Your erotic stories

My stories tend toward the nonconsent/taboo side, but I want to be clear that I'm in no way suggesting that the acts in my stories are okay. Forced sex is a fantasy I enjoy and I write for other similarly minded people. Real rape is ugly and sad, and if it's something you're considering acting out you should seek help.

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I set the weights down, grabbed my towel, and walked into the locker room. Sitting down, I removed my socks and shoes and pulled off my top. I stood up and pulled off my gym shorts and jockstrap. I put my sweaty clothes in my gym bag, grabbed a clean towel, soap, and shampoo, and walked into the showers.

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Jordan stepped outside his small London hotel and paused. His business here in England was completed and he had one more day to sightsee before his flight home. This late October day had been cold and drizzly since morning and he was glad he'd saved his free time for some museums. He held an umbrella and glanced upwards. The sky was nearly dark with the early winter night.

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It was obvious that both Steve and I were both comfortable with the ground rules for our encounters changing, during our last adventure with Tracy I had encouraged Steve to break our 'no penetration' rule by actually taking charge of his cock and easing it between Tracy's wet swollen lips with my own fingers.

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CRACK.........CRACK..........CRACK....... The sound of the paddle hitting against flesh echoes in your bedroom. Again and again, you use the wooden paddle to smack the bare ass of the man lying across your bed. "Do you like that, slave? Do you want more?" "Yes, Mistress, oh yes" "Well, unfortunately, it's time for you to go to work. Maybe if you're good, I'll give you a little more tonight."

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The neighborhood seemed neat, quiet, and well-established, a lot like Bette herself. The little apartment building fit the surroundings comfortably. I checked my directions one more time, and found her door, number three. I noted the silly coincidence -- this was to be the third time we'd been together. As I raised my hand to knock on the door, I noticed that my mouth had gone to cotton, like a nervous teenager. I guess you never outgrow some things. (I hope not!)

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His wife bounced into the living room and announced, "They sold the Johnson's house." "'Bout time," Gary said, not even looking up from the stack of bills. "I saw the new owner," Theresa went on and hugged her husband from behind. "She's about my age, long blonde hair; she's cute too!" "Oh boy," Gary said, still not looking up. He was looking at the latest bill from her Visa credit card.

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“I’m coming over,” I tell you, purring into the phone. “I’ve done a little shopping. Be ready for me when I get there.” “What did you buy?” you ask me eagerly, “And what do you mean by ‘ready’?” I laugh, not cruelly but coolly enough that I don’t reveal that I am nearly as excited as you. “Patience. Some new toys for us to play with. You’ll see when I get there.

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Out of all the social functions I attended each year my favorite by far was Caroline Carson's annual summer kickoff party, held every June at her twelve room plantation home on the river. Caroline's parties were legendary in savannah's social circles; she picked the guests personally for each party.

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Part I The doors to the elevator close and we begin our long ride to the 25th floor. We're holding hands and you snuggle up to my shoulder. On impulse, you stand on your tip toes and kiss me on the ear. I turn and smile at you. You smile back. Again you reach up and kiss my ear, this time your tongue darts out and flicks at my ear lobe. I shudder and say, "Hey! What are you doing?" You just giggle in response.

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