Your erotic stories

It wasn't until after my third divorce that I decided to try and fulfill a fantasy I have had for many years, to be the slave of a beautiful dominant woman. I joined numerous dating websites and scoured the internet for possible ways to find my dominant soul mate.

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His name was Roland and he was from Jamaica. I'm guessing he was about 30. He had deep ochre skin, eyes that were almost black, closely-cropped hair, and was tall, lean and very graceful. At one point in his life he'd been a dancer, but was now a set designer for one of the larger theater companies in Amsterdam. He was just a little bit effeminate, and overtly gay.

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The first thing I noticed when I woke up is that I was unable to move anything but my arms. I was lying naked, on my back, strapped down onto a padded leather surface. I couldn't really see what was holding me in place as my head was tilted back quite far by a wide leather strap wrapping around my forehead.

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Hi guys, this is my first attempt at m/m romance and this was meant to be a stand alone story. If you like it, I'll expand...but only if you do, haha. No sex in this story (or chapter) by the way. Enjoy :) *** 'Do you know how obvious it is that you're in love with him?' I jumped, spilling my drink as my best friend snuck up and whispered that damning question in my ear.

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I've always had an affinity for older men, but these days it seems I'm either the older man or one of the older men involved when there's sex play. But recently I was fortunate to meet a man who at seventy-one made for the widest margin in age I'd been with in quite a while. John and I met at a rehearsal for a school function in which my granddaughter and his great-grandson were involved.

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Criticism much appreciated, this is a rewrite of Brian's Fuck and have changed the title as you suggested. * I felt Brian's fuck like I knew I would. He was a big guy and I just knew when we did foreplay it would hurt first time, but the fact is I wanted it and I wanted to share the experience with Brian who I trusted implicitly.

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Acacia had strode into the Annenberg Center about 15 minutes before and taken possession of one of the tables. The other three students at the table were crowded down to one end while Acacia used the rest to arrange her books, notebooks, backpack, purse, and blazer in just the right way. She didn't ask for the space, she just took it and none of the underclassmen dared to push back on her occupation.

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Nate sat in his car and took another long drag off of the half-finished cigarette, he knew that if he was going to chicken out he had to do it quickly. He looked again at the plastic shopping bag in the passengers seat and was tempted to reach inside and feel the cotton panties again.

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Disclaimer: This is all fiction, based on my own imagination. They have no relation to the real world. Any similarities of real people or places are purely coincidental. I hope you'll enjoy it. Keegan Richards was one of the fastest swimmers at Montel College. He was not the largest of his team-mates nor was he the tallest at five foot six, but he didn't mind.

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The boy had no real name. He was the tanner's get, below even the whore's runts, responsible for soaking the hides in urine. The tanner called the child "Boy," long after the boy had left childhood behind. The town was large enough that most forgot to which tannery the young man belonged; everyone called him "the tanner's boy" for so long that it became his moniker.

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