Your erotic stories

I feel ridiculous; underdressed and overly aware of how much glitter is on my face. "Come out," Maddy had said. "It'll be fun," Tiff had said. "It'll be good for you," Amber had added. "You have to get out of that dark dungeon of despair you've condemned yourself too," I had said to myself.

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Mike read the terse text message from his wife Sunny. She was working late, yet again, and had texted not to ask how his day went, but to demand he take care of dinner plans. Again. A second text amended the list: feed the dog, take all the trash out and start washing her work clothes. Sunny had been a real bitch lately, and he was getting tired of dealing with it. He knew part of it was hormonal.

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i sat nervously sipping coffee and trying to eat a muffin, in the small outdated hotel lobby. business men came and went, with barely a glance at me, but the desk clerk seemed much too interested in my top. my breasts swayed back and forth in my low-neck shirt, unbound as my Master had required. and i felt as self-conscious about that as the thought of whatever else would be required of me this morning.

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Please read Chapters 1-9 before reading this story for context (at the very least Chapter 9). You can easily get there by clicking on my author name, 'satyr_132003, in blue just above here on the left. Click on 'stories' and select any of the first nine chapters to get you better acquainted with the story. Thanks for all the wonderful responses and enjoy!

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Auntie Barbara had been married briefly many years ago, when I was a child but her husband had left suddenly with the parting shot to my mother and other members of the family, "She's impossible. No man could give her what she wants. Believe me; she'll come to a bad end. One day, some man will do what she wants and it'll kill her."

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I'm really quite a shy man, not one for chatting up the girls in the office. The flirting is sort of fun, but I never know what to do after the first few times. And then I see the light die in their eyes, and the conversation goes safe and boring. I do talk to them, but I hear about their boyfriends, families, domestic problems and holidays abroad. Never anything personal, never any hint about what they think about me.

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Thursday Night. I head home from work after another long day at the office. Fortunately, the trains are on time; I'm tired and hungry. I could use a hot meal and a shower, but, it's Thursday. I walk up to my apartment door and unlock it. I know what's waiting for me. It's Thursday night. It's her night. I enter my apartment and she's there waiting for me. She's as beautiful as ever and as naked as the day God graced us with her presence on Earth.

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It was the thing she had for swoopy haired boys, Gwen decided, that made it so difficult for her to dislike Julian Swanson. And she really wanted to dislike him. Why? The reasons were many. His laziness, his money and the spoiled churlish attitude he wore with pride—fostered by his fawning mother— were at the top of the list.

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Alice van der Poole loved her boyfriend. Really, she did. Ben was perfectly handsome, perfectly sweet, perfectly... bland. Every kiss was preceded with a gentle, "May I kiss you?" and followed by a whispered, "You're so beautiful." At night, Ben would tell her how precious she was, how delicate and sweet and lovely. His fragile, perfect little rose. Alice wanted to scream.

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Mark lazily stabbed his fork at the frozen meal, puncturing the plastic before shoving it in the microwave. He set the timer before taking a long sip of his beer, his third of the evening. He tossed the package toward the garbage, already overflowing with similar boxes and the matching dirty trays. Leaning against the kitchen counter, he scratched at the rough beard on his jaw.

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