Your erotic stories

Hi Shirley, I'm glad to hear you are doing OK. I really enjoyed your long letter, emphasis on 'really'. You got my female sex drive in high gear. Hearing about your very first time sex was lots of fun and very exciting. You are a good writer, and I loved all the of the spicy, intimate, descriptive, juicy details. Did I miss any?

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Author's note: To Kait, whose kindness, friendship and intelligence proved inspirational. Part I. New York No, I had never actively sought a call girl before and it wasn't helping that she had to have rather special qualities. She had to be young, experienced, smart, and bisexual; a combination of features which excluded everyone I had stumbled across so far.

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When Carly awoke from the wild erotic dream in which she was the central figure, Jack was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking concerned. She rubbed her eyes, yawning. "'Morning, Jack." "Good morning, Carly. Sleep okay?" "Mmm, yes. Something up?" "Dunno. You were making some strange noises. Claire just sent me through to see if you were okay, or if there was anything you wanted?"

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Casey stood in front of the full-length mirror. She had just finished a long hot soak in the tub and was wrapped in a fluffy white bath towel that covered her from her breasts to mid thigh. It was the most excited she had been in the five years since she started her private security business.

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So, 'V' and I are chatting away when she says to me 'why is it that all D/s stories are written from the sub's point of view. Why is it never from the Domme's. Take Summerhouse Blues, I really love that version of the Rhonda character and yet all we hear about is how Tracy feels. What about Rhonda, what did she make of it all?' And that got me thinking. 'V' was right, there's a whole different side to Summerhouse Blues, another story and one that ought to be told.

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I had turned into somewhat of a zombie over the last few months , working constantly and moving more product than I had in years , not that I needed the money or the rush of a constant danger of rivals or being caught by the feds.

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In the previous chapter Fact or Fiction with my lovers called back to war, I was left standing on the steps waving them Goodbye. If you haven't read that chapter then may I suggest you do so. Again many thanks to all those offering encouragement: The one problem being, is the more encouragement I get, the longer my episodes become.

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I was enjoying my final year in high school when Marco and her family moved into the house across the street from me. They had emigrated from France. It was just Marco, her Mom & Dad and her tall, beautiful sister Angela. Marco and I became instant friends. She went to the same high school as me and she was in my toughest class, Algebra. At least, it was tough for me...easy for her.

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The room is getting darker. Out of the window I can see wooded hills on the eastern horizon, catching the last orange tinge of daylight, as the sun sets behind us. On the table by the bed there is a candle and a tinderbox. I strike a spark with some difficulty, as if the air is damp, and nurture a little fire to light the candle. The illumination it gives is meagre and yellow, serving only to heighten the shadows in the room, rather than dispel them. I rise and cross to the window.

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Kim and I had only known each other for a few hours, and I was about to completely undress her. She raised herself up on the bed and turned her back to me. “Would you be kind enough to unzip me?” “The pleasure would be all mine,” I replied. The zipper on the back of the sundress came down easily. Her back had just as many cute freckles as her front.

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