Your erotic stories

Rachel Salvatora took a sip of her Chardonnay trying to ignore the turbulence that was wreaking havoc on both the flight and her stomach. She had been in her seat for an hour and was growing uncomfortable. Lynn had fallen asleep on her shoulder and she didn't want to wake up the young blonde woman. Rachel's sky blue skirt was running up her leg slowly but surely as Lynn moved her leg while she slept. Rachel wondered if the movement was intentional.

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I showed up at the Fisher's house to baby sit in my typical summer outfit of white tennis shorts and a t shirt. Although I had turned eighteen months ago and was about to graduate from high school, I didn't mind babysitting for them. They had a big TV, well-behaved kids, well-stocked fridge and Joanie, their mom, was not only gorgeous, but as I had learned from the occasions when I saw her in a tennis dress and from looking at their vacation beach pictures, she had a great bod!

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Mum put the telephone down and turning to me said, "Do you realize you haven't seen Aunt Emma for nearly two years?" "Is it that long?" I asked, glancing up from the book I was reading. "Yes, and she wonders why, she thinks she might have done something to offend you; has she?" "No, I just haven't got around to visiting her and it's a damned long trek out there -- the far flung outposts of..."

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I couldn't believe it after 20 years of marriage and a man supporting me, I was single again and holding down a job. I'm the executive personal assistant for the president of a nonprofit organization. At 43 years old I was still a good-looking woman but wasn't feeling it. My so-called loving husband and provider had left me for a twenty-year girl, who "made him feel like he hadn't in years".

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Kevin & Lisa had met in college and fallen madly in love with each other when they were just 18. They had married on Lisa's 20th birthday, only 6 months after Kevin's 20th and now it was only a matter of days before Kevin's 40th. Both were successful professionals, Kevin was a photographer and Lisa a writer and they had decided very early on in their relationship that children would not be in their plan -- just a desire to experience as much as life could offer and they had managed just that.

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Author's note: After a long time, I wrote another Chapter of Carol's Series. Hope you will enjoy it! After the long sex session with Carol and her son, John needed a refreshing bath. The large swimming pool in the backyard was the ideal site to recover his energies.

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I prefer older women. Or to be politically correct, "mature" women. I'll take a "mature" woman in her 40s or 50s any day over someone who is younger. Why? My experience has been that mature women are more comfortable with their bodies. They are more open to receiving and giving sexual pleasure and are more open to sexually adventuresome activities like lots of oral, role playing, anal, and if you are lucky, you can find a mature women that is open to threesomes and more, if you know what I mean.

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It's a beautiful hot summer day and I'm in the front garden admiring my hard work. Weed free beds, blooming flowers soaking up the water I have given them, bees and butterflies dancing to natures tune. "Hey Mrs B, how are ya?" I'm startled, shaken from my reverie. I see Robbie's friend Dean on the pavement, looking young and fresh in shorts, jogging on the spot. I smile my automatic welcoming 'Mummy' smile.

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'Knock...knock...knock'. Melanie put her book down and answered the front door. "Hi...Mrs. Barton," the good looking teenager asked, "Is Warren in?" "Ehm no," she smiled when she recognised her son's best-friend Lee Clark or Clarkie as he was known to his friends, "he's at work but shouldn't be long; do you want to come in and wait?" "Yeh thanks." He mumbled and wiped his trainers on the door mat as he followed the slim woman into the living room.

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Sunday Morning in early March. I joined the regulars for coffee after a disappointing Saturday night; I hate to be part of a closing crowd, and so I'd left the Paradise Bar with fifteen minutes to go before the bitter end. It's my age, I suppose. As fine as I know myself to be at thirty-five, I just don't feel like competing at singles bars any more. So there I was, listening to the morning-after banter about the night before: Who did, who didn't, who got lucky, who got away.

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