Your erotic stories

Clear, warm waters and azure skies did nothing for her. There had been a holiday, once, where she had sat on one of those white sanded beaches whilst grinning Caribbean boys brought her drinks under a "made in china" palm parasol. The heat, even in the shade, was sapping.

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From the back room she entered. I watched her. I saw her glance at Me, then look away. Then she looked again and smiled. I turned My head back to the magazine I was pretending to read. I smiled to Myself. This was such fun. she started working at the local drug store about a year ago. The first time I saw her I recognised her from years earlier, when she was just another awkward skinny kid along with a bunch of others, kicking cans.

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Looking around the room, she made sure the candles were in place. So many colors, shapes and sizes, yet they fit with the décor, adding a hint of mysterious shadow in one spot while dispelling shadows in another. Colors, blending with orchids arranged amid baby's breath, complementing framed artwork hanging above them, enhancing deep rich hues of hanging drapery and reflecting off gleaming woodwork, each had its place and was ready for the match.

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Doctor Charlotte Preston sat in her dark grey wingback chair and quietly tapped her pen against her folio papers as her client rattled on about his latest setbacks, as he saw them. She had been trying to concentrate all day with little success, Jackson was coming in for his appointment right after lunch and she could barely contain herself.

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Sandals flopped against her feet as she charged down the sidewalk. A few heads turned, noticing her slightly disheveled clothing and the flush spread across her cheeks. A tight t-shirt was shifted to the side, thrown on in a hurry. Her white jean shorts were left unbuttoned, barely clinging to sweaty hips as she walked.

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Rebecca prepared for the day as usual. Out of bed extra early, a workout in the home gym, breakfast prepared to a tee as usual by the maid, a shower, and then up to change. John had just come out of the shower. He still possessed the hard lean body that had attracted her a dozen years before. As she donned conservative, but expensive lingerie followed by a dress suit, he reminded her that his plane would be leaving in 2 hours, so they had to hurry.

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Traci and Heather were discussing whether or not Karen Cambell would show up at their five year class reunion. They could hardly believe that the 'bitch' would show up after what had happened just over three years ago. But if she did Traci had some three and a half year old pictures that would insure a memorable reunion for her classmates.

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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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