Your erotic stories

Cassie Stevens was a stunning woman. She kept herself in amazing shape, particularly for a mother of two, and for someone her age. At over 40 years old, she was still able to turn heads, and she knew it. Her body was a testament to the many hours she put in at the gym and in her yoga classes. She was slim and toned, with an ass women half her age would kill for. Her breasts were not exactly enormous, but were a decent size, and lacked the sag many of her friends experienced, again thanks to her commitment to physical fitness.

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Our physical difference was striking. I'm a brute—at least I look like one. Over six feet, with broad shoulders and thick legs, I dwarfed her barely five foot frame. Where I loom, all burliness and beard and full, round ass, she receded, her thin arms and legs topped by a spindly bottom and slightly sunken cheeks that were the most obvious sign of her fifty-nine years.

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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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'Knock...knock...knock'. Melanie put her book down and answered the front door. "Hi...Mrs. Barton," the good looking teenager asked, "Is Warren in?" "Ehm no," she smiled when she recognised her son's best-friend Lee Clark or Clarkie as he was known to his friends, "he's at work but shouldn't be long; do you want to come in and wait?" "Yeh thanks." He mumbled and wiped his trainers on the door mat as he followed the slim woman into the living room.

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I dashed for the phone, hoping to answer it before the voicemail picked up. "Hello," I said, breathing hard. "Ken, it's Sam Clemens." No, not that Sam Clemens. Sam is Samantha Clemens. She and her husband Dave live about two miles from me on Huckleberry Hill Road. We have the only houses for miles, so we've become pretty good neighbors. Dave is a realtor in town. He has done very well financially selling commercial real estate, and it shows.

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"Paul, would you like to go and house-sit for Aunty Jean on Friday evening?" his mother asked. Engaged in trying to write a tutorial paper on the computer for next morning – a paper he should have been prepared two days before – Paul asked suspiciously, "Why?" "Oh well, the girl she usually has can't make it, and Jean's booked a seat for the opera, and as she'll probably be home late she says you can stay overnight."

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Have you ever found yourself in a situation, you knew many would consider wrong? No, I'm not talking murder wrong, so calm down, dear reader. I guess to tell this story right; I have to begin at the beginning of my story. A while back (no, I'm not telling you when, as for all I know, the wrong person or people are reading this) I was helping a friend move into her new place. Now, I know, helping a friend move isn't a bad thing, but it was what happened after that was, well, so to speak. My friend had a nice neighbor, a widowed father with three boys: Bobby -- 20, Dawson -- 18, and Elliot -- 12.

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A trip to the Dentist is not something that I look forward to, and my six monthly check up was no exception. I managed to get the final appointment of the day at a dental surgery I had not been to before. The Dentist was not available, but I was assured the senior Dental Nurse would be more than capable of conducting the check up and cleaning. I arrived at the surgery just before 5pm and was greeted by the senior Dental Nurse behind the receptionist's desk. She then led me through the waiting room and into the surgery.

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It had only been six days since Dolly Hamlin and Dr. Vince Ferugia had consummated their blossoming torrid relationship. To Dolly, the days had flown by in a rosy romantic haze that she had never experienced before. To Dr. Vince, the growing fullness in his balls and the soaring remembrance of his initial intimacies in experiencing the glorious body of his new paramour was a opening to a new world of sensual excitement.

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I have this experience to blame (or thank) for all the many years of sexual deviance that followed. But first, a little bit of background. Like a lot of kids, the moment I turned eighteen, I left home. Only I didn't have college to go to, but a job designing web pages 1,500 miles from where I grew up in Texas. So I packed up and headed to Maryland, where I had already arranged to rent a cheap one bedroom apartment and start my new life.

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