Your erotic stories

We meet in a bar, me, my best sissyboy painslut & you. We are all dressed in everyday office attire; you boys look so professional in your suits. I have on a tight white blouse which strains a little at the buttons, the sheer lace of my bra clearly showing through; a straight black skirt, net stockings & heeled patent black pumps. There are other such groups in the bar & we don't look out of place as we choose a quiet corner table;

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She passed Fifth Street and checked her watch, right on schedule and thankfully the crossing light was on her side this morning so she eased across the intersection without having to stop. Music from her IPod spurred her on as she rounded the corner on Jackson Avenue, in the home stretch now. The warm early May morning sun at her back, she could see the entrance to the building at the end of the city block and urged herself to push a little harder.

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Let me tell you, Jack, I had one hell of a shitty day today, although it really started some time ago. I could tell there was something wrong. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but there was something amiss. For the last several months my wife, Lynn, seemed to be growing more distant toward me. Sex with her was almost to the point of nonexistent. In those rare times we did have sex, it was as though she couldn't wait 'till it was over. It was to the point that sex became unpleasant, damn near work.

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Jessica and Travis had known each other for a couple of weeks and were developing a flirtatious relationship. It wasn't too serious yet, but their tantalizing and sexy interaction was starting to build. He had just invited her over to his beach house for the first time. He, also, mentioned to her that he had something daring and sexy planned. This peaked her curiosity. When she arrived, Travis gave her a friendly, affectionate hug and welcomed her in.

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Paul had a little trouble finding Kaylee's apartment building and he was almost twenty minutes late by the time he finally reached her door. It was bad enough being flustered by having taken a wrong turn while following the directions he had been given but, as he pressed the doorbell, he discovered he was distinctly nervous indeed. Kaylee's website specified several massage specialties but, although the text was suitably noncommittal and vague, it was clear that they were all of the more erotic variety.

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I don't know why I married a panty slave. It's not like I didn't know about James' fetish before I said yes to his marriage proposal. He had been quite up front when we were dating about his desire to be controlled by a strong woman, and the instrument of her control was to be her underwear. He isn't into bondage or spanking or any of the more traditional bdsm fare, although I sometimes incorporate these things into our kinky love making.

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Mastrom's was Blythe's favorite department store. Catering to an upscale clientele, they carried the latest in high quality fashion in a wide variety of styles. They took pride in their hands-on and solicitous customer service. After a shopping excursion, Blythe often left the store fully satisfied and upbeat.

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I want to tell you my story about something wonderful that once happened to me before I came to live in this place; call it what it is, an old folks home. I will do my best to stay on course but if I skip around some just be patient with me. After the phone call I had to sit down. My legs trembled. I felt perspiration on my upper lip. My armpits became wet and I felt a drop slip down my side. Oh my, I thought, Kenneth, after all these years that I should react as I did. I felt myself flush as memories returned.

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Wear trousers, get fucked. A simple equation, but it worked for Emily. Jeans were a possible, as long as they were tight-fitting. Her baggy cords were a probably not, unless he hadn't seen her for a while. But the black trousers were a near-certainty. There was nothing amazingly 'fuck me' about them, they were just plain black, close-fitting polyester trousers, but Emily knew how much they turned Jamie on. If she wore them, and he saw her wearing them, he simply couldn't keep his hands off her.

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18 year old Lance Henry stood in the laundry room of his girlfriend Callie's house. She had to run out to pick up her brother from a basketball game and had left him to wait for her. She was going to be gone for about an hour and her mother Evelyn wouldn't be home from work for at least that long.

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