Your erotic stories

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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It was the long holiday between school and University. Guy and Billy had come back from back-packing round Europe together, and were now completely broke. They had bumped into Gemma and some of her friends in a pub in town, and over a few cocktails (for which they had to scrounge some of the money), discussed their various experiences since leaving school, and what they were planning to do next.

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I walk into your darkened room, everyone but you is gone or at work. You don't hear me as I get closer to you. Your stretched out across your bed stroking your cock, watching a big breasted woman sucking dick on the T.V. Silently I move through the dark side of your room until I'm just behind your bed, watching you gently squeeze your balls and continue to jerk off that magnificent prick.

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It all started when Tom broke his finger. He was helping to move some of his elderly Father's furniture when the middle finger of his right hand got caught between the shelf he was carrying and the door frame. A quick trip to the hospital and Tom's middle finger was in a brace.

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I love touching my pussy. I love the feeling of my most personal effect in my hand. I love bringing myself to orgasm by playing with my pussy. I love the feeling of being in charge of my own happiness. I love feeling my silken gift at my fingertips, and the feeling of intimacy that it provides for me. I've also had to learn to love all of those things. I've come to love them over the last several years, as masturbation is my only true sexual outlet right now.

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