Your erotic stories

My sexual awakening really began when I finally gave in and revealed to my husband my desire to be submissive. No, not the master/slave scenarios that seem to be so predominant and to my mind borders on abuse. No, not the spank me until I cry and can't sit down for a week activities that would label me a masochist. No, I don't want to be violently raped, even by my own husband in the name of sexual freedom. What I was looking for was to be able to surrender completely to my husband and allow him to have his way with me, over and over again.

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As I begin this account, let me say that it is all written in English even though many of the events transpired in French, the true language of love. A good friend of mine, Amy, runs a series of language immersion programs for college age students and adults. Some of the programs are tours abroad. Others are at a camp in the mountains that Amy leases during the late summer. Amy called to tell me that if I was available, she had a spot for an assistant French instructor.

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Sam was at his desk at work, reading a very sexy story on Literotica. He hadn't masturbated for a couple days so his cock was rock hard. He couldn't resist unzipping his pants and freeing his erection from its confines. As he read on, he stroked himself slowly. His mind was deep in the story when his office door flew open. Melinda.

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I'm sitting in the black leather chair as usual. The leather cool against my thighs. I'm dressed in a very short black skirt, a skintight low necked black top, black fishnet stockings and the main event: my six inch black shiny stiletto heeled shoes. I cross my legs and swing my foot impatiently, acutely conscious of the light reflecting off my shoe as it makes its arc through the air.

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Abbey was on her way to the job of her dreams. Growing up, she had always wanted to work at an investment firm like her father, who was very successful at what he did. She worked hard all of her life, determined to make it on her own. She went to the best schools and did all the right things. After a few notable internships, she was finally able to land an entry level position at a major investment firm in the big city.

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The evening started off innocently enough. My husband, Bill, and I had a dinner party for a bunch of our friends. We all enjoyed the food, companionship and some great wine. As the night progressed the guests started to dwindle. Some had babysitters waiting, others had to work the next day and some were just tired. Eventually it was just Bill, me and our friend, Jake.

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I was getting ready for a trip to Washington on business, for work when Bill, a guy I didn't like at all, said at coffee, "If you are in D.C. you have got to go to the Iron Rod." "The what?" I asked, barely listening since all the guy did was bullshit. "The Iron Rod is the best pick-up bar in Washington. You are literally guaranteed to get fucked," he explained.

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She awoke from her nap and smiled at the stickyness between her legs…He was still sleeping and she gently raised up to look at him. They had been napping after an intense session of fucking and sucking and he was on his back, nude, lying with legs spread and arms overhead. His penis was semi-erect and still leaking cum from their earlier fuck.

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Attorney at Law, K. Anderson never smiled. In fact, she never showed much emotion at all. Stoic. Poker face. She was rumored to be cold hearted and vicious. Whether she actually was or not, ultimately was irrelevant. She was one of the most powerful attorneys this side of the Mississippi river, a senior partner in one of the most influential law firms in the country, Benter, Johnson, Anderson and Holgate. She had everything money could buy, though she never struck him as the flashy type.

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Our small kitchen was a bustle of activity, my own rushed, anxious movements contrasting with Hanna's relaxed calm. She sat down at the small breakfast bar in her fluffy white robe and began to delicately segment her pink grapefruit, a cup of tea gently steaming beside her. As usual however I was running late, standing with a bowl of cornflakes in one hand and a spoon in the other, forcing mouthful after mouthful hurriedly down, all the while trying to avoid milky splashes on my shirt.

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