Your erotic stories

PRELUDE Louise Connor took me by the hand and led me over the doorway with the mistletoe hanging overhead. She took me in her arms and kissed me driving her tongue deep into my mouth. Then she released the lip lock on me and dropped to her knees in front of me. I remained still as Louise unbuckled my belt and unfastened my trousers. She took her time and then lowered them down past my knees. I could feel my cock rising to the occasion and my boxer shorts tented in evidence of my excitement.

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Before Penny married Mark she had been married before when she was a young, innocent twenty-year old beauty to a wealthy man twenty years her senior who loved and spoiled her with everything she ever wanted or needed both physically and sexually. They had two daughters, Penelope and Pamela, in the first three years of their marriage who were growing up into beautiful, young girls.

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Have you ever found yourself in a situation, you knew many would consider wrong? No, I'm not talking murder wrong, so calm down, dear reader. I guess to tell this story right; I have to begin at the beginning of my story. A while back (no, I'm not telling you when, as for all I know, the wrong person or people are reading this) I was helping a friend move into her new place. Now, I know, helping a friend move isn't a bad thing, but it was what happened after that was, well, so to speak. My friend had a nice neighbor, a widowed father with three boys: Bobby -- 20, Dawson -- 18, and Elliot -- 12.

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My friend, George, the sleeping car attendant, teases me with a double entendre private nickname. He calls me "All-Aboard Betty." Let me explain. I have necessarily drawn George into a conspiracy because I need him to achieve my purpose during periodic journeys aboard The Frontier, a transcontinental passenger train. When I'm aboard the Frontier becomes instead the Piece Train. (Apologies to Yusuf Islam. The devil made me do that.)

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I guess you could say, I have had my moments, I was a widow some seven years, Stan had left a reasonable pension and the house paid for on his passing. Most of the time I was married I was faithful, as I said, most of the time. I had taken the odd opportunity when it had presented itself. Few times I had saved the insurance money, the milk man, things like that, and got my itch scratched. Or was it my snatch pitched!

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Jason stared at Marsha's ass as she leaned over the conference table in her office reviewing the ad layouts they'd been working on. Part of him was admiring her shapely ass, but most of him was still upset over the performance evaluation she'd given him yesterday. Jason was a 23-year-old artist, fresh out of art school, working for a medium size Ad Agency on the west coast.

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I have always thought that Betty had a lot of balls to do what she did. Big brass ones. I was at least 20 years younger than Betty and I don't think I had ever exhibited any attraction toward her. She was just another pleasant acquaintance in the workplace. But, like so many of the remarkable women who have graced my life, she knew what she wanted and she had the inner confidence to go for it.

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When I was a kid my best mate was Dean Kelly. As so happens with these things, our mothers got to know each other when they would pick Dean and I up from school, and they too became friends. I would stay over at the Kelly's place and Dean would often stay over at our place. The Kelly's had a pool and so summers were always more fun at Dean's house! Dean and I were on the same touch football team as well and so our families started to go on outings with each other, such as picnics, hikes, football and cricket matches, and the occasional camping trip.

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Boone, Mississippi. 1976. September In the middle of the night Ginny woke with her bare feet burning and itching something fierce. When she swung her coltish legs out from under the sheets and pulled her knees up tight to her chest, she found her ankles littered with sore, red welts. Ginny rubbed at her big eyes in the hot darkness, trying to rouse herself.

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When she crossed over I-80, Nancy snuggled her lean frame into the soft leather that was wrapped around the driver's seat and kicked off her heels. The countryside and farms blurred beside her and she day-dreamed as the car continued its course, almost on autopilot, down I-57 towards Champaign, Illinois. She enjoyed these drives. They represented the only time during the week when she could shut down, block out the irritations of her life.

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