Your erotic stories

Jennifer sat in the coffee house, waiting. Her hands kept touching the cup in front of her or her hair - reflexively adjusting it, stealing glances at herself in the floor to ceiling window by her table. Men walked by with furtive glances. This was new. She got her share of attention – early thirties, slim, pale blue eyes, and shoulder length auburn hair just like she wore in her early twenties.

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"What was your most interesting photo shoot, Natasha?" Alex asked. His digital SLR snapped in the silence of the hotel room. I held my pose, wondering how honest I should be. "Well, I did a shoot last year wearing nothing but body paint," I offered, the over-stuffed comforter pressed softly between my legs.

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Steve stood behind M, his erect dick sandwiched between her taught thighs, his hands cupping and squeezing her ample breasts as his mouth kissed and bit her neck. His penis was stiff as a board, and he was loving the smooth feeling of his cock pushing between M's thighs from behind, the juices escaping her sopping pussy making the motion glide smoothly as the pair explored each other's bodies, semi-naked on the dance floor.

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CRACK.........CRACK..........CRACK....... The sound of the paddle hitting against flesh echoes in your bedroom. Again and again, you use the wooden paddle to smack the bare ass of the man lying across your bed. "Do you like that, slave? Do you want more?" "Yes, Mistress, oh yes" "Well, unfortunately, it's time for you to go to work. Maybe if you're good, I'll give you a little more tonight."

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"It's a girl thing," I said with a smile to the shoe salesman as I looked down at the shoes he had slipped on my feet. Spike heels, narrow straps, absolute torture but worth the pain. "Oh believe me, I completely understand," he said with a sheepish grin. I looked down at the man kneeling patiently at my feet while I admired the shoes. He was waiting for me to decide if I liked them or not, looking up at me with those big brown puppydog eyes, ready to run fetch another pair if I just said the word.

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I chose a table in the food court of the Mall and sat down to eat my salad during an unsuccessful hour of shopping for some new outfits. I ate absent-mindedly and people-watched as I picked through the salad greens and sliced tomatoes on my plate. The food court began to fill as if everyone suddenly came over all hungry and I was soon surrounded by noisy teens, tired seniors simply wanting to get off their feet, and some families with restless kids.

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I'm sitting in the black leather chair as usual. The leather cool against my thighs. I'm dressed in a very short black skirt, a skintight low necked black top, black fishnet stockings and the main event: my six inch black shiny stiletto heeled shoes. I cross my legs and swing my foot impatiently, acutely conscious of the light reflecting off my shoe as it makes its arc through the air.

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As a writer here, I am quite different. I write for women! I write in the 1st and 2nd person present text. I write for those women that are sexually bored, sadly underappreciated in their roles as girlfriend, wife and mother, or frightfully inhibited, but hiding a secret insatiable fantasy side...I write for those women that yearn to be in the grasp of strong, successful, attractive dominant men...men that are mysterious, successful, powerful, erotic.

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MMMmmmmmmmm, nothing like the feeling of waking after a long, luxurious sleep in! Steve and I had been out with friends the night before, and the kids were staying at friends' houses, so we decided to sleep in and enjoy the moment alone. I reached my arms out of the covers, and pointed my toes, my body stretching in that wonderful post-snooze glow. I stretched till I wanted to moan with pleasure, my long legs peeking out the bottom of the covers.

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It had started as a playful exchange online, but each seemed to know the rules and what was expected. The inevitable meeting 'for coffee' had been eagerly anticipated by each and the time spent in each others company had been as expected; polite, amicable, flirtatious and with a building tension of expectancy.

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