Your erotic stories

I wanted to grab a fucking bottle of vodka and chuck it. Or throw it. Or burn it. Extraordinary stress, huh? Yeah that is what I am feeling. Damn pissed off at Daniel. We had an argument last night about where we are headed and in the midst of it, he said we should part ways for a while.

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It was one of those situations I had heard about but never believed. Three friends were over at my house playing poker, and I was down about $300. It was a string of bad luck, really. My hands had been good all night, but someone else always had something a little better. Now, I am sitting here with a ace-high flush, the other three guys have gone in, but I do not have enough money to match them.

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It was the wrong choice of swimwear, and I was headed back to the guest room to rectify that, when the cause of it all stopped me in the hallway. The new owner of our company had invited me to his country place for a weekend to discuss some details of a project we were working on, and it turned out there was a pool party included. But, not knowing that, I hadn't brought my suit. I had assumed this would be all business. So there I was, having to pick out a loaner suit from Thad, my boss, and I'd picked the wrong one.

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Pieces of light filter through the room from the crack in the bathroom door. A sliver is illuminated onto the closet mirrored door as sweat beads across my Dom's back. Slick skin glides next to mine as the anticipation of the next move courses through us both. A nervous glance passes between my lover and I as she takes my hand. This move in itself scares me because it is done without permission. We are guided towards him as he uses our hair to pull us into his chest.

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Sadly, this is merely something that took place as a messenger conversation between a Nicole and I. I have changed the style into a more reader friendly story. * I sneak up behind Nicole, grabbing her sides, tickling her. She gives off a surprised squeal, and I tickle her more intensely, making her squeal even more, squirming around in my hands.

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Goodness knows why I have this fetish, but I do have it, so I have to live with it. What is it? Well it's the desire to eat shit. It must be from a dominant female mistress and maybe it's more to do with being totally submissive than it is to do with the actual eating. I think this desire has been with me for a very long time and now I would like to tell you, how I turned desire into reality. I thought it wasn't possible to realise my desire until whilst browsing through a contact magazine I saw a mistress advertising Hard Sports.

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Chapter One A piercing clap of thunder shook the darkened room. The storm outside couldn't have been scripted any better by a Hollywood writer. Annalise shuddered as a chill passed through her body. She could feel her nipples stiffen, and not just from the chill. She had been waiting for him to come back since he had tied her spread eagled on the bed over a half hour ago.

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You check the mirror for the last time. The blue slut top. The collar and fishnets. The heels look good. And the riding crop feels at home in your hand. You're ready for him now. As you leave the bedroom and make your way to where he is waiting, you find an anger you didn't know you had welling up inside.

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"Open to me. Open to Daddy."

And I spread my legs for him.

Before that, he had pushed me back gently onto the thick carpet on the moss covering the little sun-spackled glen. He had me kneel before him and take his beautiful, huge cock into my mouth, where I worked it up to over nine inches of hardness to the sounds of the birds twittering in the trees and the other jogger emitting little sighs and moans of pleasure.

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The day had been pretty boring at college. I couldn't wait till I got home. I knew today would be the day. Both parents would be gone, and I just received my package in the mail. As if it weren't great enough, tonight was the first night of spring break. My parents wouldn't be gone for only one night, but they were taking a vacation and leaving me home alone to house sit. Being the mature twenty-one year old I am, they trusted me.

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