Your erotic stories

Dave had wanted to be crucified for as long as he could remember. He was brought up in the Catholic religion and even though the religious side of things had never made much sense to him he found the images of the crucifixion and the scourging erotic beyond words. He had long kept his fantasies to himself until he saw a personal in his local newspaper.

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A blindfold is snug around her head as she waits for her Dom to return. He said good things would come to her tonight and He never lies. Although it has only been minutes since He told her to kneel and wait, it feels like a century before she hears His heavy boots coming down the hall. He enters the room and firmly closes the door behind Him.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a stand-alone story but the characters are the same I used in my story 'Get A Room'. It's not a sequel but more another episode of the same show. Let me know what you think about it. - Rose * "What do you think you're doing, young lady?" The deep, booming voice sounded angry.

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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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It was 5:30 Thursday afternoon when Roger Hancock walked into Megan Bishop's office. "Yes, Roger?" she said to her 28 year-old mailroom clerk, not even looking up from her work. "I thought you'd left for the day." Miss Bishop had everything a woman could want -- money, power, good looks, great figure. She was president of The Bishop Company, doing what was generally perceived as a stellar job running the business she'd inherited from her father.

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I have been home from work barely five minutes when there's a knock at my door. I open it and smile at the tall, skinny man standing outside my door. "Natalie." He leans forward and kisses both of my cheeks, his hand caressing the back of my neck. "Come in," I step back and give him room. "Where are we heading tonight Sammy?" I ask, returning his kisses.

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My cell phone buzzed, making me jump. My first thought was that Megan was calling me, calling me to apologize, calling to ask me to forgive her. Forgive her for screwing me over and kicking me to the curb like a dog. I'd been dozing in the old, worn recliner in my darkened living room. The TV was on, and the baseball game I'd been watching was over now.

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"Are we nearly there yet? This doesn't look anywhere classy." Clarissa tried to keep the petulance out of her voice. She knew she should be flattered by the stretch-limo and the Dom Perignon, glass number three of which was fizzing its way down her throat, but why the hell were they driving about dingy back-streets?

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Different times demand different styles of play, and lately the intense play I crave has been on hiatus. This saddens me even as I welcome the new facet to our dynamic. Indeed, I begged for this, pleaded for it, and the outcome pleases me every bit as much as it does him. Still though, I crave...something. I'm not even sure what; I only know that I long for total, complete submission, being owned by him in every way possible.

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She was somebody else's date. I'd met her when they arrived. She was his arm candy for the evening. Of the fifteen or so people in my home, she was the one that caught my interest. It was obvious from the moment I opened the door she knew who I was and she was interested. Others may have thought I was a curiosity or maybe interesting, but she was interested.

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