Your erotic stories

Or so Annabelle thought as she sat in front of the computer, a pile of paperwork at her left, another of unanswered mail at her right. Because while all her friends were at the beach or by a pool enjoying their summer before going away to college, Annabelle was stuck in a law firm, working nine to five and missing on all the fun. Sure, the money was good and the job wasn't too bad, but still, she would love to be out there having fun with all the other people her age.

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My wife, Cheryl, and I are in our mid forties and we have a pretty good sex life. One kink I particularly enjoy is wearing panties. I have been doing this for a few years now and it is with, not only Cheryl's knowledge but, her participation. On most days we wear matching panties and we both really get into it. I still have a few pairs of boxers for when I have to go to the doctor or something but, otherwise, it is panty time. I am not really into to cross dressing, just panties. I love how they feel, especially when Cheryl runs her fingernails along my silk covered balls.

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It all started when I read a story in Literotica and sent email to the author to tell him how much my roommate and I had enjoyed it. I had no idea then that my wildest fantasy was going to come true! Let me tell you a little about myself first. I'm 25, never been married and no children. I'm 5 feet 8 inches tall, 115 pounds, with shoulder length brown hair and green eyes. I love sports and working out, so I'm in really good shape. I've been told that I could be a model if I wanted to.

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I knew it was going to be a challenge to pull my weight when I went into the partnership with Steve and Chuck. They graduated in the top of our law school class; I was somewhere in the bottom half, I think. More relevant to their professional trajectories, they were the stereotypical alpha males: tall, strong, good looking and self-confident to the point of having inflated impressions of their abilities—and their abilities were considerable. These were the crucial ingredients for success in the law—even more than intelligence. And, on top of that, they were hard workers.

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My first sexual encounter with a man happened in the summer of 1965 with my cousin Bob. I was 18 at the time, Bob was 20 and a college man. Bob was almost 6 feet tall. Had an athletic build, jet black and square jaw. A rather good looking young man. I on the other hand standing at a towering 5'7" with blond hair and blue eyes, lean and lanky.

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I was a freshman in college, a virgin, and as luck would have it sharing the dormitory floor with more females than males. In fact there were two beauties just across the hall from my room that I shared with Kevin Morris, a very religious kid who was penciled in as next year's starting quarterback.

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I watch you sleeping; your steady breathing is comforting as I see your chest rise and fall. It's Christmas morning and I know soon our house will be full of the sights and sounds of Christmas. I smile as you murmur in your sleep, turning your face towards me. I lean forward; cupping your jaw I run my thumb across your bottom lip, feeling your breath puff out against my hand. I feel the ache low in my belly; I'm so desperate to get one moment with you before the madness starts.

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This is the story of the first and only man I've been with sexually. I had reached early middle age and found myself horny all the time and up late jacking off to internet porn. I especially found myself watching a lot of blow job scenes. I don't get enough or very good head from the wife, and I would occasionally cruise craigslist thinking jeez it would be easy to get a guy to give me an NSA blowjob.

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"C'mon honey, please, please, just do it!" "I...I can't, baby...I just can't!" "But you promised! You said you wanted to, please do it!" "That was before, I..I always want to before but after I...I just can't..." I looked down between my spread thighs, feeling foolish. I was begging my husband to eat my pussy after he'd just fucked me, something we'd both expressed interest in having happen in many a spoken fantasy, but which – again – he was chickening out of once he'd screwed me and left me full of cum.

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You have to understand this: despite my lover's sexuality and beauty, she tends to hide her light under a bushel in public. She rarely wants her physical appearance to be the center of attention. It's a long story as to why this is so, and perhaps that's a story for another time. Suffice it to say that she reminds me of a line from the movie, Moulin Rouge:

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