Your erotic stories

Amy, my gorgeous Amy, is helpless, her hands tied above her head. She follows my every movement with large, almost cartoon eyes. I step closer, a brush of clothing, my hands hovering in the dip of her waist. I hear her soft breathing as her open mouth strains toward mine, mewling for the touch of lips. Her tongue glistens, waiting to dart out and meet me.

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"Well, did you fuck her?" Glenda asked her husband as he slipped in the front door. Henry jerked and turned as his wife spoke and flipped on the lamp next to her chair. "Uh.... Well.... Uh...." He stammered and then grinned as he saw his wife was naked. "Yes. Yes, I did." Glenda whimpered softly and shifted in the chair.

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Lisa struggled against the uncomfortable position, but it was no use. Her head was stuck through one hole in the pillory, and her hands through two others. She was standing, and her ankles were trapped as well, leaving her forcibly immobile in a bent-over position.

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We'd spoken for so long without meeting that it was incredibly odd to have such specific and naughty images of a relative stranger. It threw common etiquette out the window. In meeting Heather, the point that worried me the most was the manners. How intimate is appropriate? A folder of her in every imaginable pose and posture—full tits, luscious ass, dripping pussy, strong legs—rested on my hard drive.

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Michael Halversun has a hard time recounting his memories, even now that he is safe in the small book laden office of his therapist. The twenty year old is filled with guilt, his voice wavering as he speaks into the tape recorder and his therapist sits across from him, listening to his tale. His upbringing told him that adultery was a great sin, and his masculinity told him that it was his fault. Whether either of those things were true really didn't matter any more to him. Michael had been raped.

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She stands there completely nude, holding the wide black leather collar between her breasts. The buckle is a heavy gauge steel as is the large cold ring affixed to its front which dangles down toward her smooth shaved groin. Her eyes are closed and she can smell the leather mixed with her own scent from the last time she wore this collar several days earlier.

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Friday night. I am secured in a standing position, naked and spread eagled. My ankles are secured to a spreader bar, my hands to restraints attached to new hooks she has attached to the ceiling. My wife's mouth surrounds but does not touch my pulsating cock. I tighten my groin muscles to make contact. She pulls away. "Bad boy!" She reaches down for her riding crop and slaps mildly at my balls, stretched and separated by a leather cock ring.

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Part 1 - Wakeup call The blonde in the chair frantically blinking at me is the client. We'll call her Wife or Wifey. She's blinking because, like most clients on their first experience, she's panicking early. The blink is her safe "word".

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It had been a week since I met him in the club, since I had gone home with him not even knowing his full name and totally given myself to him. It had been two weeks of having my senses tormented, my body trained and my needs fulfilled.

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I knew I was taking a huge risk. To change the game at this late date was to risk ruining a very adequate relationship. But, I knew I deserved more than adequate. I wanted so much more. I suppose a little background is in order. I am 43 years old, working in an office, I have a "boyfriend" that I see three to four times a week.

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