Your erotic stories

Mike decided to go to an auction on the outskirts of a quaint New Hampshire town. Since he had finally left his second wife, Liz, he had one idea in his head. He wanted to make his submissive and lover, Sara, his full time. There was only one problem with this idea. Sara was married.

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His hand came down again on her bare bottom in front of him. The slap was loud. She whimpered softly. The sting of his hand excited her and she felt the warmth of her secretions flood between her legs. Her flesh vibrated and teased her as she felt them resonate to her sex and sensitive breasts.

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I could feel his hot breath on my neck, teasing me in-between the nips he was leaving. My hand ran through his wavy brown hair, pulling him in demanding more. One hand was tangled in my hair, stopping the harsh brick from hurting me; the other hand brushed over my thigh as he held my leg up over his hip.

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If time could be recognized, then we would have no need for clocks or calendars. These things are metres set against a background of haze and dream. The truth of time is that we live it. We breathe in moments and release seconds to the atmosphere where they bound and prance, teasing us before disappearing completely. They taunt us with their ephemerity.

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I was sitting in my chair looking at the files of the girls that were due for training. As I sipped my wine I saw what was to soon come my way. Six lovely subs, slaves, whatever the hell their "Masters" called them, to visit me for training.

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"You know what we are?" asked Alexis, taking a drag on her cigarette and leaving red lipstick on the filter. "We're high class whores. That's all we are." "I don't think so," remarked Michelle. She hated these little meetings with the chairman's wife. Hated this conversation. She wanted to disagree, yet she didn't very well want to say anything that would offend Alexis.

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Joe rushed into my office and asked, "Simon, have you heard the bad news?" "What bad news is that Joe?" I asked with a quite audible sigh. "The new boss starting next week, Chris Smale?" "Yes I know that Joe, Chris Smale, the mystery man, what about him?" "It's Christine Smale not Christopher, our new boss is a female." Joe said with a look of disgust on his face.

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Her face is perfect, angelic. Her eyes are a soft blue, her hair pale blond. Her features are delicate and childlike, her lips plump and tinted a soft rose. Her body is slender and sylphlike, sheathed in a high-waisted slip of a dress, gauzy and coy. He wants her, wants to possess the innocence she embodies, wants to drive himself into it, own it and shut it away so he'll be the only one to ever taste it.

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A single lock of hair half-clings to your sweat-soaked forehead. I've fucked you with an untapped rage for the past hour, simply daring you to cum before I'm satisfied. Your lips, swollen from my savage kisses and the bottom split from a passionate bite, beg me to let you cum.

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She knelt by the front door, waiting for him to return. He had called about 30 minutes ago, informing her that he would be home soon and instead of her usual greeting, he wanted her naked, kneeling with her head down, hands clasped in front of her, when he returned home. After he had called she had undressed as she was told, darting into the bathroom for a quick spin in the mirror, she liked looking at herself, she’d worked extremely hard to get the body that she had now.

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