Your erotic stories

CHAPTER 1 Twice divorced with continuing strong interest in working and male company, Lillian Smith, who'd once again reverted to her maiden name, made her seventh application for a new job and secured a position as personal assistant to the female operations manager of a courier company. The two women settled in together fine, both being the same age of fifty-two, and with similar interests except manager Marion had been married to the same man for twenty-seven years and had warned her new recruit she didn't talk about her husband or home life.

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Esther Watson was lounging in her bath; she had never in her life felt as good, or as satisfied as she was right now. She had thought back to when she might have done, but if she had, then it was a long time ago. Esther was wallowing in hot water lashed with scented oils; he was downstairs making her coffee. It was almost 12 noon, she had just got out of bed, or rather, she had just been allowed to. He had been screwing her since 7am this morning.

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Average, that's pretty much how I saw myself. Brown hair, brown eyes, busty for sure, but could stand to either lose 20 pounds or grow 4 inches. Nothing particularly remarkable about me but what I lack in the supermodel, standard cutesy looks department, I probably make up for in personality. Great. Just how every woman wants to be described: "she's not really pretty, but she's got a great personality!" Whatever.

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Chapter 1 Brad McGibbon was not coping well following his wife's decision to leave him to live in a warmer climate because her joints were playing up. Brad's were too, a bit. He thought Heather should have hips, knees and anywhere else that was painful replaced instead of sloping off to a warm climate where one sweated all day and perhaps half-froze at night. She chose Hawaii while he stayed put in Twin Forks on the John Dee River.

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In all the fantasies in my mind, I'm a thin, svelte, beautiful woman. In real life I'm a plump, voluptuous, attractive woman. I have curves like a real woman, not angles like Barbie. The man I'm looking for doesn't have to be a Ken. (Actually, I don't want a Ken, because I want a man with working parts.) I'm not adverse to finding a good looking man. I like a sculpted chest, and I love a nicely formed ass, one that fits well into my hands. Those usually are my standards, I have been known to take a chance on a man who doesn't meet those rules.

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Jason stared at Marsha's ass as she leaned over the conference table in her office reviewing the ad layouts they'd been working on. Part of him was admiring her shapely ass, but most of him was still upset over the performance evaluation she'd given him yesterday. Jason was a 23-year-old artist, fresh out of art school, working for a medium size Ad Agency on the west coast.

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When I was 18 my family lived in the English Midlands. My parents both worked for a pharmaceutical firm and they were working at its English subsidiary. We lived in a small village about 20 miles outside of Birmingham. Because both my parents worked they could afford to send me to a public school—which in England means a private school. The school was in the city, and I would ride in with parents every morning and ride back home again every evening.

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I was in my own little world as I walked into my office. It was 5:30 and everyone else had already gone for the day. I was looking over some home office reports that I'd just picked up from the mailroom as I walked. I sat down at my desk and continued reading the reports for another minute or two when I suddenly got the feeling of being watched. I looked up across my office and, through the open door to the next room, saw Kerry sitting at the conference table.

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I love my life. I don't know if this happens to other people but I have a recurring theme in my life where past experiences come back, not to haunt me, but to enrich my life even further. My life is not without pain and tragedy, to be sure, but I think I am blessed with good fortune nonetheless. This story is an unexpected continuation of another tale of mine, "A Night at Karen's House," and I suggest you read the original first.

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If I close my eyes, I can still relive that night this past winter when I broke a wonderful man's heart. It was not intentional. Chris Morgan is one of the kindest, most genuine men I know. I tell myself I'm just a human-- far from perfect. We're teachers, you see. My entire purpose is to educate and show love and kindness to all individuals. Chris and I had been showing lots of kindness and making lots of love to each other for about eight months at the time. Chris is the sexiest forty nine year old I have ever seen, and by far the best lover I'd ever had.

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