Your erotic stories

Rules were very important to her. Rules about eating. Rules about time management. Rules about messing around. She'd lived her whole life by her rules, and it kept her happy. It'd been awhile since she'd had anyone else play by her rules though; she was getting frisky. That's why she'd texted him, "Are you in town this weekend?" He knew her rules. He liked her rules, and right now he was the only man she knew who could satiate her desires.

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It was one of those situations I had heard about but never believed. Three friends were over at my house playing poker, and I was down about $300. It was a string of bad luck, really. My hands had been good all night, but someone else always had something a little better. Now, I am sitting here with a ace-high flush, the other three guys have gone in, but I do not have enough money to match them.

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Feeling that deep thrill, that slow burn that seems to consume, that long deep obsession with being worshiped. I have him on his knees now, he is complacent, docile....he is submissive. It was not always this way. We began with a completely old fashioned relationship, with no power exchange. We were blind to the Ecstasy of submission, innocent of the line between pleasure and pain.

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You greet me with a nod and a glance. I know I have to obey your instructions and walk into your room silently. I stand there as you walked around me, touching my clothes, a single finger tracing my form. Standing face to face, you grab the collar of my shirt and, expressionless, you rip it open and shred it from my body.

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Mark decided that it was better late than never. He got out of bed and made his way to the kitchen. Kristin was already up and had the coffee on. The warm, delicious aroma scented the entire room. He sat down at the table and reached for the paper. He opened it but was not interested in reading it. His mission this week was to watch Kristin, look for signs.

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Her face is perfect, angelic. Her eyes are a soft blue, her hair pale blond. Her features are delicate and childlike, her lips plump and tinted a soft rose. Her body is slender and sylphlike, sheathed in a high-waisted slip of a dress, gauzy and coy. He wants her, wants to possess the innocence she embodies, wants to drive himself into it, own it and shut it away so he'll be the only one to ever taste it.

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She sat with a glass of red wine listening to slow instrumental songs. She was remembering the past with her ex-girlfriend, Pria, the girl she had arranged to see today. They had quite a fiery relationship, and even though they seemed to hate each other now, they still had a passion between them. Danielle dropped her head into her hands as she sighed deeply, trying to think of how she would handle this conversation.

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Madison felt a little self-conscience. Somehow her boyfriend, Billy, had talked her into wearing her collegiate cheerleader uniform to the frat party. She had reluctantly agreed because she knew some of the other girls on the team would probably be wearing theirs. Billy had on his football jersey, all the boys wore their number when they were together and out among fellow students, so it helped Madison not feel so alone and awkward.

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Tonight is the first time in three months that I have attended the monthly Saturday night mixer that has been a tradition in Portland for almost ten years. The initial group of about fifty people from fraternity affiliations, support of the football team and college groups of all kinds formed right after graduation from the University of Oregon. Over time we've added OSU and PSU members to heckle. We've also have dates and spouses that still come after relationships broke up.

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As she stood viewing herself in her black outfit consisting of a mesh/solid skintight sleeveless shirt and tight soft leather flare pants. Spike heal boot on to add just that few inches of height. Rich strawberry-blond hair gelled back into a ponytail that reached the middle of her back. She'd done her make-up skillfully, black of course to match her outfit even her nails.

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