Your erotic stories

Thomas Powell shifted uncomfortably in his chair, hoping his wife Lorraine would not notice his restlessness. No matter how hard he tried to avert his gaze, his eyes were continually drawn to the image in the backyard. But it was not the slight tilt of his head that was required to capture the desired sightline that was the cause of his stirring - it was the effect that the vision before him was having on him.

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I had just arrived home on break from college and was in Chip’s neighborhood, so I figured I’d just drop in and see if he’d gotten home yet. No one answered when I rang the doorbell and I was about to head back down the driveway when I heard a splash, indicating that someone was using the pool. I walked around the side of the house thinking it might be Chip but stopped before I opened the gate to the backyard. I could see the diving board still vibrating and a figure just surfacing at the shallow end of the pool.

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I was fucking tired of Blair's teasing. That young woman had enjoyed tormenting me since I moved in next door. She would wear the tightest, skimpiest outfits that she could squeeze her body into. After a night of partying, she would come home and start undressing by the window, "accidentally" forgetting it was open and facing mine.

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Can a woman be a flirt and still be a loving wife? I say, yes, because I'm married to one! Barb and I have been married for many years. We were high school sweethearts and married young. My Barb is tall, slender, attractive, and very vivacious. She meets people easily and has seldom known a stranger. Part of what drew me to her was her flirtatious manner.

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You, my sweet wife Julie, have occasionally shared some of your fantasies with me in moments of post coitus intimacy. It seems to be our time together when we share our most inner secrets and sometimes, hidden, desires. One which has come to the surface several times over the past few months is a scenario of you watching me make love – not just participate in having sex – but truly making love, to another man while you watch.

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It was getting to the end of one of those, long, miserable winter days. All day the storm clouds had been building up; black, threatening monsters heavy with rain. Although it was bitterly cold outside, the temperature inside the office that I shared with Angela was warm, even slightly too so. I watched absently out the windows as the first of the thick, heavy raindrops began to splat onto the pavement outside.

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I love summer. Hot days are best. Hot, bright days that bring out beautiful women with long, smooth legs and deep cleavages. Bare shoulders and thin straps support light summer dresses and strappy sandals caress tanned ankles. Thin tops that cling to perky breasts and give a hint of nipple. Denim cut-offs that give tantalizing glimpses of the crease between thigh and buttock. Unexpected breezes that whips up the unsuspecting summery skirt, giving flashes of pale buttock and pink G-string.

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It was summer. I was visiting with Sinéad (no, not that Sinéad), my aunt, in her very nice apartment in Chicago. Sinéad was 28 then, single, working, and not at home much. We would spend most of our together time on weekends, but I was pretty much left to my own devices during the week. I'd visited before from Ireland, but never alone or to stay for the whole summer.

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Out of all the social functions I attended each year my favorite by far was Caroline Carson's annual summer kickoff party, held every June at her twelve room plantation home on the river. Caroline's parties were legendary in savannah's social circles; she picked the guests personally for each party.

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I'm writing this as I watch a copy of a video we made last Saturday afternoon. I should probably erase it, but I just can't seem to do it. We had a softball game, and afterwards I invited the guys over for a swim. Some of the guys just took a quick dip and left, but Andre, Carlo and Tony are single, with a reputation as the party animals on our team, and they stuck around for the rest of the afternoon.

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