Your erotic stories

Adam hadn't seen Mrs. Ford in a couple of weeks although the memory of the late evening they had spent in her back yard was still vivid in his mind. He had agonized over whether or not he should get in touch with her. He thought of calling her and asking if she needed someone to clean her pool, but then he would cringe at the sexual overtones that were so obvious in such an offer. Ultimately he decided that it was unlikely that his mother's best friend would want him calling her up like some moon struck teenager which was, in fact, pretty much what he was.

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Kevin was grateful when his boss invited him home for dinner one Friday night. He had only been at the accounting firm for three months. He was fresh out of college and trying to fit in. George Jones, his boss, had built the company into one of the biggest firms in their town. Kevin was lucky to have landed there. He wasn't very social in college but in accounting that was okay. He minded his own business at work which was easy because of natural shyness and the general environment at the office.

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I was already bored with my 'date' from the night before, the prototypical one-nighter with a nurse from Clifton Park who chain-smoked like a runaway locomotive. As Apollo Creed once told Rocky Balboa,"Ain't gonna be no rematch." Rocky, of course, grunted back, "Don't want one." So, in all fairness, I'm sure the feeling was mutual. We both got what we wanted, that's what makes a one-nighter a one-nighter, right?

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Gail Davis watched the young man, perhaps in his mid-to-late twenties, climb out of his sports car and walk towards the office of her small real estate business in rural New Jersey. As she did so, Gail began to feel an immediate moistness between her legs. Not much older than my oldest daughter, she thought, eyeing him through the tinted window, feeling her nipples stiffen through the confines of her half-bra and cotton blouse. Other than her frequent masturbation sessions, her nipples hadn't been this hard in far too long.

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Serena McGuire hated boats; that was all there was to it. The rolling beneath her feet, the closed confinement. Even the sea air bothered her, although it never had before. Of course, she had been on a beach then. But the combination now had her stomach rolling along with the waves of the ocean. Her best friend, Isabel Trecher, instructed her that if she would actually spend some time on the deck, instead of in their cabin (which happened to be on the lowest deck, complete with two beds, one dresser, and no window), she would feel much better. Probably, Serena mused, because she would be as liquored up as Isabel is.

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I am at the wheel of my rusted, two-decades old Chevy pickup. We have pulled off the road since we're in sort of a rain white-out, a blinding storm with whipping winds that are beginning to rock the truck itself. I shouldn't be surprised. Storms like this, coming in from the Atlantic, are not infrequent on Hatteras, part of the Outer Banks island chain along the North Carolina coast.

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The start of her first real affair After dropping Tom off at the airport, she spent the rest of the morning sorting out what she was going to wear. She realised she hadn't been so excited about going out for years. She had the butterflies in her tummy which she had got as a teenager when she was going out on a first date with someone she had really fancied.

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I was getting tired. The drone of the two Pratt & Whitney Wasp Jr. engines was hypnotically seductive. I was almost to my destination. I directed the air from a vent at my face. It was chilly and helped quite a bit. I blinked the sleep from my eyes and checked the GPS. Almost there. Time to be alert. I reached to the copilot seat and opened the cooler and got a icy wash cloth. I rubbed my face and eyes and felt lots better. I could see the lake ahead and pulled back on the throttles a bit and dropped the nose some.

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"Okay Heather if you want to be like that, fuck you! I'm not gonna stand here and take this shit. We're done." "Fuck you back you asshole! You damn right we're done! I want a man that treats me well!" "You mean you want a man that's whipped, that caters to your every idiotic whim, that hands over money because he's your personal ATM. In other words, you want a chump. I'm not a chump, nor that desperate. Besides, you ain't even that good. Goodbye."

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My senior year in high school, it looked as if it were going to be a bigger bore than all the rest. I had just turned 18, the weather was getting warmer and here I was with no job, no car and that meant no girl. On the rare occasions my father let me use his; I'd head to the local drive-in restaurant. I'd sit there ogling all my buddies' girls, not to mention their cars.

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