obedience Erotic Stories

A centuries-old, gloomy forest stood like a wall on either side of the rutted road, sunken by recent rains. Spruce trees, like black guards, locked their shaggy paws overhead, not letting through even a ray of the midday sun. Only occasionally, somewhere high above, a solitary bird would cry out anxiously, and in the distance, an invisible quagmire would hoot heavily and piercingly. It was a godforsaken, remote place, the kind of place people used to say: "Here the devil would break his leg, and a man would lose his head." A lone carriage trundled leisurely along the bumpy road that wound through these gloomy thickets. A portly dapple-colored gelding, his ears twitching, lazily flicked his tail at horseflies. The coachman, a sleepy man, languid from the heat and the forest air, nodded off every now and then. Inside the covered carriage, upholstered in leather darkened by time, sat a young woman on embroidered cushions. Her name was Marfa Andreyevna Volkonskaya, wife of the S... continue reading

Igor had only worked in the sales department for six months and quietly hated his boss, Alla Borisovna. She was forty-eight years old, tall, with a heavy gaze and a habit of muttering her words through clenched teeth. She dressed strictly—knee-length skirts, buttoned-up blouses—but even through this shell, her powerful figure was visible: a wide backside, impressive breasts. In the smoking room, the guys joked that having sex with such a woman was like hugging an iceberg, but Igor sometimes dreamed of her in the most obscene positions. And then there was this remote worker. Alla Borisovna complained that her work laptop was slow and the system administrator couldn't be reached. Igor volunteered to help—the sales quota was hanging by a thread anyway, and a little sweetness wouldn't hurt. On Saturday morning, he was already standing at her door with a flash drive and a bunch of software. The apartment turned out to be unexpectedly cozy. The boss's husband, some important c... continue reading

Hi everyone. My name is Kristina. I'm 21 years old. I'm a final-year student majoring in design. I'm of average height, with natural, shoulder-length blonde hair, gray eyes, and an athletic build—I've been involved in track and field for three years. I'm single and have been dating my boyfriend for a year. Last weekend, I drove from Vladimir to a small village to visit my grandmother—to drop off some medicine and groceries, and to check in. My car, a brand-new Kia Ceed, was bought three months ago on credit. I turned on the GPS, but, as often happens in the wilderness, it took me down a shortcut through the forest. The asphalt ended abruptly, giving way to a broken dirt road, and after the recent rains, the road turned into a mess of mud and clay. I still drove on. I'm not a timid girl, and it was a shame to abandon the car. I drove about three kilometers. Then the front wheel sank into a deep rut, the bottom sank to the ground, and the car began to hum helpl... continue reading

Marina froze, clutching a duster in her hand. Her husband's voice was heard from behind the office door. "Thanks for staying late, Stas. Let's go over the estimate again, and then I'll let you go. Lenka's probably waiting at home, and she's probably pissed off." "It's okay, Sergeich," Stas replied. "Lena can wait. It's important." Marina was kneeling before the director's desk, completely naked except for rubber gloves and a headscarf. This was exactly how she was supposed to look on Fridays, when she came to "clean" her husband's office after hours. Only her husband didn't know this. He thought the cleaning lady came on Saturday mornings, and that it was some Aunt Zina from the cleaning company. In reality, for six months now, Marina had been coming here every Friday, undressing in the utility room, and getting down to her duties. But instead of a mop and bucket, she was given a different task. Sometimes it was... continue reading

All grown women have something to remember on a quiet evening... Hello. My name is Tamara. I decided to write something down while my memory is fresh. I'm 42 years old. My figure, as they used to say, is "blood and milk"—small but shapely, with heavy D-cup breasts and curvy hips that no skirt can hide. My hair is light brown, my own, and falls below my shoulders. I work as an administrator at a private dental clinic, and I'm used to being the face of the clinic—a smile, a manicure, a smart suit. I've lived alone: my husband died five years ago, and my son is in the army. Out of boredom, I sometimes allow myself small pleasures—wine on Fridays, dancing at an adult bar where you don't have to think about age. This story happened in November. I was returning from a company party. I'd stayed up late and had too much to drink. My boss offered to get me a cab, but I refused—I didn't want him to know my address. He'd been looking at my lap with unkind... continue reading

Thursday. I stopped by to see my old friend, German Borisovich—we went to medical school together, but he'd later gone into private practice. He'd opened a small office on the outskirts of town, where he saw patients with the most delicate problems. German was a forty-five-year-old man, lean, with long, musical fingers and a perpetually squinting gaze that somehow made his patients uneasy. His white coat fit him perfectly, revealing a starched shirt underneath. I'd just dropped in for a chat, a cup of coffee from his old Turkish coffee pot—the office hours were already over, and he'd dismissed the nurse. We were chatting about trivial matters when the doorbell rang insistently. Herman winced and glanced at his watch. “Who’s going on there?” he muttered and went to open the door. A girl of about twenty-two stood in the hallway, wrapped in a long cloak despite the warm weather. Slender legs in black stockings and expensive shoes peeked out from beneath the cloak. Her f... continue reading

Third week with a new trainer. I signed up for him myself, having seen him on Instagram: tall, broad-shouldered, with a look in his eyes as if he already knew all the most embarrassing things about me. Vadim Romanovich. A former champion in some martial art, now the most expensive personal trainer at the Platinum club. They said he's tough. They said he'd show results within a month. They didn't say anything else. The first training session is hell. The second is a humiliating hell. He doesn't ask, he commands: "Five more," "Faster," "Are you weak?" And the worst part is, I do it. I can't stop. He looks at me, corrects my technique, places a heavy palm on my lower back, and a treacherous warmth spreads in my lower abdomen. I started wearing the most protective clothing so as not to give myself away by shaking. This morning I broke my diet again. Just one croissant and a latte with syrup, but he always knows it with some kind of animal inst... continue reading

He had an important dinner with his partners, and he repeated a hundred times: "Be home by seven, don't let me down." And as luck would have it, I was stuck in a meeting, then traffic jams, my phone died... I burst into the apartment just after eight, sweaty, in a business suit, in heels, and from the moment I stepped inside I knew there was going to be a storm. He was sitting in the living room, in the semi-darkness. He wasn't shouting. He was just looking. His gaze made my insides clench. I started babbling about a meeting, about traffic jams, but he interrupted me very quietly: "You've embarrassed me. I've called ten times." "I tried..." "Shut up. Go to the bedroom. Stand facing the wall and wait." Goosebumps ran all over my body. I took off my shoes and walked wobbly to the bedroom. I stood up as he told me. My heart was pounding somewhere in my throat. A couple of minutes later he came in, and I heard him lock the door. I could te... continue reading

Kira pushed a cart with a bucket and mop down the empty hallway of the seventh floor. The office building hummed with ventilation, and this monotonous sound was the night cleaner's only companion. She put in her headphones, turned on some music, and began mopping the floors—the rhythmic back-and-forth movements of the sponge, creating puddles of soapy water on the gray linoleum. Kira didn't notice the lights go out on the entire floor. The girl straightened up and pulled out her earphone. The silence was absolute, save for the sound of dripping water from a poorly closed faucet. Kira fumbled for a flashlight on the cart and switched it on. The beam revealed office chairs, monitors, and a ficus tree in the corner—a typical, deserted open-plan office. She took a step toward the fire door leading to the stairwell. The door was ajar, though Kira clearly remembered closing it an hour ago. A damp smell wafted through the doorway. The flashlight beam darted inward and rested on a b... continue reading

Night fell silently upon the house, shrouding the study in deep shadow. The candles had burned halfway, and in their flickering light, the Master's figure seemed carved from warm stone—he sat in the same chair, but now he held not a document but a thin glass goblet of dark wine. I entered precisely when he ordered me to appear—on the dot, having memorized my lesson. “Come here,” he said without turning around. I approached, knelt at his feet, and stood motionless, my hands clasped on my hips. I wore only the same cotton dress—at his command. The host placed his glass on the table and finally looked at me. His gaze slid over my face, neck, and chest, barely covered by the fabric. "Today you proved that you can wait," he began, his low voice sending shivers down my spine. "But true art isn't about freezing for an hour. It's about maintaining control when your body is screaming at you to stop. Are you ready for the test?" “Yes, Master,” I whispered, feeling... continue reading

I stood in the corner of his office, barefoot, wearing only a simple cotton shirtdress that barely reached mid-thigh. My hands were clasped behind my back, my chin raised—exactly as the Master demanded when we were in his workspace. He called it "the attention pose." And I hated waiting more than anything in the world. "You distracted me today," he said, not looking up from his papers. His pen scratched against the heavy paper, the only sound in the quiet office. "You knocked on the door three times, even though you knew I was busy. You put your impatience above my orders." I swallowed. The dark wood walls of the office seemed to weigh me down, and the smell of old books and candle wax only reinforced the feeling that I had done something unforgivable. “Look at me,” he ordered coldly. I turned my head and met his gaze. He sat behind a massive oak desk, wearing a pristine white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows—his workaday appearance always made... continue reading

Olga worked as a senior manager in a large IT office in a business center on the outskirts of the city. She was twenty-five, and for the past six months, her back had been killing her: endless hours at the computer, poor posture, and stress. A friend recommended a private chiropractor's office on the ground floor of the same center. "There's a great chiropractor there; after seeing him, I felt like I was born again." Olga made an appointment. The first time, she entered a small but very clean office with soft lighting and the scent of essential oils. Instead of the woman she expected, she was greeted by a man of about thirty-seven—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a white short-sleeved T-shirt and scrub pants. He had a short haircut, light stubble, and a confident gaze. He introduced himself as Alexander and calmly explained that he owned the office alone, and that his partner was on maternity leave. Olga felt a little tense, but decided to let it slide. He performed a... continue reading

That evening, I sat in my apartment, sipping whiskey and replaying my latest recordings in my head. The erotic voice stories I'd posted had always been a magnet—women would write that they'd get wet just from my tone. But today, I wanted something real, something alive. Not just words in a chat, but complete control over a body that trembled from my voice in real time. And then a message came. A girl named Alina, 32, a manager at a large company. She had just finished listening to my latest audio story in a hotel room somewhere in St. Petersburg. A three-week business trip, she said. The room was on the 18th floor, with huge windows overlooking the Neva and the lights of the bridges. “I was listening to you and… I can’t cum. I’ve never been able to really. My body is burning, but I can’t release. Help?” I smiled at the screen. Her photo—a stern blonde in a white blouse, but her eyes were hungry. I knew right away: she was already mine. "Turn on voicemail," I wrote fi... continue reading

I work as an IT specialist at a mid-sized company, handling corporate email, chats, and everything security-related. It's a mixed team, but our sales department is full of women, and one of them—Lena from marketing—has always been a bit of a stretch for me. She's 33, tall, slender, and has a perfect figure: D-cup breasts, a narrow waist, and a butt so perfect that a pencil skirt fits her like a glove. She always wears smart blouses, heels, and perfect makeup. She's married with two kids, and her husband is some manager at another company. She never even looked at me, just said "hello" in the hallway. That day was a typical Thursday, the end of the quarter. She was supposed to send me an advertising report on our corporate Teams. I was checking my email and saw it was from Lena. I opened it—and it wasn't Excel. There were her intimate photos. A series. First, she's in black lace lingerie on the bed, then braless, her breasts exposed, her nipples hard. Then... continue reading

I work as an IT specialist at a mid-sized company, handling corporate email, chats, and everything security-related. It's a mixed team, but our sales department is full of women, and one of them—Lena from marketing—has always been a bit of a stretch for me. She's 33, tall, slender, and has a perfect figure: D-cup breasts, a narrow waist, and a butt so perfect that a pencil skirt fits her like a glove. She always wears smart blouses, heels, and perfect makeup. She's married with two kids, and her husband is some manager at another company. She never even looked at me, just said "hello" in the hallway. That day was a typical Thursday, the end of the quarter. She was supposed to send me an advertising report on our corporate Teams. I was checking my email and saw it was from Lena. I opened it—and it wasn't Excel. There were her intimate photos. A series. First, she's in black lace lingerie on the bed, then braless, her breasts exposed, her nipples hard. Then... continue reading

Night had enveloped the city. The moon shimmered in the sky, surrounded by stars like a circle. I stepped outside into a pleasant, warm day. A gentle breeze blew, fluttering the leaves, and I walked forward, determined to take a stroll. I was dressed charmingly. No underwear, just black lace fishnet stockings and red open-toed shoes... On top, I wore a snow-white, translucent blouse and a short black skirt that barely covered my butt. I must say, I looked amazing. I'm 5'4" tall and weigh 167g. My breasts are a D cup, and my large nipples are visible through my blouse... It was nice to stroll through the park, feeling the breeze between my legs. How he caressed me, oh, that libertine!)) I was humming one of my tunes cheerfully as I walked along the park path. It was quite dark, and only the moon lit my way. As I turned the corner, I felt someone's presence. It was a little frightening and at the same time incredibly arousing... I felt my nipples tense in anticipation.... continue reading

Masha lay on the bed in her Moscow apartment. She had just filmed another webcam video and was now reading her subscribers' comments. She always got extremely excited during filming, knowing how much her viewers were turned on by her practically naked dancing, and the requests and comments about what to do with her and in what positions made her pussy very wet. Masha quickly removed her soaking wet panties and reached for her 18-centimeter dildo. Spreading her beautiful legs wide, she began to furiously fuck herself. Masha often fantasized about being fucked by different men in various positions, and how she delightedly sucked cocks. But since Masha was a rather modest woman in real life, often starred in commercials for various brands, and was careful about her image, all these desires remained in her imagination. Everything changed suddenly. The next day, Masha woke up early, her body still aching from the previous day's masturbation. She stretched, feeling a slight dampne... continue reading

I love it when men talk about their dreams—the Beautiful Princess or Queen they want to serve. For many, this remains just a fantasy, but for me, this dream has become reality. I am a Mistress, and one man gave me seven years of his life—seven years of devotion, pain, trust, and submission that have become part of my soul, part of my world. Our acquaintance began timidly: he came to test himself, his limits, to understand how much he could trust a woman who takes complete control. In his gaze, I noticed a mixture of timidity and quiet delight, a desire to surrender, trembling and tension, but most importantly—a willingness to be mine. The first punishment was a test. I made him kneel before me and selected a whip, a belt, and a cane. "Lower your head," I ordered, and his voice trembled: "Yes, Mistress." Strike after strike fell on his skin, leaving stripes and marks. His breathing quickened, his body tensed, he fought back a scream but did not beg for mercy. "Say... continue reading

The car pulled up to a building somewhere in the neighborhood. I sat at a distance from him in the backseat. He seemed to pretend I wasn't there. I cautiously peered out through the raindrops to see what this place was like. It was already past midnight, but I felt calm. The master had explained back in the café that the girl had to ask him for a session herself, explained the rules, and the girl, without a second thought, did so. And now she was here. The screeching of brakes, the sound of drips on the roof of the car, and the sound of the door opening. The man walked around the back of the car, opened the door, took off his coat, and covered me with it to keep me dry. I got out of the car without meeting his gaze, and we hurried inside. It was a reception area of sorts, but it was so dim, so intimate. The girl behind the counter smiled at the man, and she clearly recognized him. I shrugged off his coat and hung it over my arm; it was barely wet. And I stepped aside. I looked... continue reading

One of the most enjoyable moments is always the brief moment before the first kiss. That moment when everything can go wrong. An inept guy, bad breath, rough lips. But if everything goes perfectly, the first kiss is unlikely to be forgotten. That time everything was exactly like that, but the first night was something out of the ordinary, namely turning into a slave, but it is better to start from the very beginning. My name is Vika. I am a simple girl from the suburbs and fortunately I managed to enter a capital university. My appearance is quite decent, not without flaws. But they can be attributed to the lack of physical exercise. There is nothing extremely unsuccessful. An ordinary, tall student 175 cm, with small breasts of the 2nd size, a slightly convex bottom and a slender, but not trained body. Not a blonde and not a brunette. This is something in between the two extremes. So now I am in my third year and recently I was lucky to meet a graduate of this university, whose nam... continue reading