Your erotic stories

"Come here." I've been watching Sarah for the last few minutes. My book closed on my finger, marking my place. She's been, I don't know, bopping? Fiddling? Fussing? Not really doing anything, just, waffling around. She's barefooted in jeans. So,

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Coming out of the bathroom, hair still wet from my shower, I stop before the bed. It's all there. He's laid it all out for me, and the tension that I had been feeling all afternoon ratchets up another notch. "Oh, god, oh god," I mutter, not really aware of what I'm saying.

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Here's another memory, this one more recent than the last. A woman I used to see (out of town now) interested me initially because it was obvious she really, really liked spanking. The subject came up innocently in conversation once, and she couldn't sit still. This story is about a later meeting with her.

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In the early spring moonlight, the back of the river seemed to lift and heave like the body of a snake, flowing over rocks and stumps, braiding its way through copses of saplings on the flooded banks, pooling and forming eddies as it washed around the concrete pilings of the bridges. "What does that remind you of?" I asked her as we drove along. "What does that make you think of?"

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Kate double-checked her hair in the glass window of Professor Foster's front door. She wasn't sure why, but the 18-year-old wanted to look her best for her teacher. Probably because it was her first day on the job as his babysitter. "Normally, I'm reluctant to do this during the semester," he'd said at the end of his last lecture, "but my wife and I are really in a bind.

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He had seen her sad before but, in the year they had been together he had never seen this. His heart broke as tears rolled silently down her cheeks. She looked so delicate. Her hair hung in ringlets around her face, going from red to black as they made their way down her back and over her supple chest. Her big, dark brown eyes were full of tears and bloodshot though she refused to let them spill over.

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Sometimes, I think he really, truly does understand how to handle me- how to keep our relationship in line the best he can. I've tried to explain the overwhelming need to submit, to be controlled, to be HIS- and he tells me he knows, has always known, what makes me tick. This makes me question why he doesn't employ it more often, take the authority that I am happy to hand him, but too often, we are at odds instead. Nearly every time I have finally given up on his dominant side, he turns around and shocks hell out of me again...

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After a short courtship, Mara and I married in a small ceremony with only a few close friends and family members present: her mother, my mother and father, her brother, and of course, my son Luke. Luke was 11 years old now, not the best age to go through such a large life change as getting a new stepmother, but then again, is there ever a good age for that? In any case, he was clearly feeling better than he had just after his mother died. He was performing better in school, and he seemed to be bonding with Mara.

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