Your erotic stories

Her name was Yolanda. Every night he sat in the little piano bar and listened to her play. Every night on his way out he dropped a twenty into the small basket on the piano. Her shoulder length hair was as black as India ink. Her eyes were deep emerald green set in an oval face that looked like it had never seen the sun.

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Three PM at the coffee shop last week, I saw someone I had not seen for nine years. Monet was a woman I had hired years ago to work in the shop I ran at the time. I was not the owner, but managed a gift shop on Sutter Street at Stockton in San Francisco. She and I ran the shop nights and weekends, and she was always nice to be around. At the time, we were both in our twenties, and things were good.

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"I was afraid you'd never speak to me again, Edie." David ran a hand down my arm and a shiver followed behind, sending goosebumps popping across my skin. "I don't know what possessed me to take a risk like that." He looked at me carefully. I waited, heart beating hard. It seemed to take ages from the time he began to bend toward me until his lips touched mine. I thought, in that seemingly endless interval, I would faint from anticipation and disbelief.

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My husband's parents have always hated me, and they aren't shy about saying so. Ethan and Cynthia Carrington have never thought I am good enough for their only son. They've called me white trash simply because I grew up poor (though, not in a trailer, I might add), and a gold digger because the Carringtons are billionaires going back generations.

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My father-in-law is an extremely good-looking man. His son (my husband) is a good-looking man as well but he just doesn't have that build that comes from years of heavy lifting and outdoor work. Needless to say, I was pretty happy when I found out that we would have to visit his town in order for my husband to attend some work seminars. We always had a good time when we visited.

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It was evening and he was sitting at the kitchen table, barefooted, in jeans and a t-shirt, reading the paper. I was off puttering around, doing I don't remember what, while Don was absorbed in the news. Suddenly, I had a strong urge to do one of those things that really turns me on once in a while. I went to our room and put on my short bathrobe. Then I went to the kitchen and stood next to Don until he looked up at me curiously. "Honey," I said, "I'm in the mood to get a really good spanking."

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An English summer sun gleamed on the mast of the old Cutty Sark as it lay forlornly in the dry docks at Greenwich. As I stared at it I wondered at the fate of those that sailed in her and called her home. The sound of a ship moving up the Thames River drew my attention and I wandered off toward the railing along the high walls of the riverbank.

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I had been in your service for only a few months when you decided you wanted a permanent marking of some kind to denote me as yours when I was in the company of others. You considered your decision completely knowing full well the decision you made would effect me forever. That is the beauty of a master/slave relationship. It is more than a possession.

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A few months ago, I got an email from the little sister of a girl I know. Her name is April. She got a computer for her birthday. She went online found my email address. I went to grade school with her older sister. April remembered me. She searched me out and surprised me with a letter.

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As I explained in my first story (My first submissive), I'm fortunate to have a high paying job at a large well known firm. While my employer is equal opportunity and all of that, even the most open minded employer wouldn't react well if they learned they had an amateur dominatrix on their senior staff.

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