Your erotic stories

Why I let my friend fuck my new wife I will never understand. My name is Ryan and I had just married a girl I had dated for over two years. Her name was Barbie and the name fit her perfect. She was small and skinny weighing only 98 pounds when we married. She stood five foot four inches on her best day. She had small pert breasts with the most sensitive nipples I had ever seen on a woman. They also stood out when erect at least 3/8th to ½ an inch. If you pulled them and sucked them right she would have an orgasm from it.

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CHAPTER 1 Early morning sun cut through the mist as lean and white-haired Bill Soper rubbed under an armpit and once again thought will he or won't he? On six consecutive mornings the fit-looking 70-year old had looked impassively at the boatshed on the edge of the estuary and returned inside his cottage that he no longer shared with his wife.

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Chapter 1: My name is Ed Aronhalt. I'm fifty-eight years old and lost my wife three years ago to cancer. Mary was a very overweight woman and always called herself fat; I always preferred the term chubby even though she weighed well over two hundred pounds. We had a great life together with two wonderful caring daughters who are now married with families of their own.

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Mark was looking over on his girlfriend Lisa sitting next to him in the car. It had been a terribly long drive and Lisa had slept most of the way. They had met in class economy class in the fall and they hooked up almost straight away and had been together all through the school year. With college taking a break for the summer they were both going to go home for the summer and they decided it would be a good time to meet each other's families. After nearly 7 hours of driving Mark was dead tired but they were soon at Lisa's parents' home and he knew he would need to make a good first impression.

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Anne, I am ready for Mrs. Abbott now if you please." I really love my job for the most part. I am responsible for the selection committee for graduate studies at a large Mid-western public university. Admissions is highly competitive, but this was a first for me. We have the phenomenon of "helicopter parents." But that usually ends in the second year of college when the student asserts some individuality.

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She is not classically beautiful. Her face is rather flat with bland cheekbones, her lips do not have the fullness of a true beauty and her nose is rather podgy with slightly flared nostrils. She is though stunning to look at because of her eyes. They are large and delightfully, almond shaped in a deep, onyx green colour.

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Standing in front of the large, automated doors of the college library, Jacob Michaels, 23, released a heavy sigh. His mind was still in a whirl, trying to comprehend exactly why he was here. He worked at the college library as a student aide on regular school days, but this was his Spring Break! School was closed and so was the library. But he was forced to be here; told at the last minute that he had to work this week, the week of his only vacation for months to come, with one of the librarians to help make the shelves orderly and nice for the returning students.

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So, 'V' and I are chatting away when she says to me 'why is it that all D/s stories are written from the sub's point of view. Why is it never from the Domme's. Take Summerhouse Blues, I really love that version of the Rhonda character and yet all we hear about is how Tracy feels. What about Rhonda, what did she make of it all?' And that got me thinking. 'V' was right, there's a whole different side to Summerhouse Blues, another story and one that ought to be told.

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We'd only lived in the neighbourhood a few weeks, so when I first saw him mowing the lawn as I pulled into the driveway, I thought it might have been my own mistake. But no, I checked the house number, and I saw my wife's car in the other parking spot, so I knew I was in the right place. I shrugged and got out of the car. I reached back in for my briefcase, and then watched the young man mowing our lawn as I walked to the front door.

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After living next door to my neighbor Helen and John for many years, I discovered that Helen had a sister, Olive, in the small town of Little Washington where I spent a few years in my youth. Olive and her husband ran the local drive-in and I had spent many an evening at that drive-in. One summer John, I, and my 15-year-old son took a boat trip south with an invitation to stay at Olive's house. It took us two days by boat to get there and Olive's son Charles picked us up at the boat ramp.

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