Your erotic stories

The car arrives promptly at 09.30 hours, as stated on the card she had opened when she rose that morning. Sara has her small handbag with her, a light coat, and nothing else. Dressed smartly in a blouse and knee length skirt she closes and locks the front door, making her way down the path on sensible 2 inch heels, sheer stockings swishing together as she approaches the sleek black Mercedes that awaits her. A liveried chauffeur steps from the car and opens the rear door as she approaches.

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Frankie, the girl who waxed Mistress Vixen so beautifully had no idea of Vixen's profession. She saw a striking, powerful woman who dressed simply and elegantly and assumed that she was some sort of corporate executive. Like a number of similar, if not quite so formidable looking women, who looked after their bodies, Vixen used a lot of the spa's services. Some of them also chose to have a Brazilian wax. There was no reason to think that this quiet, relaxed client was particularly out of the ordinary.

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He lay on the white sheeted bed, relaxed, in his robe, hands behind his head. She knelt at the foot of the bed, legs wide, back straight, hands resting on her thighs, eyes downcast, but stealing peeks at him from beneath her lashes. She was naked, wet, and ready, like she always was for him. And now she was waiting for his permission.

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Heather, my wife of several years, was waiting for me at the kitchen table when I got home from work. "I want you to sit down," she with a calm, but commanding tone to her voice. "What's up babe?" I asked trying to lighten what felt like her dark mood. "Just sit down." Heather is a petite bundle of energy, quick with a smile and a joke. Her eyes dance with light and spirit. As pretty and kind hearted as she is, there's also no messing with her.

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