Your erotic stories

Cammie Sandrith lie awake in the dark of the night listening. She heard the gurgling at last, long after she had started listening for it. It was late, after two in the morning, and she had woken almost instantly when someone closed the door to the bathroom just down the hall. From the sound of the footfalls on the linoleum, it was her son, Roger, back for the weekend from university. It took forever for him to begin. Then the gurgling had commenced.

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"Student ID?" I fumbled around my jeans for my student ID. The Indian security guard at the gate nodded as I found it and flashed it at him. "Long night at the library?" he asked casually, leaning backwards in his chair as his eyes flicked down and up again.

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Nothing, and I mean nothing, in sex gets me off more than the scent and taste of my woman's ass. I don't mean when it's squeaky clean and perfumed. I mean when it smells and tastes like what an ass is and what it does. Nothing beats the erotic blast of kissing her soft, satiny fanny and parting the cheeks to expose her sexy anus.

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I'm Sam. Or at least I was. I woke up to the sound of an alarm. I'm not sure why I didn't notice at first that something was up, but the only light was a crack in the window curtains and that was on the usual side of my bed. The alarm was a different tone, but my mind was groggy from having just woken up so it didn't register. I sat up, and flicked on the light switch for the lamp to my left. I had to stretch slightly further than usual.

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Goodness knows why I have this fetish, but I do have it, so I have to live with it. What is it? Well it's the desire to eat shit. It must be from a dominant female mistress and maybe it's more to do with being totally submissive than it is to do with the actual eating. I think this desire has been with me for a very long time and now I would like to tell you, how I turned desire into reality. I thought it wasn't possible to realise my desire until whilst browsing through a contact magazine I saw a mistress advertising Hard Sports.

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I woke up when some fluid hit my face, then I smelt it. It was piss. Where the hell was I? Then two parts of darkness parted and I saw a face looking at me. "Bonjour bonjour. En plein de vos la bouche je vous en prie." So I opened my mouth and the piss squirted in. I just had to gulp it down. It tasted salty, I had forgotten the taste.

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If you're driving along the motorway and feel like a break, I would strongly recommend Mudchute Services. They're fairly easy to find, right next to Brown Wood, and you'll find the toilet facilities make a very worthy detour.

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I'm a modern dance instructor, and a few weeks ago a couple showed up at my modern dance class. They were the absolute picture of ski slopes fitness, the sorts who set the pace at resorts such as Aspen and Vail. I soon learned that they were both in fact competitive skiers and were taking my advanced dance class as part of their regimen to get in shape for the rigors of the upcoming winter ski season.

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When she contacted me via here, she explained that she'd read my story and it had turned her on. My shameful story. The one about my desire to act as human toilet paper. In the exchange of emails that followed, Sarah told me she thought she wasn't anything special, just an ordinary lady of a certain age, a divorcee who worked in the City and right this minute was single and fancy free.

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