Your erotic stories

Donna was in her element. It was her son Pete's 18th Birthday, the house was full of his friends who were all about to embark on an evenings drinking in town -- she had made them all food and shown off her cooking and hosting skills. Things had all gone well and they all seemed happy. Donna loved acting like a proper mother -- it was a role she relished. It was all she had done for years -- look after her three children, who were now all growing up.

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Sally Perkins pulled her car into the driveway. She sat there for a few moments wondering what she was going to do for the week. Will, her 19 year old son was visiting with his father who moved away after separating from her two years ago. "Well these groceries aren't going to put themselves away." Sally said to herself aloud. She opened the door and stepped out of the car. The hot late morning sun felt good on her face and heated her body though the light sundress.

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When I was younger I used to go visit my sister-in-law at her home. Her name was Shaista. My parents would send me there often since she lived so close. Sometimes I would be all alone with her for the entire afternoon. I was a fairly good-looking kid so most of the women in my family loved me but most especially my sister-in-law Shaista. She was always happy to see me whenever I came over. She loved my boyish face a lot, and she would always say how cute I was.

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"I don't think I'll be able to attend tonight's committee meeting. My damn husband is out of town again and I can't find a babysitter." I was standing behind two attractive women in the grocery store's express check-out. "Amy, you have to come. You've done all the work to date and we need the project to remain on track." "I know . . . I know. I'll make a few more calls and see if I can find a sitter."

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I had been doing back to back sessions lately, playing pedal steel and six string for a lot of artists. I worked on an album for this new singer named Bobby Riggs, who was being touted by some of the music people in Nashville as a possible next big sensation in the C & W biz.

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The opportunity that I hadn't really been looking for happened totally by accident, and certainly not by design. I had the hots for my best mates mother, and had had them for as long as I can remember, I had known him and her for 12 years. I had always been in love with her, it was her ways, her movements, the way she was. I was utterly besotted with her all my life, I hung on every word.

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"You get a line, and I'll get a pole, and we'll go fishing in the crawdad hole..." The chorus of young voices finally faded out as Nicole, her two sisters, and their seven kids made it back to camp from their fishing spot on the lake. Despite the still early hour, the heat was already oppressive. Fortunately, there was an easy cure for that.

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I was sitting on the back porch of my wife's uncle's house in western Nebraska, enjoying the sun and unseasonably warm temperature along with a cold beer and a cigar. It was Saturday afternoon and we'd been out hunting pheasant since early that morning but, after lunch, my father-in-law and his brothers had decided a power nap was in order. I decided instead to take advantage of perhaps my last opportunity for a few months to sit outside in just cargo pants and a t-shirt.

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College classes are bad enough without falling behind. Between the sheer volume of classes and my work obligations that barely covered my living expenses, it was inevitable that something would give. Biology became the threatened species of my class load. Mrs. Gail Hannity was my Biology instructor. Smart, precise, and really quite beautiful, it was entirely possible that she was a major contributor to my in-class distraction.

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Rebecca watched the last of the trick-or-treaters head down the street and checked the clock. With the official hours over, she turned out the porch light and put down the bowl, resisting the urge to indulge with one of the few remaining pieces of candy. She took off her witch hat and shook out a wealth of dark hair, trying not to think about the few strands of gray that she refused to dye — yet.

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