Your erotic stories

I have seen so many misdirected and misused young women in my long active life, that I often just ignored them. I was building a house near the IHOP and both breakfast and evening meals were convenient there. The lovely young female, still searching for identity, had waited on me for a week now. We had talked and teased every day. I was getting a sense of her unfulfilled sexuality and the frustration she lived with. Tonight her body was tense and her hormones were surging. She needed to belong and serve. She was slow coming back to take my order.

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"You've got to talk to me, Babe." His fingers trailed down her throat...down her chest...over the curve of her breast, the nails leaving the slightest trace of redness in their wake. Her body arched instinctively, hungry for his touch. She writhed there, tugging at the nylon cuffs that kept her wrists bound over her head.

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I feel ridiculous; underdressed and overly aware of how much glitter is on my face. "Come out," Maddy had said. "It'll be fun," Tiff had said. "It'll be good for you," Amber had added. "You have to get out of that dark dungeon of despair you've condemned yourself too," I had said to myself.

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She pulled into the driveway. It had been a long day. Longer still because he hadn't remembered. Turning off the car, she sighed. He had always been so attentive. So thoughtful. How could he have forgotten? She leaned against the steering wheel, remembering their first conversation.

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Mike read the terse text message from his wife Sunny. She was working late, yet again, and had texted not to ask how his day went, but to demand he take care of dinner plans. Again. A second text amended the list: feed the dog, take all the trash out and start washing her work clothes. Sunny had been a real bitch lately, and he was getting tired of dealing with it. He knew part of it was hormonal.

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I arrived home late once again from my tiring job as a car salesman. It'd been a shitty day since I didn't sell even one car and I was looking forward to coming home to my lovely wife Jennifer. She knew I'd been having a bad week so I hoped she'd be kind to me that Friday night. Once I opened the door I felt my blood boiling.

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i sat nervously sipping coffee and trying to eat a muffin, in the small outdated hotel lobby. business men came and went, with barely a glance at me, but the desk clerk seemed much too interested in my top. my breasts swayed back and forth in my low-neck shirt, unbound as my Master had required. and i felt as self-conscious about that as the thought of whatever else would be required of me this morning.

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She stopped outside the door and read the number. She pulled the paper out of her bag. Yes the numbers matched. Pulling out a compact she inspected her make up. She smeared on a new thick layer of the blood red lipstick and pouted at the image looking back at her. Thick make up, heavy eyeliner and mascara made her look more like a mannequin than a live person.

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She sat at her desk in her home office with her glasses perched on her nose as she thoughtfully studied the screen of her laptop. Her fingers were linked together and resting under her chin, except her index fingers which were pressed to her lips. Her brow was crinkled and she released a frustrated sigh, picking up her pen and jotting some notes on the paper at her side.

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I sat staring at the figures. I'd gone over them three times with the same results. It seemed hard to believe. But it was on my calculator again in those luminous green numbers. There was a knock on my door. "Yeah"

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