Your erotic stories

I roll over lazily, aroused by my dreams after collapsing into bed completely horny but equally tired the night before. I set my eyes on you, still sleeping but just beginning to stir. My heart starts to beat a little faster at the thought of feeling your bare skin, smooth and tan. As I caress your beautifully defined shoulders they boast of the diligence you give your morning swims.

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HER It's our three year anniversary but you're away for work so I've flown overseas to be with you. I've just finished slipping in to my silky short red dress when I hear a knock at the door. I've organized for us to go out for dinner so I peep through the eye hole to get a quick glance at what you're wearing. You look so incredibly sexy. You're wearing charcoal shoes, a pair of nice black dress pants, white striped shirt and holding a single red rose.

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You have drifted off to sleep and are having restless dreams because you are slightly obsessed with fantasies you've been sharing with someone you've never met. Somewhere in your subconscious, you hear the sound of a door opening in your apartment, but your hind brain doesn't feel threatened and you continue to doze...

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You came and picked me up and we headed south to our destination. The drive took us a few hours and for most of it we talked about inconsequential things. After we had left the city and were cruising down the highway, I lent over and rested my hand on your pants above your cock. We'd talked about this and you knew what I wanted to do, I could see the grin of anticipation on your face as you quickly glanced at me.

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Behave or not set aside. We meet, it is at the airport. You've worn a skirt and no panties, a top with buttons and a soft bra. We chat and you get wet and wetter. After a bit we finish coffee and you're close. My hand is on your leg and you hitch your skirt. You look in my eyes as my fingers slip to your pussy. Slowly I pet, and caress. You just watch my face, trembling slightly.

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It's summer, the middle of the season, and damned hot. It's the sort of heat you can taste and smell. Lazy, bookworm, windows thrown open to the world kind of weather. My magazine has fallen to the floor and my body feels deliciously heavy with heat and sweat.

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You're laying on your stomach at first. You can hear the footsteps of men enter the room; you're not sure how many there are. You can feel them approach silently, wordlessly. They walk around you. Their eyes are locked on your naked body, soaking in every curve, every crevice.

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I sat with my coffee, gazing out of the window at nothing; my thoughts were filled with my upcoming fortieth birthday. My thoughts seem to be fixated on what I had missed in those years, places not visited, offers not taken up, and chances not taken. Life had become lacking in excitement. Now on my second husband and with the current one not giving me enough of what I craved. Forty seemed to be near the end of my road.

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It's a warm, sunny Sunday afternoon and we are lying in the park. I have my head in your lap, listening to you reading snippets from a magazine as you lazily stroke my hair. My eyes drift closed and I start to get lost in the sound of your voice, your touch, and I think of what I what I want you to be doing to me. I open my eyes just the slightest bit, focus on the shape of your lips and am mesmerized. Your lips can leave the sweetest kisses, yet elicit such desire as they burn across my body.

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I was in the kitchen cleaning up when you got home from work. I heard you come through the front door, and I tried hard to stay focused on the task at hand and pretend as though I hadn't been waiting for you to come home all day. It was a blatant lie, of course, and my clothing fairly well advertised the fact. After all, who cleans kitchens in flirty, ruffly, short skirts and heels?

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