Your erotic stories

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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I dashed for the phone, hoping to answer it before the voicemail picked up. "Hello," I said, breathing hard. "Ken, it's Sam Clemens." No, not that Sam Clemens. Sam is Samantha Clemens. She and her husband Dave live about two miles from me on Huckleberry Hill Road. We have the only houses for miles, so we've become pretty good neighbors. Dave is a realtor in town. He has done very well financially selling commercial real estate, and it shows.

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It had been 15 years since her Harold had passed away, and Marge had gotten used to being alone. Of course, she had lady friends, and some male acquaintances, but at 66 years old, she had removed sex from her life, except the occasional fantasy about Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise. Harold had been the only man, except for a brief fling with his Best Man right after he passed. She chalked that up to grieving, and they had found comfort in each other, although he felt so guilty afterwards that they stopped it after 2 dates.

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By way of background, you might want to see my earlier stories Nightime Disturbance and She Wants Rid. Fortunately, Lisa the girl's virginity I took "properly" in She Wants Rid didn't become pregnant and I didn't really see much of her before we both started at our respective universities. This is another true story also set in the late 1980's when there were no such things as MILF's. Instead sexy older women were known by the colloquial term of "Mrs Robinson's." The following is the true story of my encounter with a certain Mrs R.

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Dave was sweating. The sun was warm but not uncomfortably so - it felt considerably milder than the sun back in Orange - but dragging the bag along the street probably hadn't been the best idea. It was well-suited to the task but the route he had decided to take to the hostel he was booked into was rather longer in person than it had seemed on paper. As he trundled down 33rd Avenue, he espied some shady greenery which turned out to be a park.

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ONE "AAAAaaaahhhh!!! Jesus!!!!" Candace moaned softly before biting her lower lip. She was bent over her large executive desk as Marcus pounded his long, thick shaft deep into her wet pussy. His hands were under her skirt, wrapped around her slim waist, her tiny panties stretched tightly between her ankles. Candace felt her breasts swinging beneath her and her stiff nipples were rubbing across the top of the desk.

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