Your erotic stories

Part I It started out as one of the worst dates I'd ever had. He was good looking enough, to be sure... tall, blonde, and decent muscles showed through the nice suit. And he had money. Designer sunglasses hid his emerald eyes while he drove, and when he laid them down; it was on the dash of a beautiful blue Ferrari convertible. But his arrogance was overwhelming.

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There comes a time in every woman's life when she has to stop and say to herself, "Where am I now? Where am I going? How did I get here?" And then there are times that those are pretty darn dumb questions. Where am I now? I'm bent over the leading edge of a table. My hands are tied together and the nylon stocking used for that is looped over something on the far side. My stocking toes are barely able to touch the floor and I'm quite stretched out with my bottom in the air.

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Sunlight in my eyes, burning through the eyelids, hot on the rest of my body, bad case of cotton-mouth, and an overwhelming need to take that nice long first leak of the day. Not the best way to wake up in the world, but not bad by any means. Last night came back slowly, and I recalled I was on the deck where I had curled up with a bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream as the party wound down.

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I met Kimmy when I was doing a consulting job for a downtown charitable organization. She had been assigned to be my assistant and go-to girl in case I needed her, but to be honest I rarely did. She was a pretty girl, blonde hair and startling doe-eyes. She was also a big girl, not an ounce of fat on her, I doubt, but farm-girl stocky with a broad ass and big, full breasts. She wore tight jeans and low cut tops that showed off her generous cleavage.

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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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“This is what I was telling you about.” My eyes opened wide as Adrienne handed me a magazine with her finger pointing to a picture of a black leather collar with chains attached to bind the users hands up around their neck. “I’m completely shocked,” I confessed. “I would NEVER have guessed you were into that sort of thing.” Adrienne smiled, a pink hue staining her cheeks in admission.

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I was supposed to be on my way home when something drew me to that strip club. I had looked up the website earlier in the day to masturbate furiously over the pictures of the dancers. My masturbation session ended abruptly and I was sent packing to run some errands. I'm just a normal guy and I do not frequent strip clubs. In fact it was only the second time in my life that I had ever gone to one.

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After my sophomore year at DU, I decided to stay in town for the summer instead of going back home. I liked my apartment and didn't want to find a new one in the fall, so I decided to stay the summer and take a course or two.

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Imagine munching into a big ripe juicy peach. Sweet-sharp flavour bursts into your mouth. Juices you cannot possibly capture all of flow unchecked down your chin. Hedonism! You take another bite. The juices flow once more, but you ignore them. You take another mouthful and abandon yourself to the pleasure. They are ripe peaches, all the young mothers wheeling their tiny new infants in their carriages in the summer sunshine.

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My name is Erin. I am proud to say that I am the first female Event Co-coordinator at our fair city's sports arena. It's a big deal to me, because I grew up around the arena watching my father work the Zamboni machine during hockey games here. Let me tell you about something interesting that happened to me a short time back.

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