Your erotic stories

There is a long, still silence. Finally, you exhale slowly and speak. "Yes." "Yes, what?" You hear my voice beside you. "Yes. ... I surrender... to you." You are blindfolded and tied to your own bed, secured by each ankle and wrist to the four bedposts. You are spread-eagled on your back, naked except for the exquisitely soft blanket covering you from shoulder to ankle.

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It was another argument, one that left both of us angry and heated. Sitting on the bed, simmering down from the pent up emotions, I watched as you played on your computer, ignoring the rest of the world. I knew it was a way for you to release stress but I still didn't like it. Watching you play the keys on the keyboard and move the mouse around was always an erotic sight. Always I wondered why you couldn't play me like that.

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"Well here it is the weekend already. Since we don't have to work tomorrow, how about we spend some "quality time" trying to give one another the most INTENSE single orgasm we possibly can," I said. It didn't take long for me to convince my wife to partake in my little orgasm challenge. We decided that the other would treat the winner of our little contest to dinner the next night.

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Those that have never taken the time to get to know him, think of Griffin Connors as an eccentric old man. At fifty years old, he is still a very striking man. He is five foot ten, and weighs around one hundred eighty-five pounds. He has steel blue piercing eyes, that most fail to see are full of warmth. One only has to look beyond the full beard and moustache to see the kindness and humor that life has left etched there through the years.

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The boy awoke, the morning light streaming in through the window on to his face, warming his naked body. Already the day was warm, the hot dry desert air causing the small room to be uncomfortably stuffy before the sun had yet fully risen. Today though, there was an electric current upon the air. Today was his eighteenth birthday.

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At the front door to the gym I looked to my left for no reason at all and espied a young woman dressed in a black pant suit walking toward me with plastic bags in her hands. It had been some time since I did something nice for someone and so I waited. She was the club's receptionist and waiting for her was a small price to pay for the view I received.

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Jenna drove as fast as she dared. The wreck on the bridge had caused a stand still in traffic for thirty minutes and when it had started to move it was at a snail's pace. She was fifteen minutes late. Jared would be displeased. He'd told her to be home no later than six-thirty. She left the packages in the car and went straight inside. "You are late."

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It has been a year today since my life changed drastically. I can remember that day with a vivid recollection that would scare most people. Even I was scared for the longest time, though it was a different kind of scared than most would recognize. I actually went through different levels of being scared. It was truly as if my world was flipped upside down that day.

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Tonight is the first time in three months that I have attended the monthly Saturday night mixer that has been a tradition in Portland for almost ten years. The initial group of about fifty people from fraternity affiliations, support of the football team and college groups of all kinds formed right after graduation from the University of Oregon. Over time we've added OSU and PSU members to heckle. We've also have dates and spouses that still come after relationships broke up.

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I've been married to my current husband, Anthony, for just over five years. In a former life I had a boring if not unpleasant sex life; little or no foreplay, no concern for my needs or desires. My former husband pretty much named the time, place and manner and I was expected to give him what he wanted.

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