Dedicated to Red.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years or older.
Franklin Swanson always knew he was different. He was a good looking man, tall with dark hair, an athletic build but not an athlete.
"Can I buy you a drink?"
Angela wasn't sure what the woman had just said to her. She hadn't felt like herself all evening. These monthly drinks with the girls had become the only time she got out of the house. She'd been stuck in her own head all night though. She thought she was getting away with it until Sharon insisted she join her for a cigarette. Angela knew she was on the patches, she wouldn't stop talking about the patches.
Hello!! So this is a second attempt at me being an erotica writer. It's a short story again but I'm working on something a little longer than this.
Please I would definitely use the criticisms and feedback from y'all. T
Thank you!!
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I couldn't stand anymore. As soon as it was decent but before she'd even stopped twitching I untied her wrists from the door. I picked her up in my arms and carried her over to the dresser.
Hazy patches of light begin to coalesce as I gradually come back to my senses. The room taking its own sweet time swimming into view.
My confusion is not helped by the way my body is positioned, or by the way it feels.
Sensations of silken confinement weave and caress my legs from thigh to foot, wrapped all around as I shift slightly. More confinement around my abdomen and chest, tighter and constrictive, the feeling is both restraining and soft.
It was rather late when I finally got to my hotel. I was completely drained from the evening's activities, and looked forward to a little sleep. I told Michelle and Brigette that we had to get together again soon; they agreed and we made plans for the next night.
So many thoughts clouded my mind as I tossed and turned... getting to sleep was going to be hard. There was the omnipresent vision of Michelle, along with something else.
Chapitre 1
I am a control freak. I know this even though my Master says he sees no dominant qualities in me. He sees the person I want to be with him, the person that seeks solace in and from the psychological turmoil her parents wreaked on her over the years. Do what they say, obey, never make a mistake, always make the right choices -their choices- but come out of it a fully-fledged adult.
Tina is kneeling, on the floor, blindfolded. She has two fingers buried in her ass and two fingers working her clit, slowly, and her mouth is wide open. That is all her world is, the pressure on her knees, the fingers in her ass, the pleasure her pussy is receiving, and the touch of a hot cock on her face. The warm head touches her cheek, drags across her lower lip, under her chin.
I can see your window from here.
Not that there is much to see, the left window is always open, the right closed, the curtains forever drawn.
I can even smell you from here, the house does not smell too pleasant, but I never could stand the smell of smoke! It isn't the houses smell that interests me, it's your smell, the smell of sexual tension radiates from your inner soul.
Stage One: The Doctor's Orders
She knew she had done wrong, but most importantly she knew she'd be in trouble. Those boots had clearly been left out for cleaning, but she was so enthralled with her new present, a pair of beautifully high ballet boots, she just had to 'wear them in'. And so she sat upon the corner of the bed, decadent in her sleek shiny ballet boots, her legs crossed, encased in latex stockings and an impossibly tight hobble skirt, clinging to her ample bosom a zip halter neck top was fastened, and long latex gloves adorned her arms emphasising her sleek fingers, adding to this she wore a black latex gasmask which disguised her features.
And in the time it takes for her arms to slip from round his neck, her lips to pull gently from his, a wave of his lust has focused and thickened the moment. His hand twines in her hair, dragging her head backwards, exposing her throat.
He bites. "Get up those stairs, now," is growled into her. She stumbles away from him, takes the three small strides required to set foot on the first tread.
I curl my toes up, pulling them from the cold floor beneath me, my knees ache pressed against the hardness of the wood. Tiny goosebumps raise over my arms. I want badly to whisk the hair from my face as I stare down at the floor, but don't want to risk you seeing me fidget. I'm still deciding what to do when I hear the door creak open. I hear a faint rustling noise and wonder if you are undressing.
Steffany and Josh were married for 10 years now. Most of the time they both were happy with their lives, yet in the last two years Steffany felt less and less compelled by their relationship. The sex became boring, always the same, nothing new, and they did it decreasingly often. Not that it had been great in the first place. Josh's performance in bed did leave much to be wished for.
We'd been sat in the attorney's office for the past few minutes. The attorney in question, Mr Andrews, was at his desk, shuffling through some papers. Over the phone, he'd made clear that our attendance was not necessary and he could forward the paperwork to us, however, my mother had insisted. "I want to see the look on her face when she gets nothing," she'd said with glee, while arguing over the phone.