Your erotic stories

PART 1 John Mason was twenty-seven when his father died fucking his young twenty year old secretary on a supposed business conference in Dundee, Scotland. In truth, the fifty- four year old was regularly fucking whenever he could. Since he owned fifty-five per cent of the company, he could afford to do what he liked. This time however, it cost him his life. John's mother had died when he was young.

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I must have blacked out for a bit, because when I came to, I had been placed on my hands and knees, with my wrists tied to the headboard, and my bare ass and pussy exposed to the world. Master was crouched down next to the headboard, watching for me to awaken, while he tweaked and pulled on my nipple, to speed along my consciousness. "Awake now Ana?" He asked rhetorically.

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Carrie Bender's mind raced as she nervously made her way to the 12th floor and the office of Richard McLish, CEO of McLish Exports. "He is going to tell me I don't have a chance at this promotion." She thought to herself. "But why would he call me to his office and tell me himself. Maybe I am getting the promotion. No way!"

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It wouldn't have happened, Dianne decided, if she hadn't been so damn conscientious about the job. She'd assured her boss that the amended tender he wanted would be on his desk when he arrived in the morning. And then she'd had to go home early for a family emergency. An emergency that wasn't, as if turned out. Her mother had been panicking over nothing. She should have got more details before rushing home, expecting to have to take someone to hospital.

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What can I say? My girlfriend and I have a gratuitous and fortunate sex life. Above all I am honest with her and she is with me, so when I told her I wanted to be dressed like a two bit whore and fucked with the largest "strap on" she would dare use, I was scared she would leave me. Instead we went shopping. The saleswoman at Victoria Secret must have wondered why we were buying the same thing in two different sizes. And as I looked back while my girlfriend was paying I noticed them both look me up and down and smile.

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I love being in radio. There’s always plenty of perks. Concerts or sporting events, trips, etc. But my favorite perk is our Mexican secretary, Joann. When I first began working at my current station, my first self-imposed order of duty was to find a way to get her on her back. But she appeared at the time to be a nice girl. She wanted a relationship while I simply wanted to fuck her senseless. I’ve never found an easy way to say to a woman, “I don’t really give a damn about you, I just want to fuck you whenever I want.”

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The whole thing was Margaret's idea, not mine. You could say I was more a reluctant victim rather than an eager participant. It was late spring and the weather was warming up nicely. Still too cold to go to the beach in my opinion, but it wouldn't be long. It was a Saturday afternoon, reasonably warm, and Margaret came around with her bright idea. She wanted to go to the beach and get an early start on a suntan.

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"Where the hell am I?" Jane opened her eyes to a dark wooden ceiling, rafters sneaking along and supporting the termite infested pine beams, meeting in the middle. As she attempted to move her head and roll to her side, she realized her arms were tied tightly around her back, her ankles bound together, and a cloth stuffed deeply inside her mouth. The scream muffled in her throat as all the flashes of the night before came flooding back to her.

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It had taken a long time to find the perfect donor but the hunt is finished at last. Now all that needs to be done is the extraction. The subject's essence is necessary to complete the brew that I need for my survival as a witch. I will continue to have an empty feeling inside of me until I can be one with the donor, so this process must happen soon. I can feel my powers fade as time goes by. It has taken months of careful planning to get this far and nothing can get in my way.

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Mark's the sort of man you can't help but want to tie down and gag. He's clean shaven, nicely dressed and well mannered with slight build and quick eyes—ah, but that Mr. Brady routine is just a front. The man is actually a tightly wound ball of futile energy and repressed urges. I think he only shaves his head to keep from tearing his hair out in frustration. After a while, his manic approach to life in general makes you want to push him down, sit on his legs and scream, "BE STILL!"

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