Your erotic stories

Heather walked into the quiet little coffee shop that day to meet her best friend Shannon, noticing immediately that she had claimed a booth in the back. "Heather! I'm so glad you could come and meet me on such short notice! Please come and sit down." "No offense, Shannon, but this had better be as important as you said it was. I had to reschedule some very important meetings to come here today and my boss is oh, so pissed."

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I was very curious about the lifestyle of the submissive female and how it would feel to surrender complete and total control of myself to a very dominant male. After several days of chatting with various men online, I finally found the male I was after. He was very cocky and sure of himself. I was made to call him Master from the moment we met and was instructed to write to him using only the color pink in my messages.

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Alex couldn't stop thinking about Serena. The paperwork below her was an unintelligible mess; her computer screen was a blur. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Serena's bound body, writhing on the bed as she exploded with orgasms. Every beautiful facet of that experience was tantalizing her in that moment. All desire beforehand, tempered in comparatively tame fucking, built up to an excruciating release.

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It was late summer and the beginning of mine and Christina's senior year. We had both just turned eighteen and we were eager to have fun. She was five seven, Italian, had smallish breasts with dark red nipples. With nipples that were continuously erect and an ass that was more than generous, Christina had men following her around like a bunch of hound dogs chasing a raccoon...

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Your heart is thumping, the adrenalin and anticipation beginning to be usurped by arousal. This whole scenario has an element of the surreal, and yet you stay fixed to this spot. He stirs behind you, moving close enough for his cologne to caress your senses, even if his hands are yet to.

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He had never told me his name. That realization hit me suddenly, forcefully, as I hesitated in the doorway of the large, immaculate, well-appointed suite. The very upscale hotel clearly lived up to its advertising -- which used words like "discerning tastes," "classically comfortable," and even "the ideal destination for enjoyment of discrete leisure activities."

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Do I have issues with my wife? No. Do I love my wife? Of course I do. We have been married for awhile and together way longer than that. So as always happens we had become accustomed to a certain way of living. Not that it was bad, but it was predictable. Work all week, me wanting sex during the week and the wife just too tired. Scheduled love time on the weekend.

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'Josie ... Come in, come in ... I'm so glad you could help me out like this.' Mistress Megan held open the door to her apartment, and as I walked in, I felt the normal jumble of emotions rise up and threaten to overwhelm me. I had received a text message from her at 4.30, while I was sitting rather bored in a meeting at the bank where I work. I was helping on a presentation to a group of fund managers who all thought they were rather clever and wonderful, but unfortunately, I didn't.

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Becky was sitting on the edge of the dresser with her arms folded in front and a scowl on her face. "I don't understand why you won't go. You love Buckingham's Ale House. She said in a pleading tone. "I'm just not up for it, that's all, I'm...ah, little under the weather." I said very weakly. Buckingham's represented an old way of life that no longer existed for me.

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She flipped her phone open, dialed his number, and then promptly ended the call. "Dammit! No, no, no, no, you're going to do this. You want to do this. Besides, you know him, you can trust him....just do it." Two seconds later she's dialed the number again and smacked the phone shut swiftly. The room felt as if it was going to engulf her with the magnitude of heat that flushed her cheeks.

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