Your erotic stories

I am an eighteen year-old, just. My parents are divorced and I live with my dad. We get along well, going to football games together etc. but every now and then his work will mean he's away for a few days, which causes him to feel guilty. "Are you sure you'll be alright Jack?" he'd said looking very concerned. "I'll be fine dad", I assured him.

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It was 1959 and I was 19 years old. I had left London and had accepted a position as a junior clerk in a large company in the north of England. I found a small, cheap bed-and-breakfast hotel run by Mrs. Johnson, a friendly motherly type, who made me feel instantly at home. I decided to stay there for a couple of weeks until I found a flat to rent. It was Friday and my first night in the city.

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In April 2004 my husband announced that his 25 year old secretary was 6 months pregnant and he was leaving me and our two daughters to be with her. Apparently I'd become boring and had put on weight – no longer the slim nymphomaniac that he had married 21 years previously. To say that I was devastated would be somewhat of an understatement. I thought that I'd been as good a mother and wife as I could be while also holding down a career as an accountant with a pretty large clothing company.

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This is a retelling of an experience a very good friend of mine (I'll call her Judith) had 2 years ago before she met the fella that she recently married. I have her permission to retell the story so long as I did not use her name or the names of anyone else connected to this. Her experience was so good that I don't need to embellish it in any way. So here goes ....

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Andrea and I have been friends for almost ten years. We met when she started dating a friend of mine. Andrea was fresh out of high school then and the first thing I noticed were her flawless sized seven and a half feet. Being that we live in Florida, Andrea was always wearing flip flops and showing off her amazing feet. Andrea is a beautiful girl besides just her feet.

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My affair with Stevie; if that's what you want to call it is still going on today. It's not an affair in the conventional sense as there is absolutely no chance that he would ever buy me flowers or take me to a French Restaurant. Nor would I want him to. We are as he quaintly calls it – 'fuck-buddies'. We still occasionally go to the derelict factory on a Friday afternoon and the odd evening after work.

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We met as Ali requested, in the secluded and quiet restaurant close to her apartment. She looked stunning and I knew as soon as I saw her that my decision to agree to her rules for the night was a good one. I shivered, the anticipation building and making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end already. In our planning we had agreed the boundaries, the rules if you like. I was dressed as I was asked, Ali had made a few requests that in reality were not choices for me, but expectations.

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In April last year, I was booked into the Old Bridge Hotel, Huntingdon. It was a business trip. Two days; three nights, visiting four companies in the north of Cambridgeshire. It was a nice country hotel, just off the A14 and the main street of the town, near the Godmanchester Bridge, with a U-shaped arrangement of rooms.

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She could feel her nipples getting harder as they brushed against the silky lining of her coat. A wicked smile crossed her lips. "Working late, is he? We'll see about that," she thought to herself. The chill from the night air heightened her anticipation and she walked a little faster.

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Julieanne slowly pushed her shopping cart down the isle, her heels clicking on the linoleum floor. She was excited about the prospects of the evening to come. Charles had promised to take her to theater, something they had not done in a long time. He had also arranged for the kids to be out of the house, at a friends place, so they would be alone.

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