Your erotic stories

Alexis opened the door in little more than a sheer, silk robe, her full breasts peeking out of the loosely tied bodice. The rotund maintenance man seemed not to notice the tight cleavage peeking up at him, milky skin sneaking out from behind the pale silk. Alexis pouted to herself as she turned, leaving him in the open door. "Shut the door behind you. The man alarm console is by the back door, a secondary one in the master bedroom."

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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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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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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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I have always thought that Betty had a lot of balls to do what she did. Big brass ones. I was at least 20 years younger than Betty and I don't think I had ever exhibited any attraction toward her. She was just another pleasant acquaintance in the workplace. But, like so many of the remarkable women who have graced my life, she knew what she wanted and she had the inner confidence to go for it.

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Our family spent two weeks every summer at a seaside holiday camp. We had been going there for years and knew most of the families who also took their holiday over that same two week slot. There were heaps of kids and the adults all enjoyed socialising with each other. At eighteen I was one of the older of the "children" in the group which was good in some ways but a bit of a drag in others.

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It was a beautiful little lake in Lower Michigan, not far from the Indiana border. It was settled in amongst a few rolling hills roughly twenty minutes from anywhere. Fifteen houses occupied two-thirds of its shoreline, with the other third being little more than marsh land. Of the houses, five were occupied by year round residents; with the remainder being vacation homes and cottages of various shapes and sizes.

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When I was a kid my best mate was Dean Kelly. As so happens with these things, our mothers got to know each other when they would pick Dean and I up from school, and they too became friends. I would stay over at the Kelly's place and Dean would often stay over at our place. The Kelly's had a pool and so summers were always more fun at Dean's house! Dean and I were on the same touch football team as well and so our families started to go on outings with each other, such as picnics, hikes, football and cricket matches, and the occasional camping trip.

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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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When she crossed over I-80, Nancy snuggled her lean frame into the soft leather that was wrapped around the driver's seat and kicked off her heels. The countryside and farms blurred beside her and she day-dreamed as the car continued its course, almost on autopilot, down I-57 towards Champaign, Illinois. She enjoyed these drives. They represented the only time during the week when she could shut down, block out the irritations of her life.

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