Your erotic stories

It has been two weeks since my sexual adventure with Angie and Billy and I can't get it out of my mind. I haven't seen Angie since that day but I see her mother, Sarah, frequently. When speaking with her I can't help but picture me licking her sweet daughter's pussy and I get wet every time. Since then I have followed my normal daily routine. My husband, David, has been in Europe on business for the last three weeks and I am lonesome.

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It was raining outside - a typical Amsterdam spring day with heavy grey cloud casting a chill gloom upon the city. A Little natural light was managing to find its way through the dirty, rain spattered windows as they rattled in their frames, carrying with it the luminous presence from the spring leaves on the trees outside that lined the canal.

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Jodi and I have been friends all our lives. Growing up, she probably spent as many nights at my house as she did at home. My Mom called Jodi their third daughter. We shared nearly everything from 5th grade on -- everything but Jeremy Elder, the biggest hottie in our class.

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The only reason that I moved into the 'Assisted Living Community' at all was so that I wouldn't become a burden to my grandson, Jeffery and his family. I had just turned 80, and hell I knew there were things I just couldn't do on my own anymore. I had always sort of thought that when I got to be too old to be self-sufficient, that I would buy a one-way ticket to the Himalayas; go on a trekking expedition and quietly slip away onto some glacier.

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"You need something, Maryann?" "Could I have something for pain?" Her voice was small and hesitant. "I'll check. If you can, I'll bring it and then let it take effect and then," Sharon Caswell, R.N., paused with a whimsical smile of her face, "we'll do your bath." Maryann Hollander sort of laughed and then groaned, "Sharon don't make me laugh, it hurts."

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Andrea and I had had a thing, four or five years ago, way back when we still worked together. It had only lasted about a week, but it had been a quite memorable week (at least for me it sure was!), and we had managed to stay good friends after. We'd gone on to pursue different careers, and Andrea had become a dedicated, full-time lesbian, and occasionally we'd even dated the same girls (though never at the same time).

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My name is Gabriela. No, it's not, but I'm not telling you my real name. I'm 29 years old. I was 29 last year too. I'm a professional girlfriend. My boyfriends' wives would call me a whore. My boyfriends buy me jewelry, clothing, pay my rent, my credit card bills, sometimes even give me shares in their companies or illegal stock tips.

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Excitement coursed through my veins as I walked onto the University campus for the first time. I was nineteen, away from home for the first time, and about to open a new chapter on my life. I had enrolled to start in the winter semester. I had decided to pursue an MBA, with the ultimate goal of developing my own line of clothing.

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She smiled as she looked out over the deep blue expanse. Her hair fluttered in the western winds as the ship made a gentle turn. Her smile widened as her sandy brown locks caressed her face, able to do what the wind could not. The gentle spray of a crashing wave misted her face and her eyes closed as the gentle touch was nearly too much.

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When I hung up the phone, I admit I might have slammed down the receiver in frustration. It was Monday and I had been looking forward to an evening spent in my recliner with a couple beers and some Monday Night Football. Instead, I had just been informed that I had been enlisted by my wife to help entertain another in a seemingly endless stream of consultants brought in to figure out how to make my wife's place of employment hum.

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