Your erotic stories

They had a long-running game that they always played. It was called "Trust Me?" The rules were simple, really. They took turns, Stan having total control over Jackie for a weekend, followed by his total submission to Jackie on the following weekend. There was to be nothing that one couldn't do, should he or she desire it. There were no safe words, no refusals allowed. It was to be a sort of affirmation of trust and love each and every week. If one didn't really like what was transpiring, it was to be discussed later, after the weekend was over.

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I watched as my wife applied the finishing touches to her lipstick and then turned to me. "Right, I'm ready now, can you give me a lift?" We headed downstairs and out to my car. It was then just a fifteen minute drive to the restaurant where Kim was meeting her boss. She worked as assistant credit controller at an engineering firm and her boss was moving to a new job in Scotland.

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It was the summer of my eighteenth year. As everybody knows, summer in New York City is hot and sticky and miserable, and this summer was especially hot. My name is Andrea and I live with my family in a small apartment in a neighborhood called Morningside Heights. It's not too far from the Columbia University campus, but it might as well be a thousand miles. The people on my street drive cabs, work in food services or low-end retail. Or they're just plain dirtbags.

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I got home late one night from my usual cardio session at the gym. Working out had got me sweaty and horny, so I raced home, glancing to be sure the DVD was still on the passenger seat, something I had grabbed from the gay section at the porn shop I worked at, before leaving for the day.

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On that particular morning, I woke up with a massive hard-on. So it was quite convenient that my cock was deeply buried in Patty's throat at the time. Chicken or the egg? I had been "dating" Patty, if you can accurately categorize marathon sex sessions as "dating", for about six weeks now. During that time, my dick was usually buried in some orifice, crack, or crevice of Patty's torso and head a great majority of the time. Her eardrums might have been safe, but pretty much every other hole was fair game.

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The bride worried that she would shatter. She felt as fragile as the glass bottles of oils and perfumes set out for her bath--a bath she didn't welcome, and one she knew would never make her feel clean. In the water, a gilded lion gushed rose-scented water from his mouth. Julia had always thought the fountain beautified the room, but now the lion seemed like he was just another predator waiting to pounce.

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His fingers stroked her clit maddeningly. "You like the idea of that, don't you?" he whispered into her ear. "You like the idea of getting fucked by my friends, of being our whore." She moaned, her fingers gripping his arm tightly. Kitsune's panties were looped around one ankle. She'd just come home from St. Mary's Catholic School, where she was a senior, and she was still in her school uniform.

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I was living this apartment building. It was a pretty nice complex. A lot of lawyers were living in it for some reason. I guess you could say that it was a luxury apartment complex. My mom was also a lawyer (no surprise). She was always out of the house and was basically with me in the evening for supper. She was divorced for 3 years and had no time to see anyone else.

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Not even fourteen hours into the weekend and Drew knew it was a mistake to come to Vegas. He didn't even gamble, really, for Christ's sakes, and it wasn't like he had the extra padding in his checking account these days. The whole place felt like he could look but not touch. Swarovski, Tiffany, Cartier and the rest of the stores that only foreigners seemed to shop in, the High Roller tables cordoned off with velvet ropes, the cocktail waitresses with too high hemlines and too low necklines.

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Travelling for work is not as much fun as it used to be. All those airports, those sleepless journeys, being up to speed on most movies and Discovery Channel documentaries is no substitute for a regular life. Constantly hopping from hotel to hotel, albeit with grander and grander rooms then suites as the work and career progressed. Learning to pack for a week in a walk-on bag and still look smart every day - an unwished for skill but essential nonetheless.

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