Your erotic stories

His eyes were closed, a vain token of propriety: if he didn't see what was happening, was he really responsible? Around his finger her mouth closed, warm, wet, sucking. He felt her teeth graze over the hardness of his wedding band, then those hot, soft lips closed about his finger, retreating slowly towards his fingertip with a delicious, unfamiliar suction. What am I doing? There is a reason I've worn this band for fifteen years.

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Fireworks burst in the night sky overhead and a menagerie of costumed men and women push past me on the crowded street. The inebriated celebrants shy away and let me pass when I glare them down with my practiced 'Do Not Fuck With Me' face. It takes quite a lot of practice to get it right when you're a five-foot-six woman. I scan the crowd and regain sight of you as you turn down a wide stairway and into an underground concourse. My lips can't help but curl up in a smile.

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"There," Master says. I tug experimentally on the cuff she has just locked around my ankle, and that feeling of helplessness and trust washes over me like a warm, gentle wave. She looks at me appraisingly. "You know what happens next, slut."

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She had been excited about it for a week. They really weren't sure how Thursday had gotten decreed "kink" night but it was a tradition now. For a couple of months now, her husband had been asking, well, begging for her ass. She was tentative and they had started slowly. A week ago, he had finally pressed his cock into her. He was not overly long but damn, he was wide. He had gotten it in, but not very deep or for very long. She was proud of herself. She would get better. Tonight though, it was her turn.

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John inserted the key into his front door as quietly as he could. He slipped inside, putting his laptop case down ever so gently, and closed his eyes for a moment. Oh, hello you! There she was, padding barefoot down the stairs. She did not come to him; she stopped three steps up, so that her womanly pubis was level with his mouth, so that he had to look up to her, almost look up her.

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As I looked up the steps to the front door of the Hawkwood family home, I was filled with dread and anxiety. I started up the first step and I could hear my mother pull away in her car behind me. I could hear the sound of rubber on the wet asphalt fade out as it made its way down the the circle of the drop off area to the black ribbon of the long driveway that led to the front gate, passing the lush grass and trees that lined it. I wasn't entirely sure why I was there.

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I first saw the ad on the internet. The website was a listing of Dominant Women on the West Coast. Since I live in Los Angeles, I was checking out the pictures and information on local dominants. The one that caught my attention was unique. Madame Darcy was based in Paris. Her ad stated that she traveled to Los Angeles frequently and had family here.

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I had been suspicious of your visits to my panty drawer for quite some time, but it wasn't until I bought that nanny-cam that I could confirm it. You can imagine my surprise when I began coming home from work and finding video after video of my nineteen year-old son dressed in my bras, my panties, my dresses and high heels. That was the kind of behavior you might expect from a little girl, not a nearly grown young man. What amazed me most was how often you did it, how shameless you were in what you took.

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After everything they went through, Andi, Nicki, and Janis decided that sororities were not for them. Andi was glad that she "had what it took" to be in one of the finer sororities, but she had more fun just hanging out with the girls at the apartment. Nicki was as popular as ever with the boys, and she was only a sophomore. Her goals were already met, and the sorority was of no use to her.

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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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