Your erotic stories

I fought back tears when I saw the spots of blood that heralded the onset of my period. Despite the increased use of fertility drugs, I was not going to be a mother this month. I crawled back into bed with my husband Todd, waking him to cuddle with him. Sunlight shone through the blinds.

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He watched my chest heaving with each breath, breasts bobbing up and down in my tight black corset. I was dressed entirely in tight black leather, and the heady aroma of our juices, sweat and leather filled the air. I licked my lips as I stood before his bound and captive body, laughing devilishly to myself as I replayed tonight's events in my mind.

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PART I. I was overwhelmed while doing my makeup. I had to concentrate on making sure my fingers didn't twitch, sending the blush in all directions. I was so turned on it wasn't even funny. When I finished, and then gave my hair a last look, I left the bathroom, and my very high heels clicked across my apartment floor and back into my bedroom.

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I was a bit confused when I arrived home from work to find the living room furniture shoved off to one side barring a single chair, and the futon mat spread in the room. A moment's thought decided it must be movie night; we often laid the mat out to allow us to snuggle together while we indulged in a flick or two. The idea sounded divine as my day at work had been somewhat tedious and had felt overly long.

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I had three choices. I could go home and drown my sorrows in a carton of Ben and Jerry's. I could order something to eat. Or I could get my wine glass refilled - for starters. I motioned to the bartender, and decided not to decide right this minute. I was looking good. I should have been, after the effort I'd made getting ready for this date. The dress was new, and pretty darned hot, frankly. The shoes were new. I had a pleasant tingle of anticipation.

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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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As a writer here, I am quite different. I write for women! I write in the 1st and 2nd person present text. I write for those women that are sexually bored, sadly underappreciated in their roles as girlfriend, wife and mother, or frightfully inhibited, but hiding a secret insatiable fantasy side...I write for those women that yearn to be in the grasp of strong, successful, attractive dominant men...men that are mysterious, successful, powerful, erotic.

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You and I are both in our senior year at a small university in New York. We had been going out for a year and a half and had been renting an apartment together off campus for the past few months. About a year ago we began experimenting more when it came to sex. We had stumbled across the idea of BDSM and both found that we liked it. You are naturally commanding and protective of me. I am naturally eager to please, and have always had a slight masochistic streak. We treated it as a game, playing often, but never for extended periods of time.

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When I was 18 years old, in my senior year at a Catholic school for girls, my dad caught me on the street with my parochial school uniform's skirt pulled up a few extra inches so that it uncovered my legs to get the attention of boys. A lot of girls at my school did that after school. He is very strict. He is Sicilian.

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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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