Your erotic stories

I was recently on a golf trip with 3 friends, in addition to some great golf during the day, we always enjoyed a few nights out, and possibly some harmless dancing and flirting with some girls if we were lucky. All 4 of us were married, had been out of the game for a while, not what you would exactly call ladies men.

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By the time our second meeting ended, I had decided two things. First, my Master was very, very good at what he did to me. And second, there was no way I could wait until Christmas for our next visit. Almost a month had passed since our second "date." I had been teased, pleased, fucked, and damn well tortured during our short time together.

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1. When she was nineteen, two bandits dressed-up as Indians killed Molly Sheridan's father and her three younger brothers, and burned their ranch. They carried her off, but hadn't tied her hands properly, perhaps because they'd got so drunk, perhaps only because they didn't imagine she could give them any trouble, bound or no. Thus as they were riding, she was able to get hold of one of their pistols, and shoot the men dead.

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Part 1 The metal bar banged and shook as the 45-pound plates slammed onto the floor. "AAARRRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!" I raised my eyebrow and watched Ethan wipe the sweat from his forehead. "Damn. You ARE pissed today." He sighed, adding more metal plates to the bar without a word. "Lemme guess. Lilly?"

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After accepting a promotion in a town I was unfamiliar with my boss permitted me a couple of weeks to establish myself there before having to report to work. During that time I contacted a realtor to help me locate a new place to live. It was late one August afternoon when I arrived at a prospective house for a viewing appointment. I had hardly parked when I became aware of someone standing at my door.

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Nick dropped his keys onto the table beside the front door, it had been a long day and he was really looking forward to a relaxing bath and his evening meal. He removed his coat and turned to hang it on the hook on the other side of the door, his wife's coat was already there since she always got home before he did.

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The doors swung open, and I stood before her, flanked by two of her zombie underlings. Even though I took this to be her personal bedroom, the stench of death and decay was unmistakable and unavoidable. The thought of who I might see on the other side of that door bothered me more than the two shambling corpses who had escorted me here.

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At 30, the peak of my female hormones screaming at me to do something with them other than finger my softest parts, I found myself still alone. I was afraid I wasn't beautiful enough, yet every time I looked in the mirror (other than on fat days) I thought I looked pretty good. Sexy, even. Long dark hair, pretty eyes, and a nice (though not perfect) line of curves that complimented the mild tan of my skin.

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