Your erotic stories

She knew he was looking at her, he was clever at not showing it but she knew. Each time she looked to her left she did not see, but sensed, his sudden head movement out of the corner of her eye. On the couple of occasions when she had swivelled casually on the bar stool and stared at him, his face remained locked on the man he was talking to, unnaturally motionless, as if his neck was made of stone. Oh yes, he was interested.

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"So, you think you might be OK, now? A different perspective, I hope?" "Yes, yes, thank you, . . . You know I haven't gotten your name. I feel so . . ." "No need to, son. You can just call me Dingle. And I won't be seeing you up here again, I do hope." "Umm. I kinda hoped that—"

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To call the private studio of the Dominatrix a dungeon would, for the fortunate, earn only her contempt. Eschewing the contrivances of male sadomasochistic fantasies, the walls were painted a passionless shade of gray-green, the oak floor polished to the luster of ancient gold, and the sole window decorated with an embroidered ivory curtain, now closed.

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"Fire in the hole!" WHOOOMPH! Lauren Thompson watched with satisfaction as the two tapered smokestacks suddenly curtsied and bowed like 18th Century dancing partners, collapsing into a billowing cloud of dust. She rose from her crouch behind the wall of sandbags, turned off the bullhorn and walked back to the operations trailer to review the remote camera videotapes.

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Living with Paige was pure hell for Ally. Every moment she was around was like slow, agonizing torture which Ally often likened to having dull screws driven deep into her skull while having her heart ripped violently and awkwardly from her chest by hateful vultures. Well, maybe not that bad, but it definitely sucked in the worst possible way.

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"May you live in interesting times," Anya intoned. "Man, I always get that one!" "In bed," I reminded her saucily. "Speaking of which… Josh's coming over tonight," she giggled. "Read yours!" "You are about to embark on a fabulous adventure." I paused for a beat then added, "In bed." "Well, you are going on a trip tomorrow!" Anya squealed excitedly. "And it's been way too long since you had a man in your bed, mister."

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I was lying on my stomach recovering from a massive orgasm with Seamus' huge fat cock buried up my snatch. I could feel his cock pulsing and throbbing. I had just finished being driven through my second orgasm. The first one was almost simultaneous – I had started coming first and was writhing and screaming when Seamus, riding me hard, fired his load up my snatch. We rested a bit with his cock buried up my snatch until he was ready for another go around;

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Despite my best efforts, thoughts of what I wanted to do to Michael kept clouding my mind. Maybe coming up with that fantasy about him hadn't been the best idea. Instead of clearing my head, now I was wishing even more that it would happen in reality. But the pressure was on with our project and I forced myself to focus on the job at hand. The next four days of the convention were really intense. It wasn't easy because the others all knew each other and had worked together in this type of situation before, and I was still the new guy in the group.

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For a moment Yanik fought for control, Nathan had backed up, trying to get away from the onslaught, until he was up against the wall and had nowhere else to go. "Did you think I'd knock you back too? Or maybe you make a habit of lying to those you sleep with. That's what hurts the most, the lying. You really had me fooled, Nathan, I thought, maybe, I had finally ..." he trailed off, suddenly realizing where the words would take him. "Oh, just go to hell, Nathan, go to fucking hell and stay there."

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You gotta see your husband's fabulous new office, was the way he'd put it. Even now the words ring in my ears as I masturbate to climax on lazy afternoons. Frank Finlay was Peter's new boss. Peter's my husband -- a kind, good looking, trusting soul. Perhaps it is his trusting ways that are the cause of this.

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