Your erotic stories

My name is Waylon Fielding and I am married to a wonderful woman, my wife Celine Fielding. I would like to say that my life is perfect, or even good, but after two years of marriage I'm pretty freaking miserable and it's all Celine's fault. Actually, it really isn't her fault; it's her Mother's, the lovely Melissa Harmon.

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Mark and Penny headed towards the hotel. Both were more excited then they let on; Penny had been given a precious gift from her husband, and now, months later, she was giving him one back. Mark had been touched that his wife wanted to live out his fantasy with him and now they were on their way to do just that. As they drove through the city, Mark thought back over the conversation that had led them to this new adventure in their lives.

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As we pulled up to my house I enjoyed the fact that no bicycles were strewn on the driveway and no soccer goal stood on the lawn. Just my wife and I at home tonight, with no kids to interrupt and no reason to try and maintain any appearances. I had been looking forward to this for weeks. I got out of the car and turned to say goodnight to my neighbor from down the street.

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"So, what did you have in mind?" you ask with a coy smile. I thought about the evening out from which we just returned. The kids were away for the night. We had been flirting and teasing each other all night, and I could feel the sexual tension between us. I knew you could feel it too. I could see it in the way you had been looking at me. In the way you slowly unbuttoned your heavy coat when we walked through the door, one button at a time, watching me until it was open and you let it drop to a chair.

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Fireworks burst in the night sky overhead and a menagerie of costumed men and women push past me on the crowded street. The inebriated celebrants shy away and let me pass when I glare them down with my practiced 'Do Not Fuck With Me' face. It takes quite a lot of practice to get it right when you're a five-foot-six woman. I scan the crowd and regain sight of you as you turn down a wide stairway and into an underground concourse. My lips can't help but curl up in a smile.

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I stood in the crisp sunlight bursting through my window, my shades pulled back and inviting the morning inside. It was September; the first day of classes. My parents had helped me move in to my residence room a week ago, giving me time to get acquainted with all the people that would be on my floor. I had made a good number of friends, many of which I already had invited me to spend the next weekend on a drinking splurge.

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Martin sat in the dark of his bedroom and stared out the window into the night. His modest home where he and his wife June had raised their 3 children was quiet now. He could hear June breathing softly in her sleep. The dog rustled and snorted in his sleep but Martin was still awake. He was nearing retirement and the accounting of his retirement capital wasn't looking too good. Though he had worked consistently and hard through his 40+ years of employment, the money just did not seem to stick to his savings account.

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Julie lay back into the car's seat, closing her eyes and relaxing into the ride home. The night out had been just what she needed after a long week; Jay had done well distracting her from thoughts of work. Their favorite restaurant had again come through with a great meal. They'd had just enough wine, lovely dessert, and stimulating conversation. But though the pleasant hours had repressed her ill mood, she now wanted a good night's sleep to escape the frustrations the work week had wrought. Climbing into bed, passing out and waking up to a lazy Saturday... That's what she needed.

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I can see her watching me. Pretending not to, casting her eyes down to the novel in front of her every time I catch her eye from across the patio of this open-air café. Well, I've been watching her, too—long enough to know that she's been "reading" the same page for the last 45 minutes.

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I rested my neck on the edge of the bathtub and stretched my limbs, luxuriating in the warmth of the foamy water. I surveyed the unfamiliar opulence of my surroundings and sighed with satisfaction. I had learnt on my arrival at the resort hotel in Maui where I was to stay that my confirmed reservation had been deleted by a mysterious glitch in their system and that no rooms were available. Either my panic stricken face or more probably the fact that I am a claims agent for a major marine insurance company persuaded the management to get rid of the problem by upgrading me to a beach side cottage.

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