Your erotic stories

I've always found chastity to be a really interesting idea. I'd wanted to experience chastity ever since I was teen. But now I was 30 and still hadn't experienced it. Well, I hadn't truly experienced it anyway. I'd bought a CB6000 a couple years ago and had put it on. I enjoyed having it on, but I still had no keyholder.

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The warm afternoon sun felt good on Nancy Horne's legs. So did the feeling of her husband's hand on her inner thigh and his fingers lazily caressing her soft skin. She smiled, looking down at Bill's hand on her, just below where he had pulled the hem of her skirt up to uncover her shapely, tanned legs. Her golden blonde hair shimmered in the sun and her brown eyes seemed to sparkle with excitement. When Nancy saw her husband's hand begin to disappear under her skirt and inch towards her damp panties she placed her hand on his wrist, stopping him.

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Well, here we were, Lia and I, after our first sexual encounter. We were lying there peacefully on her living room floor. Lia had her head on my shoulder as we cuddled one another in the afterglow of the greatest sex I had ever had, the kind of fuck I had barely even dreamed about until now. Then Lia raised herself up, leaning over me, and kissed me softly on the lips.

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"It may be a perverted taste, but I love prostitution, and for itself, too, quite apart from its carnal aspects ... The idea of prostitution is a meeting place of so many elements - lust, bitterness, complete absence of human contact, muscular frenzy, the clink of gold - that to peer into it makes one reel. One learns so many things in a brothel, and feels such sadness, and dreams so longingly of love!" - Gustav Flaubert

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I got to my desk to find a bright orange donut and a small gourd on my desk. Next to it was a note. I opened it. "Halloween Masquerade Ball" and the date on the weekend. I pushed it aside. I hadn't had a date in months and wasn't planning on going alone. I'd stay home and on the real Halloween, hand out cavity causing candy to the urchins on the street. Later in the day Noah from accounting walked by my desk. Then he walked back the other direction.

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It had been a long day. The kind that dragged forever with traffic moving slower than usual, an uncommon streak of red lights, construction at a busy intersection, a thousand small irritations that stretched the day. I was so glad when my small car finally pulled its way into the driveway. Free of the constraints and the prolonged time of sitting cramped behind the steering wheel, I luxuriously stretch my long legs and stride to the front door and step in.

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My name is Michael - family and friends call me Mike. At that time I considered myself an unremarkable 23 year-old, English WASP with a degree in psychology and a post-graduate certificate in education. I was working through my last summer before starting teaching in a secondary school near my old home town. I was brought up with the 'protestant work ethic' and had always had a job of some description as I went through my further and higher education.

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The tedium finally broke at a quarter to seven, late that Friday night. We had been on the contract for almost two months, making sure that the details were all ironed out and then ironed out again once the two parties took turns changing their minds again and again. I should have been happy about the billable hours, and the generous amount of money those hours constituted, but these are the proceeds that contract lawyers commonly refer to as blood money.

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My alarm startled me awake, even though the only sound it made was the gentle vibration of my cell phone against my nightstand. It seemed every morning promptly at 9:15 I went through this ritual when it went off, causing me to nearly jump out of my skin. I reached over for the little button on the side, stopping the noise and rolled back over, snuggling deeper into the warm blankets. I heard the covers rustle slightly, and then I felt a single finger tracing patterns on the bare skin of my back.

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Allow me to introduce myself: I'm Heather McCormick and I'm a thirty-something m.i.l.f. living in suburban Atlanta, Georgia. The story I'm about to tell you is the God's honest truth, and I wouldn't lie, because lying is a sin. Six months ago I was a slovenly 158 pounds of bored, impetuous, spoiled housewife. Now I am a svelte 115 pounds thanks to the Wulfwinter Weight Loss Clinic. Here's my story.

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