Your erotic stories

To call the private studio of the Dominatrix a dungeon would, for the fortunate, earn only her contempt. Eschewing the contrivances of male sadomasochistic fantasies, the walls were painted a passionless shade of gray-green, the oak floor polished to the luster of ancient gold, and the sole window decorated with an embroidered ivory curtain, now closed.

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My tongue is about an inch from Nicky’s asshole. It’s such a nasty sight. The dildo is poised. It smells of my pussy, which was where it was on the journey here. That was the last thing Nicky did when we left the house. She pushed me up against the wall, produced a dildo out of fucking nowhere, and shoved it up my cunt.

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After two years of community college in my home town I moved 150 miles away to attend a large university. I'd been busy settling in and getting started in my classes and hadn't really had a chance to meet anybody. It made for some lonely times. Rather than sit around and feel sorry for myself, I flipped through the yellow pages determined to find something fun to do on a Saturday night.

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Jessica sat there and shook her head. This girl was so beautiful, but so naïve. No matter how much she hit on her, Karen wouldn’t take the hints. Sitting on the couch, the two had been talking for over an hour now. Karen always just within arms reach, no more.

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This is a memory of my first time with a good friend. It happened in the 1980s in a small town in California. The first time I was with another girl was my senior year in high school, just after I'd turned 18. I was a bit of a late bloomer but by my senior year I'd finally started to fill out, get noticed by boys, and, I suppose, give myself permission to be interested in sex. My boobs were small, an A cup at best for most of my first three years but by my senior year they'd grown into a solid B and my hips started to expand and I felt more comfortable in my own skin. I stood about 5'5 with shoulder length, dark brown hair. I was an athlete and in good shape and as my body matured, it was nice to feel like I fit in a bit more and that made me less self-conscious.

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Chapter 1 The normally pretty, teenaged face of Janet Kline was not very nice to look at as she tore open the door to her home. It was a mask of betrayal and hatred. She slammed the door, rattling the windows. She leaned against it catching her breath. Her breasts rising and falling in the frilly white blouse she wore.

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My friend Shannon is really pretty. She is a true red head. She has a sprinkle of freckles across her cute face. Her lips are full and she has an enchanting smile. I am half Native American (my father) and half Greek (my mother) I have dark Native American skin and even darker nipples. I have long jet black hair. Most people think that I look Mexican. Although my mom swears my features are more Mediterranean...like her. And she is sexy!

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Gina was lying in bed beside her best friend, Denise, and unable to sleep simply stared up at the dark ceiling. Although she could hear the steady breaths signifying Denise’s slumber, she found her mind racing in too many directions in order for her to find her way to her own restful dreamland. Turning her head on the thick pillow, she again looked over at her friend’s peaceful face while she slept.

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The early night air was warm and the skies clear enough to see the crescent moon shining brightly, the stars around acting like a thousand small fireflies as they danced gracefully, adding to the beauty. A tall, lone figure descended the Central Library steps on this particular New Zealand Spring night, late in the season, it was November. The figure paused to look up and admiring the beauty, took a photo with her IPhone 4, then continued walking towards the bus platform a few streets over.

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I met Lynne for a drink after work. She said she wanted to talk to me about something which means that she more than likely has a match for me. Lynne runs a lesbian match making service. As long as both parties pay the fee for the match it is not legally prostitution. I pay a very small fee and my matches almost always pay a very hefty fee which Lynne and I split 50—50. That comes really close to prostitution and when you factor in the tips that I get, well . . . .

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