Your erotic stories

I swear, stories like the one I'm about to tell you only happen in two places: porno movies and college. I, like a lot of young American women, did things back in college that I would NEVER consider doing now. But, having said that, I sure am glad I got to do them then! These days I'm happily married and have two children and would never dream of doing anything to jeopardize losing my family.

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Sweat dripped her brow. She smoothed her skirt over her nylon-clad thighs. Slender legs led to fuck me pumps underneath a cream-colored business suit tailored to show off her every curve. She looked one last time in the mirror, tugging her brown curls. She tucked one behind her ear before walking out of the bathroom and down the hall towards Bruce Callahan's office.

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It's unusual for me to escort a prisoner alone, but we are in the middle of a shift change, it's a quiet night on the cell block, and besides the other guards like to bust my balls about equal rights and this gave them the opportunity to crack a few jokes. I'm the only female guard that works this cellblock, and getting picked on is just another hazard in the work place. Frank Pascua, who is leaving for the night, wished me good luck as he pulled on his jacket.

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It was getting late and the party was showing signs of winding down. One by one our guests said their good-byes and took their leave until, by 2 AM, only myself, my husband David, and our best friend Jesse were left sitting at the small bar tucked in the corner of the dining room. The three of us were contemplating the last shimmering red jello shot that remained sitting on the bar. I picked it up and slurped it out of its small plastic cup, savoring the combined flavors of sweet cherry jello and vodka.

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It's Friday afternoon and when my final class of the day ends I race back to my office to see if the email has arrived. I've been distracted all day in anticipation of finding out whether or not it's finally going to happen tonight. Logging in, I go straight to my inbox. Nothing. With a frustrated sigh I lean back in my chair, a stack of homework papers on my desk in front of me just waiting for grades.

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There's an adult bookstore not too far from where I live, and I've been known to go in and drop a few bucks on different things. More than once, I've been checked out by the guys in there, as it seems most of them are gay guys looking for a quick hookup. I've never done anything with any of them, but I usually end up going home and rubbing one out thinking about what it might be like.

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It was one of those business dinners, I thought. My husband has a small but very successful company and deals with a lot of corporate clients so we are frequently entertaining clients at restaurants. This was to be another of those. “What should I wear?”. “Whatever you like” Then he said “What about the blue leather suit?”

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From the first moment I met Annie I was in lust with her. Petite with big blue eyes and curly red hair, she was a lithe little fox that dazzled most men. She was of course hopelessly out of my reach, being the girlfriend of Eddy, one of my best mates. Eddy and I played basketball together at uni and I'd been enduring his tales about his new girl for weeks.

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I'm going to do what they say people of my age (the thick end of sixty plus) are best at; I'm going reminisce about my youth. For me this was towards the end of the nineteen-fifties, when rock-and-roll ruled over drainpipe trousers and drape jackets and everyone jived to Elvis, Little Richard, Chuck Berry, etc. In England it was the time of the 'ton-up boy' who rode motorbikes with British names and who wore leather jackets liberally sprinkled with metal studs.

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The first time I saw Ellen Rothko was when I walked into Boyle's Antiques on Clark Street, looking for old records. She was showing a woman some antique earrings, their heads bent over the display case, and when she heard me come in she looked up and caught my eye, shocked me with her beauty, and then lowered her face again, leaving me standing there gaping like an idiot.

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