Your erotic stories

I'm astride my husband and he's pounding me with his pulsing hard cock, bottoming out inside my cunt, his hands gripping my hips and his tongue lapping at my swaying tits. Luna's behind me, fingering my ass with one hand while fondling hubby's balls with the other. Husband grunts like a bull and slaps my ass, pulls my hair and pinches my nipples, as Luna starts licking my thighs and lower back like a dog. Just as she prepares to lick my ass I reach for my vibrator, and in an instant I recall how I arrived here.

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"Hey Babe, have the kids gone to grandma's yet?" I asked as I finished whisking up the fresh whipped cream for our dessert. Dinner was spread out on the table –herbed steak and a garden salad – and the dessert was done except for the cream in the bowl. It needed to whip up and then chill. You watch out the window as Jill and Sydney, our two girls meander next door to spend the night with their grandma.

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Most secretaries would be fired for wearing a low-cut blouse like hers. Most secretaries wouldn't get away with a tight pencil-skirt and the almost-visible suspenders around her thighs either. Most secretaries, however, aren't married to their bosses – and today is their anniversary. There are flowers on Lana's desk when she comes in, high heels clicking on the oak floor. That gets a smile from her, which isn't always easy this early in the morning; it's still dark outside.

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I had met a really nice African-American guy named Karl for some hot sex. I was travelling for business and was satisfying my bi desires on these trips. I had met Karl through a gay chat room and we had a great hook-up. We promised to meet up again when I had to visit his city again. (See "My First BBC" for the story of how I hooked up with Karl.) 

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My name is Mark and I have a confession. I'm an attractive 35 year old man with a pretty wife and two great little kids. I have a good job, a nice house and what appears from the outside to be a perfectly normal life. But I have a secret...a hot, sexy, naughty, filthy little secret named Lizzy. Lizzy was 19 when this all started (actually she had just turned 20, but that didn't make me feel any better). She was the daughter of Tom, one of my two bosses and a guy that could ruin my life if he ever suspected that I had done anything with his gorgeous daughter.

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I watched as my wife applied the finishing touches to her lipstick and then turned to me. "Right, I'm ready now, can you give me a lift?" We headed downstairs and out to my car. It was then just a fifteen minute drive to the restaurant where Kim was meeting her boss. She worked as assistant credit controller at an engineering firm and her boss was moving to a new job in Scotland.

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It's Friday afternoon and when my final class of the day ends I race back to my office to see if the email has arrived. I've been distracted all day in anticipation of finding out whether or not it's finally going to happen tonight. Logging in, I go straight to my inbox. Nothing. With a frustrated sigh I lean back in my chair, a stack of homework papers on my desk in front of me just waiting for grades.

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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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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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