Your erotic stories

Tyler and Johnson walked into the holding cells as soon as they had their orders. There, in the largest cell, Tyler saw her as she stood proudly with hands on hips. She was gorgeous, there was no doubt. Certainly the hottest, and youngest, enemy agent he had ever seen. He certainly wasn't about to complain about this assignment, or the manner in which he was instructed to carry it out.

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First let me say that this story happen rather unexpectedly this last winter at a medium sized college in the San Diego area. I am in my mid-40's, average looking kind of guy who happens to be a professor at a local college-teaching students studying to be in the medical field. As the story unravels I must say that I was in the right place at the right time...as nothing like this has happen before in my 16 years of teaching. Just to be on the safe side I have changed the people's names including the woman who is the main subject - whom I will call Mary.

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My best friend Gavin was going with one of the girls in our circle of friends. Her name was Justine and I kind of had the hots for her. We were all in our last year at school and I wasn't the sort of guy to get much action; not that I'm unattractive. I just find it hard to talk to girls. I get shy and they always end up with someone who isn't. Gavin's always good at getting girls; knows how to talk to them and I always end up being the third wheel when we hang out together.

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I wanted a master...a man who could control me. I needed it, still do. I want to be cared for, but taken. My first master came into my life when I was younger. I don't think he realized that he was my master at first. I had known and admired him for quite sometime before anything came of it. Then one day we were sitting around with a group of friends, and he kind of accidentally opened a door for me to be in his life.

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The typical company Christmas party. Rented out the trendy restaurant downtown. Paid insane amounts of money to do so. Unlimited food, excellent food mind you. Free drinks. Sounds fun? Not tonight. Not for me. My father works for a successful law firm. Made partner not too long ago. He makes, oh, I'll just say that our family has never wanted. It was his firm's party.

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She always sat on the back of that ugly beat up car, a rusted box, drinking her beer. I passed her every evening, coming home. She was usually barefoot, her jeans tattered at the bottom. Some days she smoked as she drank, other times it was just the beer, watching the few cars that passed her on that backroad. I knew her name, hell, every guy in town knew her. We had all loved her in school, wanted her. She was Homecoming queen, Prom queen, student this, that.

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Vanessa stood nervously before the elevator. She had just moved to Vancouver from a small town in Saskatchewan a little less than a year ago and her relatively new group of friends had been repeatedly telling her over the last few weeks that they had a ritual whenever someone turned twenty. They wouldn't give any details, only laughed mischievously.

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I had met Ryan through a friend; another fuck buddy actually. I was recently divorced and after years of sexual repression, I was finally at thirty-five sowing the wild oats that most people do in their twenties. The last fifteen years had been about being the good Christian wife; a role which I found stifling and unfulfilling. But fifteen years married to a depressed religious zealot had left me feeling rather low myself.

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The sharp rap on the door as the brass knocker banged urgently echoed down the corridor causing Jeff Lake to raise his eyes from his journal and look forlornly at the offending portal. He had just settled down to read an industry magazine, reclining back on the luxurious sofa, whiskey in hand. "God sakes! What is it now?" he muttered, putting down his glass and magazine and standing up.

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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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