Your erotic stories

Mr Valens reached towards the numbers on the alarm panel inside the front door of his modern, two storey home. The red light was not flashing. He paused and cast his eyes around without moving, noting the gleaming kitchen bench, the bleak smell of domestic cleaner. Then he remembered. Today was Wednesday - Sharni Peller's cleaning day.

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The music thudded and pulsed through the private party. Female escorts provided for the evening mingled with executives and local politicians who networked and chatted in the bar area, or who clustered round the raised stage, waving paper money and begging for the dancer's attention.

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She had gotten drunk, very, very drunk. She had no clue how she'd gotten home. She sat up only to flinch as she opened her eyes. Ouch! She saw two pills and a glass of water by the bed, along with a note. She reached for the pills and water, hoping they would help kill the pain from one hell of a hangover. Damn it, what had happened last night? As she drank the water, shadowy memories of the night before crept into her mind.

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I'm so done with this school, with these ridiculous uniforms and my jackass classmates trying to look up my skirt and down my shirt. (Who picked these clothes? I mean the skirt is halfway up the thighs for god's sake. And these shirts must have been designed for girls who, well, didn't develop as early and as, uh, fully as me - which, trust me, is not all it's cracked up to be, big tits are huge pain even in clothes that weren't poorly designed for someone a lot _smaller_.

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I smiled when I saw the house. The corner streetlight reflected on the metal numbers screwed to the front door. This was the place. I slipped through the front gate and into the garden, walking quietly around the side of the house, carrying my bag. There was a back gate, locked, but reaching over I easily found the bolt and slid it open; stepping through I closed it behind me.

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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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We were in the Capitol. Jonathan was the Captain again, and it was the Captain who pushed me none-too-gently out of the carriage, and I stumbled and fell and scraped my shoulder on the pavement, and he pulled me up by my elbow and marched me into the courthouse. I had been to the Capitol several times, but I'd never seen any of the courthouses, although I knew that each district had one.

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She was on her knees in front of him, looking upwards, naked, seemingly penitent. His head, thirteen inches from his groin, was resting on her pink lower lip, the weight of it making her pout slightly. She looked apprehensive, she was unused to blowjobs and she didn't really know what to do. He was expressionless, entirely able to suppress the swell of excitement and power that was growing in every fibre of his body.

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Santa must love me because I've never had such a young, nubile present in all my life. It was the day before Christmas and the sky hung over my house as black as cast iron. A bitter mix of snow and sleet hissed through the leafless trees in my front yard. A foot and a half of snow covered the ground; not much for some parts of the country but here in Olympia, Washington it was quite a shock. Power was out in parts of town, though not at my house, and the schools and many businesses had been closed for several days.

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I looked at the time, I was getting excited because I knew I was almost off work and soon would be coming home to you. I had called you letting you know I'd be home in a few hours, so you had plenty of time to bathe and do your thing. You sounded so good and yummy it was very difficult to concentrate on work. I hate it when two hours seems like ten, but that only happens when there's somewhere else I'd rather be, and where I wanted to be was with you.

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