Your erotic stories

"Just take it," my best friend whispered in my ear before switching aisles. Like a pro, she pocketed a pack of gummy bears to go with a bag of chips. It stunned me that she could be so apathetic about the whole thing. Stealing? I'd never stolen anything in my life -- not even first base! Yet with nervous hands, I picked up a little baggie of Swedish fish, and looked towards the register. The man there was sitting with his feet up on the counter and his head down, staring into a home and gardening magazine.

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My name is Kay. I'm a 31 year-old, happily un-married middle-class white woman with a marvelous life - except for being addicted to sex. Maybe it's only the risk factor that I'm addicted to. I honestly don't know, but I do know I'll sometimes take awful risks to anonymously and spontaneously fuck total strangers. There, now that I have that part out of the way maybe I can also be honest with the rest of what I want to explain.

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As ever, it began quietly. A look, an 'accidentally' raised hemline, stooping just too low allowing the valley of your breasts to cascade across my view as you brought my Rioja, but it built rapidly. I think it was twenty minutes ago that you abandoned all pretence of subtlety and reappeared in a little black dress.

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Tiffany Andrews arrived early for her appointment with Miss Elizabeth Jones, Principle of Hedley Coleville Academy. She had only been to the office of the exclusive school once before, when she had enrolled her two children, Amber who was 12 and Derrick 10.

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I'm a sucker for a deep authoritative voice. Few men understand how powerful their voice is or the effect it can have on some women. Like me. The right words uttered in a certain tone are guaranteed to snatch my breath away and cause an instant puddle between my legs. In such a mood, I don't want to be asked what I want.

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How long have you been there? You have no idea anymore. The combination of the hood and the enveloping silence have deprived your brain of the information it needs to track time. All you know is that your arms hurt. More specifically your shoulders. Your arms tied up above you at the wrists mean you've been slung here on your knees with your full weight going through your slender shoulders all this time.

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It all started with a simple statement. A promise perhaps. They were laying in bed one night during the week after she had just come off of his lap from one of her good girl spankings and rewards she always craved. She looked up at him, a smile across her face and at that moment, he told her that he had something special planned for them this weekend.

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I was ready for a night out… dressed to kill in a black lace stretch top over a black lace bra, black miniskirt, thigh-high black silk stockings and black velvet heels. A lacy black thong was the only thing coming between my lover’s hands and my pussy, which was ready for a hot night out of drinking and dancing… knowing that his hands would be roaming and bringing me to a fever tonight, enhanced by the forbidden pleasure of touching in public.

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I have seen so many misdirected and misused young women in my long active life, that I often just ignored them. I was building a house near the IHOP and both breakfast and evening meals were convenient there. The lovely young female, still searching for identity, had waited on me for a week now. We had talked and teased every day. I was getting a sense of her unfulfilled sexuality and the frustration she lived with. Tonight her body was tense and her hormones were surging. She needed to belong and serve. She was slow coming back to take my order.

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Jane squirmed in her seat. She hoped the hostess wouldn't notice her shifting in place. Jane hoped no one would detect her lightly bruised lips as the evidence of the rough kissing wore off. She looked over at Tom, who was staring at her with a twinkle in his eye. He knew just how uncomfortable she was feeling. And he loved to see her fidget and wriggle.

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