Your erotic stories

When Carly awoke from the wild erotic dream in which she was the central figure, Jack was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking concerned. She rubbed her eyes, yawning. "'Morning, Jack." "Good morning, Carly. Sleep okay?" "Mmm, yes. Something up?" "Dunno. You were making some strange noises. Claire just sent me through to see if you were okay, or if there was anything you wanted?"

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He turned her, nuzzling her neck, his breath warm, his mouth even warmer as he kissed her skin. "You want it, don't you?" he murmured in her ear, his hands sliding down over her breasts, her hips and thighs as he rubbed his crotch against her tight ass. She whimpered, her head falling back to rest on his shoulder. "Please..." she whispered, shivering as his warm hands played with the hem on her sundress and her body ached with primal need.

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When I first saw Peggy Sanford, she impressed me as a very prim and proper, classy, country club wife. After five minutes of conversation, the fact that she was married to a much older man who keeps her in a very comfortable but unsatisfied sexual lifestyle surfaced. She works and travels, not for money, but to escape the life that she has been trapped in for many years.

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Casey stood in front of the full-length mirror. She had just finished a long hot soak in the tub and was wrapped in a fluffy white bath towel that covered her from her breasts to mid thigh. It was the most excited she had been in the five years since she started her private security business.

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Angie checked her appearance carefully in the full-length mirror in the lavish hotel room. She smiled in satisfaction. She thought the silver dress was absolutely perfect. She wasn't wearing any panties or bra under it because that would spoil the look. The metallic material shimmered over her body as she moved. Its tightness outlined her ample breasts, and the lush curves of her waist and hips. She adjusted the tops of her stockings on her thighs.

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Since my husband passed away a few years ago I haven't been in a significant relationship. It didn't find any joy in going through the process of finding a man, figuring out if I liked him, and if he liked me, and then determining what we both wanted from each other. My marriage with my husband had been fantastic. We got along well and raised two wonderful children. We had a great, although not wild, sex life. We were both very passionate, but not compulsive.

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I had just parked my truck, which sometimes can be not exactly an easy thing to do. It took me at least a half dozen trips around the parking lot looking for a space large enough. That is because it is a huge Dodge crew cab, oversize duallies on the back that sort of stick out. Yep, she needs a bit of room. I opened the door and had just put my foot on the running board to step down, being careful to not let the door scrape the top of the little thing parked in the next lane.

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So, 'V' and I are chatting away when she says to me 'why is it that all D/s stories are written from the sub's point of view. Why is it never from the Domme's. Take Summerhouse Blues, I really love that version of the Rhonda character and yet all we hear about is how Tracy feels. What about Rhonda, what did she make of it all?' And that got me thinking. 'V' was right, there's a whole different side to Summerhouse Blues, another story and one that ought to be told.

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Westin Peachtree Four years ago my wife, Mary, and I had a night on the town in ATL and it turned into something incredibly unforgettable. We were made spectators, then participants, in a gang bang at a highly respected and rated ATL hotel, the Westin Peachtree. The WP is a 70 story hotel with a rotating restaurant the top, in the heart of downtown Atlanta.

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I walked home in the glaring sun as sprinklers tinkled on the lawns of our neighbours and sweat seeped slowly into my clothes. I wiped my brow and held the straps of my backpack, beneath which the thin material of my school shirt was nearly saturated. The temperature had risen steadily over the past week and the heat wave was now at its peak.

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