Your erotic stories

"Oh yes, unh, yes, we can do that, uhh, sure, tomorrow, ahh, three thirty, uhh, okay, see you then, uhhh...Mariss' you lil' devil!" Andrea Vaughn snapped the phone shut and slid forward in her high backed leather chair. It had become increasingly difficult to discuss terms with a potential advertiser while her lover/partner was between her legs licking her pussy.

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1. A shudder runs through my body and quickly evolves into an uncontrollable shake. I couldn't turn back now even if I wanted to. Perhaps just five minutes earlier, but not anymore. Her hand is gliding over me and setting every bit of skin it touches on fire. My lust is violently taking control, and she knows it. We both know it. It is not the first time.

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I breathed on my new chromed nametag and polished it on my sleeve. I had been promoted: Sergeant Lincoln Lovel. I attached it to my blue uniform shirt, checked myself out one more time in the mirror, and walked outside to the police car in my driveway. Life is good. My utility belt gleamed, newly polished; my buttons all glittered; even my service pistol shone like it was gold-plated. And I had sergeant's stripes on my sleeves!

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She is dancing with her friends in a club. The crowd is hyped up on the upbeat dance music, their bodies moving silhouettes, writhing rhythmically, bumping, grinding. It's pitch dark except for the intermittent movement of a great many colored strobe lights, the sparkle off the shiny disco ball dispersed across various surfaces in the room. She came here with a group of friends, guys and girls alike, celebrating the start of the weekend after a grueling workweek.

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My name is Jeff and when I was 18, after graduating high school and before starting college, I went to Italy by myself to do some solo traveling for a few weeks before meeting up with friends later in the trip. I had learned a bunch of Italian in high school, and was looking forward to immersing myself in the language to really learn it.

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Sometimes, I think he really, truly does understand how to handle me- how to keep our relationship in line the best he can. I've tried to explain the overwhelming need to submit, to be controlled, to be HIS- and he tells me he knows, has always known, what makes me tick. This makes me question why he doesn't employ it more often, take the authority that I am happy to hand him, but too often, we are at odds instead. Nearly every time I have finally given up on his dominant side, he turns around and shocks hell out of me again...

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Graphic lesbian sex, questionable consent, and...well...blood-drinking. Also more than likely entirely derivative, albeit subconsciously. If any of that disturbs you, please skip this one. Comments welcome!

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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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"What's this?" I say pulling my long silky black hair up and in a loose bun. "I hope you like shrimp scampi, Ms. Lily," Josh offers. He turns from the stove wearing only an apron and drops to his knees and crawls behind me. It's six-thirty p.m. and my houseslut pushes his tongue the length of the crack of my perfectly-tight bottom all the way to small of my back.

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It was a hot night in Rochester but I shivered all the same. There were no cars in the driveway on a sprawling cream colored new-money manse the bordered the Clearey Woods, so I pulled up the parking brake and on battered gray Camry. The thick pine and birch that skirted the side and back of the property kept drawing my eye. If I wasn't very careful, I could die tonight. But if I'd refused, I'd be dead for certain.

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