Your erotic stories

The alarm clock's music filled the room at 4am and Liz reached over to shut it off. She was tired. As the years passed she grew more and more tired. She was 52 years old, a little heavier, a little softer, a little more mellow...and yes, a little more tired. She stood, tugging at the sheets and quilt as she made the bed. She would strip them this weekend and do the laundry. Same as every Saturday.

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I remember my first time with a woman. I don't know how many of you do but it's crystal clear in my mind. I was a late bloomer to say the least. Well at least when it came to being a lesbian and coming to terms with my sexuality. I didn't realize what I'd been feeling towards women was attraction until I was nearly twenty-two years old. After I came to the understanding, it took me another two years to accept it.

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I was driving down to Knoxville Tennessee to help my best friend move back up to Michigan. I had a six pack cooler filled with five bottles of Aquafina water and crushed ice sitting on the floorboard on the passenger side. The sixth was wedged between my legs. I was driving a rented Lincoln Town Car straight down I-75 and was screaming through Kentucky when I noticed the upcoming road sign. It was announcing an exit for a road two miles ahead.

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Veronica was pissed off. She had just heard from her sister that her niece was leaving her prep school and wanted to move out of state. While she certainly didn't mind her niece coming to live with her for a while (she knew that her niece was already 19 & only had a couple of months left in school), she was pissed about the reason that her sister gave her.

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I step into the front room and am struck by the immediate sense of anticipation that surrounds me. The doorman notices that I am not a regular attendee and approaches me with a copy of the house rules. I read over them and wonder if I have gotten myself into more than I can handle. Recognizing my apprehension the doorman asks me if I have any questions. Do I? Well, sure a whole list of them, but who will have the time or the inclination to be my personal informant as to the inner workings of this world without judgment?

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I've just spent another long, hot afternoon in the garden and all I can think about is taking a shower to cool myself down. The garden looks great, but I'm a mess. Covered in dirt and sweat, I let myself into the back door and slip out of my gardening boots. I've rinsed myself off a bit with the hose but it's nowhere near what a shower could do for me.

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It had been a year since I'd seen her...months since we'd last spoken. When she walked up to me in the lobby of the hotel where our convention was being held all those feelings rushed back to me in an instant. The heat growing through my body. I tugged at my clothes and patted my hair as I watched her walk towards me with that easy gait. Her strides long and confident. Her clothing all black, just like always.

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I had just turned 35 – and not at all unhappy about that. I didn't have a lover, and that was fine too – I've never been desperate that way; I can be happy all by myself. So when my gay and lesbian health clinic was having one of its almost chronic fund raisers, and I was asked to volunteer for the date auction, I smiled brightly said sure, I'd be glad to.

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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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I met Jaime on my job working as a waitress. Our restaurant was something like hooters but with a different name. All of us waitresses wore short booty shorts, tight t-shirts and high heels. It was hard walking around all night in those shoes but the tips were fabulous.

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