Your erotic stories

Aaron moaned, head rolling from side to side on his pillow. His jaw was tightly clenched, as were his fists. He thought hazily that he must be bruising the soft, perfect pear curves of her hips, but he couldn't help it. He was dying. His cock was wedged tight in the hot clench of her no-longer virgin cunt and she was riding him, tits bouncing prettily, long red corkscrew curls springing and sliding over her lightly freckled shoulders. Her mouth was a lush rose bed of pleasure, lips wet and parted on harsh, hard, eager moans.

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When my computer software company started a coed softball team I decided to sign up, figuring it would be a good way to socialize with other employees. As it turns out, not many people signed up, so one of the younger people filled out the team with a bunch of her friends. When I turned up at the first game, there were a bunch of 20 somethings, a few 30 somethings, and me, a mid 40s something. Since I am a fairly fit mid 40s, I didn't stand out too much.

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Dan woke up, glancing at the clock that sat on the head board of his giant California King bed. 5:15 AM, the lighted numbers on the clock radio read. It wasn't set to go off, no need for that. Dan woke up every single day within a few minutes of the same time without fail. It made no difference at all what time Dan went to bed, still he would awake and get up around 5, sleep after that time was impossible.

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It was hot! Not the kind of heat one would feel in most areas of the country in July, but the humid, oppressive heat that was common in any part of South Florida except the beaches. That's what it was like when Josh stepped out the rear door of the nondescript concrete block house in the Northwest part of Fort Lauderdale. The house had been built in the forties by a family who had aspired towards farming without success and now existed as a lonely rental structure a good three miles from the center of town just a few hundred feet from the North branch of New River.

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Let me take a moment to thank al those who have written to me, sent pictures and e-mails. I want to thank ladies and the few married couples first. I think it is wonderful that mature couples can read my stories and get a warm glow that last thru out the day. I have made friends with a lady near my age that is also a widow. We have much in common and are going to meet shortly to exchange experiences of your lives.

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My summer vacation from university was almost over and since the moving day incident nothing at all had happened between Edward and me. But the memory was vivid. I remembered being on my knees before him, looking up into his eyes and he said, "I have so much more to teach you," with his big, softening cock resting against my lips and the salt of his cum on the back of my throat.

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Kim kept busy gardening all morning so she wouldn't be thinking about Danny coming home, Mark's mammoth cock or even Janet's sexy hosed body. She didn't want to think about anything that would get her aroused. She was still feeling the effects of the wild sexual encounter she had yesterday evening, and her poor pussy was finally beginning to feel like its old self again.

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Travelling for work is not as much fun as it used to be. All those airports, those sleepless journeys, being up to speed on most movies and Discovery Channel documentaries is no substitute for a regular life. Constantly hopping from hotel to hotel, albeit with grander and grander rooms then suites as the work and career progressed. Learning to pack for a week in a walk-on bag and still look smart every day - an unwished for skill but essential nonetheless.

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Today is her birthday and Tim has waited a long time for this surprise. He intends to make this a birthday to remember. All day long he has been planning and preparing things for their special night. The picnic basket is packed with a lovely bottle of wine, cheese, crackers, fruit and her favorite chocolates. Tim remembered the chocolates, the little smooth ones that melt so delicately in your mouth.

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It was as I was returning from a trip up to Manchester that I saw the sign: 'Stewartby Park Prestige Hotel'. I vaguely remembered hearing that the old place had been converted, some years after she died, but it hadn't really hit home to me until that moment. Before I'd even realised it I'd swung the car between the gate posts and started up that familiar wide, sweeping gravel drive, framed by rhododendron bushes. After a few hundred yards I rounded a corner and saw again the huge, sprawling former stately home I'd last set eyes on more than 30 years earlier, its crooked Tudor chimneys silhouetted against the afternoon sky.

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