Your erotic stories

That Tammy Burt and I were friends, good friends, was a fact, but I was never quite sure how it started. Okay, a shared love of programming helped, as did the fact that Tammy and her divorced mom lived just a block away, but at the time our friendship began, Tammy was only twelve and I was sixteen. Four years in middle teens was a lifetime!

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I looked at myself in the mirror. Not bad. For a fifty year old mother of three, I looked pretty good. I was still slim and trim with fairly large breasts, I knew I didn't look my age. I had on a little powder blue suit with a short skirt, several inches above the knee. I wore stay up top hose and blue heels. I turned and looked at the back. Pretty damned nice I thought. Eye catching but not overtly so. I liked the mirrors in the elevators of this building. Good idea.

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The sudden chime of the doorbell startled them, and they stared at each other. The doorbell rang again and Rhonda frowned. "Better pull out, baby. I'll see who it is and get rid of them. You just keep that lovely cock warm, or even better, get him nice and hard again, ready for seconds." Jerry pulled back, glancing down. His prick was wet with their mixed fluids.

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Millicent Burton, Milli to her friends and co-workers, leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms back to release the tension that had been building in her shoulders all day. The financial report she'd drafted was due tomorrow and she wasn't going home until it was completed. At 44 years old she'd risen to the top of the company she'd started with as a young woman and as joint acting C.O.O she still had a lot to prove to the men who'd put her there.

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Naresh got on to the bus that was going to the small town that he had been posted to. Lakhanpur, a place he had never heard of, was eons away from the urban environment inhabited by him prior to his present course in life. Naresh was going away for the first time from his parents who were in Delhi, a place he had spent a good part of his life in. They had provided him with a reasonable amount of money in order that he never felt any immediate need for it till his first salary.

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Chapter One: Unrecognizable. "I don't usually drink," said the woman in the passenger seat, and the voice was just as slurred as it had been when she said the exact same sentence a half hour ago. "I know," I replied, keeping my eyes on the road and being extra careful, because even though I had very little to drink and would pass any breathalyzer test, the last thing I wanted to do was to have to do stupid human tricks on the side of the road for a state trooper.

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When, Sally, who had worked for my employers ever since she had left school but, having been redeployed, was to me, the new receptionist, I really took notice. She was an extraordinarily pretty, slim lass, with long blond locks, sparkly blue eyes, a pert nose with a cutely bulbous tip, slightly younger than I and, unfortunately, possessed of an engagement ring that she displayed with, considerable, pride.

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"I'm worried about my boys, Marge," Gina Smith confessed to her best friend after church one day. "Why?" Marge replied. "You're a great mother, and your boys seem happy and they do ok in school, right?" "I know... maybe I'm over thinking, but I feel like they need more of a male influence in their lives. Clancy never was around that much right after the divorce, and he rarely calls now than he and Kimmy have moved to California," Gina said, practically spitting out the name of her ex-husband's new, younger wife.

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It was during my first summer holiday since I'd gone to university when it happened. I had gone into town one Saturday afternoon to get some CDs, when I saw walking down the street towards me my French teacher from school. Generally I didn't really like meeting my old teachers, it was always a bit odd being treated normally by people who had been authority figures for me only a short time ago, and even if Mrs Woodcock (she was French, but had married an English guy)

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I could have sworn she was about my age. I'm 21 now, making me a dedicated observer of girl's asses and legs for the last eight years or so. I can detect the slightly-too-slender look of a hot little piece of jailbait, or the subtle signs of impending cellulite that brand most older women. So as I walked along the beach perhaps 30 feet behind the bikini-clad brunette, I never would have guessed she was old enough to be my mom.

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