Your erotic stories

Dan had never been to this place before. Fox Lake was not really one of his favorite places to play. But this bar was interesting enough. Situated right on the lake, Wokini's was typical of lake bars the country over. Darkened windows, bright neon lights flashing 'Budweiser,' 'Lite' and 'Southern Comfort.' The smell of stale beer and fried food permeated the air, as did cheap cologne. What brought Dan here were not the rave reviews from Metromix, but rather the fact that Donna Morgan frequented this place as a source of young men to satisfy her nasty debauchery. Dan thought, 'What's good for Mrs. Morgan may be good for other married sluts.'

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I still don't know exactly how I got myself into that situation. It may have been a bet, It may have been a dare, or it might be that I was tricked. The upshot of the entire affair is that I found myself with my neighbor's 18 year old son manhandling me and eventually fucking me senseless. Perhaps I need to start at the beginning with a description of myself and my marriage to Jim. We had been College sweethearts who married and have been together for 10 years this November.

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Dan spent last weekend up at his parents' house in the suburbs. It was one of those dead weekends. Many of his friends were out of town, working, or too tired to go out. On Friday before he left, he called Steve Morgan's cell phone again in one last ditch effort to try to get something going, but was greeted only by voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message, threw some clothes in a backpack, and drove up to his parents'.

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Guy was a twenty-five year old washing machine service engineer who was mentally and physically marred by the scarring of adolescent acne. He was also thin, shy, and sexually frustrated, and was altogether the exact opposite of all that service engineers are supposed to be. His was not the life of continual housewife conquests and extended house calls no matter how much he wanted it to be, and on the only two occasions that he had made half-hearted advances to the ladies he had called on he had been rebuffed instantly, and threatened with being reported to head office.

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Wedding time. Not Dan's, of course, but that of Marc Chapman's sister, Belinda. Dan and Marc had gone to college together, and he had gotten to know the Chapman family well during the summer months. Though Dan and Marc did not know each other in high school, they did grow up in nearby towns; as such, they saw each other frequently when they were home from school.

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It was hot as hell, and I still had three more lawns to mow. It was the drawback to making most of my summer money doing yardwork. Graduation was only a few weeks behind me, and college and its expenses loomed ominously over my head. Fortunately, I was going to a local school, but I still had a commute, and books were going to kill me. Anyhow, I'd started early that morning, as soon as the dew was out of the grass, but after two yards already, it was just after noon and the sun pounded down.

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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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Kari Bates is an attractive 36-year-old mother of two. She's no supermodel, but she has the look of that good looking school teacher that most boys had a crush on during their school years. She stands 5'6" with a slender 34-B-24-24 body. Brown hair, parted in the middle and hanging almost to her shoulders. Bright blue eyes hidden behind her thin rectangular framed glasses and an ever-present smile.

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The engine ticked lightly, rhythmically, having only recently completed a twenty mile journey. Rain dripped from the frame of the car, from the edges of its bumpers. The windows were blurred, save for the two arches where the wipers had recently swept drops from the tempered glass. The car didn't belong there. Not in that parking lot. Not in that town.

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"Okay Heather if you want to be like that, fuck you! I'm not gonna stand here and take this shit. We're done." "Fuck you back you asshole! You damn right we're done! I want a man that treats me well!" "You mean you want a man that's whipped, that caters to your every idiotic whim, that hands over money because he's your personal ATM. In other words, you want a chump. I'm not a chump, nor that desperate. Besides, you ain't even that good. Goodbye."

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