Your erotic stories

The 14th Anniversary A Valentine's Day Story She was kneeling on the hard surface of their sturdy couch table. It had been repositioned to face the entrance of their apartment; so she would be the first thing her Mistress would see when she came home from work. By then, she knew her knees and shins would be hurting, her breasts would be throbbing with every heartbeat, her nipples would have gone numb and her lips dry -- and there was nothing she could do about it.

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As she settled into the back-seat of the cab for her ride home after sharing some after work Christmas Eve drinks with some of her female co-workers, Danielle felt a touch of anxiety. This was a distinctly rare occurrence for this usually very self assured young woman. But this would be the first Christmas Eve that she would be spending with Reed since they had moved in together ten months earlier, and she didn't quite know how to react.

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So, 'V' and I are chatting away when she says to me 'why is it that all D/s stories are written from the sub's point of view. Why is it never from the Domme's. Take Summerhouse Blues, I really love that version of the Rhonda character and yet all we hear about is how Tracy feels. What about Rhonda, what did she make of it all?' And that got me thinking. 'V' was right, there's a whole different side to Summerhouse Blues, another story and one that ought to be told.

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Understanding Kelsey -- I don't suppose a lot of this story will make sense to you unless you can understand my relationship with her. And I don't suppose even that will help unless you understand me. I am cute. I walk by and guys will give a nod, you know the kind, a quick scan for large firm breasts or a glance when I pass them to check out my ass.

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"Professor Hart?" She peered hesitantly around the doorframe. The professor sat at his desk, on the phone. Without interrupting his conversation, he nodded at her, pointed to one of the chairs in front of his desk and gestured for her to close the door behind her. She sat, staring aimlessly around the room while he finished his conversation.

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Professor Angela O'Neil removed her glasses to rub tiredly at her eyes. Continuing a ritual she had already completed many times this afternoon, she turned her head to glance out the tiny window. It was fully dark now, the only light coming from the campus lights reflecting off the thick blanket of snow. Dark and dreary when she arrived in the morning, dark and dreary when she finally left for the day. Much as she hated to admit it, Winter was beginning to wear on her.

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Carla has visited my NYC office on many occasions. She is a product manager for one of the lines of formal female dress shoes my stores and consignment partners carry. Once she had a late flight and had to check out by noon from her hotel. I let her put her luggage in my storeroom and offered to make her dinner at my week-day apartment just around the corner. She felt safe with that. I'm twelve years older; we have a working relationship to protect; we had little time before her flight and I had no plans to take advantage of her.

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"Good morning. Please sit down." He spoke softly. She looked him over and realized she hadn't really known what to expect, physically. The man standing in front of her, holding the door open for her was just who she expected him to be, without ever seeing him before. Their relationship had gone from code names and distance to an experimental next step.

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