Your erotic stories

Angela was a few years younger than me - well OK a good twenty. She joined our company straight from college and had other assets apart from being remarkably good at her job. She had long dark hair, perfect slim figure without being gaunt and pert young breasts that just looked perfect under anything she chose to wear. She'd been with us six months when her performance and potential were first recognised.

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At 28 years old I hadn't been with a man for three years. The first two years after my husband died, I couldn't bare the thought of another man touching me. I felt like it was cheating. Jake wasn't supposed to die in that car accident. He was supposed to grow old and gray with me. Jake was gone and I knew I had to move on, but acknowledging this didn't make things any easier. Still, at twenty-eight I wasn't willing to spend the rest of my life alone.

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So here it was, Thanksgiving Day, and I found myself in a strange man's bathroom, with my pantyhose pulled down around my knees, my dress hiked up over my hips, and that strange man's cock sliding in and out of my pussy. Well, in truth, he wasn't a complete stranger ... he was my boyfriend's father and I had met him two hours prior. But I'm getting ahead of myself, let me start at the beginning.

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Damn, I hate it when nothing goes right. It was one of those days. Nothing I did today seemed to work out the way I planned. I got up this early this morning so I could take a few extra minutes getting ready for work. While putting on my makeup, I discovered that I was out of my favorite eye shadow, the color that really makes my eyes stand out. Then I discovered that the blouse I had planned on wearing was wrinkled, so I had to quickly iron it. And then I ripped my pantyhose.

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Chapter One Cassie and I had a date that Friday night and I had been looking forward to it all week. It had been several days since we had had much time together, which meant that we'd had no sex either. Since Cassie has an-eighteen-year-old daughter, sex is out of the question unless Amber is asleep or we have it at my apartment. And since the walls are thin, sometimes sex is still out of the question even if Cassie's daughter is asleep. We were going out for dinner; a movie and some time alone back at my place later.

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The old fisherman sat out at the end of the dilapidated dock in his lopsided deck chair. Though it was getting on toward evening the sun was nice and warm. He was fishing really light; a homemade bamboo pole and an old reel he maybe got before he had whiskers. Duck-taped it to the pole and wound it with ten pound test. Fishing flounder didn't take much gear. He had a card of hooks, a tin with some weights and floats and some leader. Minnows in an old milk bottle and a plastic paint bucket for his catch. He had caught some.

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Attending the cocktail reception welcoming the conference attendees was not at all out of the ordinary for me, as I always wanted to check them out before the opening sessions in the hopes that I might find a hot one to hook up with. In my early years of writing I had attended many such conferences as an attendee, for the past few years it had been on their dollar, as a paid speaker. I tried to do one or two of these conferences a year... picking my spots so it would be to a place I enjoyed visiting... and Newport Beach definitely ranked up there on my list of desirable places.

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"I am not going to apologize." He was adamant. He refused to apologize. She was not going to convince him that he owed Patsy an apology, neither was he was going to tell her what really happened. She might explode. "Dad, just call her, alright? She wants you to call. You do not need to use the word, "apology," but you do need to call her. She said you left, just walked out." "Oh, alright, Mary Ann, I'll talk to her later, but I'm busy right now." He thought if he offered a good enough excuse to his daughter, she would hang up and leave him alone.

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Robert Kyle had finally had it. Everyday he allowed his American History class the last five minutes of the period to themselves. And everyday during those last five minutes, the female student sitting directly in front of him would do something to give him a raging hard-on. Dropping a pencil. Re-tying a shoelace. Tossing something in the wastebasket and missing by a mile. All three caused her to have to bend over.

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Television just wasn't cutting it. I couldn't get her off of my mind. I'd fallen right into the same routine I had every night. Beer and TV usually made me groggy quick, especially on a full stomach. One pull of a lever, and my aching feet were up and my hands were behind my head in the recliner. The same recliner where she had climbed into my lap without her panties and rode me like a stallion.

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