Your erotic stories

The scent of cooked turkey still lingered in kitchens across America and the shops and stores were already decorated for Christmas; the coffee shop where Carol sat being no exception. Disconsolately sipping her latte, she didn't feel in a very celebratory mood. The promise of employment that had motivated her to leave home and move to the city hadn't materialized and now she was homesick, low on funds and still job hunting.

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When I first met Mark I was totally unaware that his wife, Eileen, worked at the college with my wife, Susan. It was not until a few weeks later when we all came together at a faculty party. I am Tony, age 25, and Susan is 39. We first met in college when I was 18 and she was 32. I was a horny teenage accounting major and she was in her first year at the college as an assistant professor of economics. We hit it off like an atom bomb when I took her class in advanced macroeconomics and within two weeks of class beginning I was fucking her daily. It was like every teenage boy's dream happening to me -- an older sexy woman with big tits and an unbelievable pussy for me to fuck. 

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PRELUDE Liz Connors was seated between her two co-anchors for the morning news in Brad Jefferson's dressing room. The other news anchor Vern Wilson had joined them. Liz was still dressed in her mini dress that showed off her gorgeous legs. She was nervous but excited at the same time as the two handsome men caressed her shapely legs.

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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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I've been working as an escort in Cardiff for a few months now. I was a late starter -- I've just turned 54 years old -- but I've been surprised just how much business I'm getting. I used to do it part-time, but I've given up my job as a school secretary now and see men every week day. I only work during the days, not evenings, and my dull husband Don doesn't suspect a thing.

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I've suspected all along that Russ Adams is a take-charge kind of guy, and it turns out I'm right. As soon as we're back in my hotel room he carefully hangs up his sport jacket, then takes me in his arms and kisses me, admitting of no discussion or resistance. His neatly trimmed beard tickles my face; his lips and tongue are eager yet tender.

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There was this nasty character that lived up the road from me. A walking asshole is how I tended to think of him. He had a top of the line PC system, though, and he did recognise talent when he came across it. That's why he used to have me do any repairs he needed to his system. The only catch was that I had to go to his place to do the repairs and he would sit by my shoulder the entire time I was there, making sure I didn't snoop in his files. I suspected that he had a pile of porn he didn't want me stumbling across.

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Brian was sipping coffee and taking in the vista of the Long Island Sound from the oversized sun room at the rear of his mansion in Old Field. The room was what he had built the entire house around, and he had cleared out trees and brush in order to afford himself an unobstructed view of the water. There were few things in life that made him as happy as the sight of the water and the ever present smell of the salt air.

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Phil came into the sauna as I hoped he would. He came up to the top tier and sat below me where I was lying on my back, just a white towel around me, the leg toward the wall bent, foot flat on the wooden slats of the bench, with the other leg straight. He sat close enough to me that the roughness of his towel brushed the toes of my stretched foot. I had started hardening up just in anticipation that he'd come. It had been him who had said "See you in the sauna" and had given me "that" look. And I continued to engorge now that he was here.

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