, and gave her a cheery hello and a big smile before going on his way.

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"Shut UP!" Marcy realized she was making a mistake as soon as she said it, but a whole semester's worth of pent-up frustration and irritation just bubbled out of her mouth and she couldn't stop it anymore. "God, I am so sick of you telling me how fucking great you are! 'Oh, I'm so hot.' 'Oh, I totally had that guy eating out of my hand.' 'Oh, don't you love how this outfit looks on me?' 'Oh, I could have any man I want.' You are such a vain, stuck-up, self-obsessed...bitch!"

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Allow me to introduce myself: I'm Heather McCormick and I'm a thirty-something m.i.l.f. living in suburban Atlanta, Georgia. The story I'm about to tell you is the God's honest truth, and I wouldn't lie, because lying is a sin. Six months ago I was a slovenly 158 pounds of bored, impetuous, spoiled housewife. Now I am a svelte 115 pounds thanks to the Wulfwinter Weight Loss Clinic. Here's my story.

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Darla practically hammered on the door to the hotel room, her body shaking with anger. Jane was in there, Darla just knew it, so why didn't she just open the door and take her 'angry goth girl' medicine? She was hiding, that's what it was.

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Our little group meets twice a week. Our kids play and we drink and bitch about our kids. Or our exes, or our jobs, or whatever else we have to bitch about. There are six of us here. Jackie, Jennifer, Maxine, Karen, Samantha, and me, Jonathan. When I found the craigslist ad I didn't realize I would be the only guy, and I'll be the first to admit that some days you can just choke on all the estrogen in the room, but we all get along.

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