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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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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The cock was so huge, not all of it fit into her pussy, but Savannah enjoyed it nonetheless. The man above her seemed to be enjoying it too. Kyle's green eyes seemed to glow in the dim lighting of her bedroom; his face was twisted with his effort as his hips pumped harder and faster against her. He seemed to be nearing the peak but Savannah wasn't quite ready for him to finish just yet. Taking him by surprise she pushed him off, rolled him on to his back, and quickly straddled him.

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Valiantly, she struggled beneath him, her face reddening, her breath raspy, her eyes trying to roll back in her head, her chest heaving futilely, yet being chained to the bedposts, all she could do was writhe between his clamping legs and try to maintain her focus upon his gentle, enraptured smile as he dipped his head downward to kiss her painted lips while maintaining the constant pressure on the ribbon encircling her vulnerable neck.

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When I'm evaluating a sub, I always look at the eyes first. The eyes tell whole stories about their owner. You can practically touch the anticipation and apprehension flooding out of a first-time sub's gaze. The more experienced ones tend to glance around eagerly, with only a little bit of anxiety or an obviously fake fearfulness. Kaitlin's big, brown eyes instantly drew me with their poise and eagerness, promising an intense experience. She met and exceeded that expectation.

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When the phone stopped ringing I heard a soft feminine voice at the other end. "P.S.L. May I help you?" "I think you can." I said, "I need to hire a female model for a two hour assignment." "Yes, Sir." She connected me to another young sounding woman who asked lots of questions about the assignment and the look I was after.

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