Your erotic stories

It was the wrong choice of swimwear, and I was headed back to the guest room to rectify that, when the cause of it all stopped me in the hallway. The new owner of our company had invited me to his country place for a weekend to discuss some details of a project we were working on, and it turned out there was a pool party included. But, not knowing that, I hadn't brought my suit. I had assumed this would be all business. So there I was, having to pick out a loaner suit from Thad, my boss, and I'd picked the wrong one.

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"Tom, I'm happy you're home from college for the summer, but we just can't give you money anymore like we used to. We need every dollar we have, and if you have the chance to earn some on your own, even if it's just a day job, you have to take it." "Mom, this isn't a job. This is...labor." "It's $100, and all you have to do is spend a few hours boxing up some stuff and taking out trash.

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"Baby Girl you're fine," he said confidently as he danced beside me with my sexy wife. I was used to her getting hit on, especially by black men. She had a beautiful round ass and a trim waist that drew admiring looks wherever we went and it attracted black men to her like a moth to a flame. But I wasn't used to the man being so blatantly aggressive with her when I was within ear shot and my blood began to boil.

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Since my husband passed away a few years ago I haven't been in a significant relationship. It didn't find any joy in going through the process of finding a man, figuring out if I liked him, and if he liked me, and then determining what we both wanted from each other. My marriage with my husband had been fantastic. We got along well and raised two wonderful children. We had a great, although not wild, sex life. We were both very passionate, but not compulsive.

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There were four of them who entered the store close to closing time, all muscled punks decked out in black leather. I owned the small convenience store but found myself behind the counter this evening because my regular night clerk called in sick. The hunkiest of the four came up to the counter and puckered his lips and tossed me an air kiss. He asked me where Jake, my regular evening clerk, was.

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Authors note: All characters in this story are 18 years old or older. Enjoy! D * * * * * Michael sat chewing his straw as he wondered about the mixture of longing and disgust he felt as he watched the group of girls on the other side of the canteen. It was a bright day and the shine from their finely cared-for hair and skin gave them a cinematic glow that made them all the more captivating. His twin sister, Brittany, was with seated amongst them, seemingly just another beautiful face in the crowd of beautiful girls.

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Jessica was nervous, driving to the meeting. Her boss, Susan, had asked to meet at a hotel room at one of the best, most expensive hotels in London. This was a very odd request, but Jessica looked at it as an adventure. She would get to see a great hotel and possibly have a nice lunch. But this was so out of character for her normally too-serious boss.

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I went through my mid-life crisis recently, but instead of buying a Porsche or a 800 inch flat screen TV or fucking my twenty-two year old secretary (although it was tempting) Instead I decided to get back in shape. I was an athlete in high school and college, but in my thirties work, family and neglect have added a few more pounds than I was proud to admit.

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For some time Dwight had told me that when the time came, when I'd reached eighteen, and if I was still interested, he'd take me to the Candy Shop for the first time. I tried to tell him that he would be candy enough for me, but Dwight was an honorable man. That's the only reason why we ever needed to discuss the Candy Shop at all.

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Sunday Morning in early March. I joined the regulars for coffee after a disappointing Saturday night; I hate to be part of a closing crowd, and so I'd left the Paradise Bar with fifteen minutes to go before the bitter end. It's my age, I suppose. As fine as I know myself to be at thirty-five, I just don't feel like competing at singles bars any more. So there I was, listening to the morning-after banter about the night before: Who did, who didn't, who got lucky, who got away.

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