Gromet's PlazaErotic Stories

Women's Workshop

by Wiccedwoman

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© Copyright 2006 - Wiccedwoman - Used by permission

Storycodes: F+; F/f; fantasy; cons; X

The alarm rang its warning slightly early.  Angie stirred.  She had the bed to herself.  Calmly, she rose and got ready for work, before wandering to the kitchen.  She put a pot of coffee on then noticed her husband sprawled on the couch, still sleeping.  He looked child-like, vulnerable.  He’d kicked off the doona that had covered him in the night and wearing only small black briefs, lay there in all his glory.  She liked his body.  He was tall and solidly built, heavier than her lover.  Faint, fair hair curled across his chest and down to his tummy, which was slowly moving in and out in time with his breathing.  He could stand to lose a kilo or two, but it didn’t bother her.  His short blonde hair  - flecked with grey - stood out at odd angles. She nudged him awake, “Here, have some coffee.” 

He regarded her slowly her through half-open eyes.

Looking at him intently, Angie whispered, “Danny, you’re taking the kids to the crèche this morning.  I’ve got heaps of appointments.  I’ll give you a call later.  We’ve got a lot to work out.”  Picking up her car keys, she didn’t give him a chance to reply.

At the newspaper where she worked, Angie, despite her recent torrid encounter, felt strangely calm. Then she noticed the back of Michael’s head through the glass door of his office.  He was on the phone and distractedly ruffling the dark brown hair that always fell untidily over his collar. Her stomach flipped.  Her coolness faltered.  ‘OK, OK’ she thought, ‘it was a one night stand, that’s all – forget it.’ She immersed herself in her work. She had a 10am appointment with the colourful professor - the woman who delighted in stirring the pot with her controversial views on women and sex. 


“Hi” said Angie, as she was steered into the academics presence.

“Hi.” The woman smiled in return, “Call me Evelyn.” 

Angie noticed her warm, open face.  She guessed she was in her mid-fifties, but Evelyn was still an attractive woman.  Very soon, she was embroiled in an animated discussion.  Angie was so fascinated she hardly noticed the time.

Eventually, the Professor looked at her watch, “I’ve got a lecture in five minutes. Look, I’m running a workshop this weekend, on women’s sexuality – why don’t you come?” 

Angie was just about to say she couldn’t make it, then changed her mind, “Yeah, I’ll be there,” she said, suddenly decisive. 

Evelyn scribbled down the details.

Back at the office, Angie ran into Michael, “Oh hi, thanks for the flowers, they’re beautiful.”  She felt her pulse quicken as he gave her an awkward smile.

“Beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady.  Can I see you this weekend?”  

Angie squirmed.  It crossed her mind that he’d enjoyed fucking her, and wanted to continue the affair – however, she wasn’t a convenience. “Well, no Michael.  I can’t see you, not this time.” 

“OK Angie.  Catch up with you next week?”  He hoped his voice sounded less uptight than he felt. 

“Yeah, I’ll catch up with you again, I promise.”

Michael relaxed a little.  “See you then – be good.” 

Angie smiled wickedly. “I thought you preferred me bad.”  His grin melted her.


It was Friday, wonderful Friday.  Angie wondered how she was going to tell Danny about her weekend appointment.  Right now, he was being very possessive and her intuition was right.  He exploded when she told him that evening, after the kids had gone to bed. 

“You’re not going! I want you here.” 

Eyeing him coolly, Angie demurred, “Danny, there’s more going on in the world than infidelity, besides which, don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.  I’m going and that’s the end of it.”  Later, she heard him on phone, cancelling his golf match.  He was a barrister, and networked with his friends at the club.  He was only a solicitor when she met him.  She’d just finished a journalism degree.  He was also ten years older – sophisticated and charming. 

Danny had never taken her career seriously.  Up until now, that was a minor irritation. There was also the problem of class – at least, as far as Danny’s parents were concerned.  Angie spoke with an east end London accent, while Danny came from the Home Counties and got his degree at Cambridge.  She’d studied for hers at a humble Polytechnic.  Her dad worked on the production line at Fords until he’d retired.  Mum was a legal secretary. One fateful year, Angie met Danny at her Mum’s law firm, the annual Christmas party.  Danny was bewitched.  Angie was as smart as a whip, beautiful, warm and funny.  He abandoned his suitable fiancé for – as far a mother and father were concerned – a social climber.


At nine am on a breezily cool Saturday, Angie slowly surveyed the red brick house.  It was a large detached place, located in an older suburb, surrounded by trees. Aging branches swayed sharply in the stiff gusts.  Angie rang the doorbell, feeling slightly anxious.   Evelyn was running the workshop in her own home.

The professor answered, her face showing pleasure, “Come in! Come in!” 

Angie’s unease soon melted in the warmth and comfort. Evelyn ushered her into the drawing room, and introduced her to the other women.  They were sitting in large comfortable chairs, casually chatting.  The space had a calm, classic air.  There were eight people in all, including the Professor and herself.  The youngest was probably in her early twenties, and the oldest maybe sixty.  Angie found their relaxed faces reassuring.  She settled into a generous, over-stuffed seat.

Evelyn took centre stage in the circle of women.  “Well, ladies – thank you for coming.  I hope this weekend will be a journey of exploration.  For thousands of years women have been victimised for their sexuality.  These two days will a safe space to explore the taboos.”  She continued, “First, an ice-breaker – fantasies.  We all have sexual fantasies and desire is never politically correct.  I’d like us to share.”

A soft ripple of giggles went through the room.

“OK – I’ll start.”  There was a thread of anxiety, tinged with bravado.

Angie turned her attention to the owner of the voice, Corinne, a woman about the same age as her.  She was petite and immaculately groomed.  She looked slightly nervous, but increasingly confident, began her story.

“I sometimes fantasise I’m a rich Roman noblewoman.  One day, one of my women friends gives me a present, a slave, a boy of about eighteen.  He’s my own personal plaything; mine to train.  He’s very beautiful and has a mature, muscly body.  I make him lick me to orgasm several times a day.  Usually, there’s a collar around his neck and I hold his chain.  This keeps him in line, and keeps him in place.  After a while, he gets very, very good – and eager to please me.  From time to time, if he’s done really well, I suck him off.  I do that because I enjoy watching his face when he comes, and I enjoy the fact he never knows if he’ll be rewarded or not.  He’s not allowed any other sexual outlet.   When I get together with my friends, I sometimes loan him out and I enjoy watching their faces as they experience his well-developed skills.” 

The room was silent at first; the women fascinated by Corinne’s tale, and then there was a wry comment, “You’re very generous Corinne.  It’s a pity we’re not rich noblewomen, though my boyfriend wouldn’t object to being used and abused like that.  I wonder if he’d let me loan him out... ” 

There was a burst of laughter.  The group was warming to the subject.

Next Karen spoke, a younger woman, probably in her early twenties.  She looked fresh-faced and innocent.  “Oh um, where shall I start? OK, here goes.  I sometimes imagine I’m a maid in a rich household, very young.  This is my first job and I’m the lowliest of the low.  It’s around the turn of the century and I don’t have many other options.  The master of the house notices me.  One night, the door to my attic room opens and he comes in.  He gets undressed and crawls in bed beside me.  He spends time turning me on, and then fucks me.  After that, he forbids me to wear any knickers.  He wants to be able to pull up my skirt and screw me whenever he wants.  One day, he comes storming into the basement kitchen where I’m working with the other servants.  Obviously, something has upset him.  He grabs my wrist and pulls me into the large pantry, closing the door behind him.  He bends me over, pulls up my dress and fucks me without a word, coming in a matter of seconds.  Afterwards, the other servants look at me disapprovingly.  They know what’s going on, but they daren’t say anything.  Another time, he’s just arrived home after a fox hunt and things haven’t gone well.  He’s crackling with irritation.  He order me into his study, bends me over his desk and fucks me hard and fast.”

“Yum” someone says, “who’s next?” 

It was Elizabeth.  She was possibly in her mid-forties, slightly plump and beautiful. “Oh my God! Look, this fantasy is very, very bad . . .  ” She blushed and then giggled when she heard another woman say, “Good, the badder, the better!” 

This prodded Elizabeth to begin.  “I’m a sexual slave to a ruthless man who makes money by forcing me to suck men off, but he wants to provide a very special service, something intense.  He knows at certain times of the month, I feel much more sexual than normal; a bit like being on heat.  He prolongs that period by feeding me special herbs and concoctions.  He keeps my hands bound so I can’t masturbate and teases me from time to time by sucking on my nipples and gentling fondling my clitoris.  It’s maddening, because he won’t let me come.  However, during this time, he also supplies me with many clients.  While I’m sucking them off, he masturbates me from behind.  But my master only satisfies me after the client comes.  Of course, this makes me suck with a passion, and addicts me to the practise.  Soon, the sight of a waiting erection excites me because I associate it with sexual satisfaction.”

“Wow!” said Julia; sitting in the corner, “we’re more wicked than I thought.  I’m not the only dirty little slut on the planet!”

Again, there was a ripple of laughter. 

“OK then Julia,” said the Professor with a spark in her eyes, “why don’t you tell us all about being a dirty little slut?” 

Julia stroked her chin thoughtfully for a second.  She was a bouncy, bright girl in her mid twenties, tall, strong and Amazon-like.

“Mmmmm, OK.  I fantasise about being a prostitute.  One day, five men book me for two hours.  They’re older than me, late thirties to mid-forties.  They’re all well heeled, you know – Rolex watches, sharp suits and expensive Italian shoes.  Firstly, they strip me before tying to the bed, spreadeagled on my back.  Then they undress, all the time staring at my naked body.  They all have large erections.  The first one, the sort of ‘leader of the group,’ starts to kiss me, and then spreads lots of lubricant in and around my pussy.  He starts to masturbate me with his fingers, while whispering that he’s going to make me come.  He wants to make sure I’m not faking anything.  This has cost the men a lot of money and it will be a real turn-on to see me lose control.  He steadily strokes my clitoris until I’m writhing in pleasure, and at the point where I orgasm, a member of the group starts to fuck me.  After that, I’m untied and I have to pleasure all of them several times, in several ways.  This fantasy has many variations.”

The spotlight now fell on Diane, curled like Angie in a large, over-stuffed armchair.  She looked like she was in her late thirties and the quintessential academic; short brown hair, steel-rimmed specs and a soft grey jumper.

“Julia,” she began, looking warmly in the direction of the self-confessed slut who’d just admitted her wickedness, “your fantasy leaves me breathless. My dreams will never be the same.”

Julia grinned in embarrassment.

Diane then, a little conspiratorially, started her story. “Well, one of my lovers had a thing about being taped up like a mummy.  Of course, there was always a gap for his mouth and nose.  I’d leave him like that for an hour or two; it was a real turn-on for him.  Finally, I’d appear in the bedroom, cut a hole, very carefully of course, and pull out his erection.  Then I rode him until he came.  I had this fantasy in my head about being a member of an Amazon tribe.  We only needed men for pro-creation.  We’d capture members of a rival group, and then keep them prisoner, fucking them as needed.  But they could only be used a certain number of times.  I mean, you had to keep the gene pool diverse.  After that, well, I wouldn’t like to say... The men seemed to know they only had a short ‘shelf-life,’ so to speak.  With every successful fertilisation, their fate became more uncertain.  Because of this, they were reluctant to come, and that’s why I had to bind my lover.  I had to ride him hard to milk out his semen.”

Angie was stunned. “It’s amazing” she thought, “the perversions lie behind steel specs and conservative hair cuts.” However, her pussy was responding joyfully to the shared smut. 

Now it was Linda’s turn.  Linda was about to turn 30.  It was a milestone.  She had two kids and had just started a humanities degree.  Her husband was being difficult.  He was resentful about her studies; though to Linda, they were a sanity saver. 

Angie had met Linda on her first visit to the university, in the cafeteria.  They’d spent time chatting.

“Oh – well – um,” Linda stumbled a little, “I’m not sure I can match that, anyway here goes.  I fantasise I’m still young, about eighteen.  A virgin.  One day, I call around at my friends place, but she’s not in – only her Dad’s there, with a mate.  They’re pleased to see me and invite me in.  Both of them are drinking beers and they offer me some alcohol.  I accept a shot of spirits, laced with cordial.  It’s very sweet and slips down easily, so I have a few more.  Soon, I’m very relaxed, at which point, my friend’s dad starts to kiss me and rub my tits.  I’m too aroused to stop him.  He pulls off my T-shirt and begins to suck each nipple in turn. His mate is still watching; he’s fascinated.  Finally, they carry me to the bedroom and undress me completely.  One of them slowly brings me to orgasm with his tongue, while the other plays with the rest of my body, especially my breasts.  After that, each of them fucks me, twice.  They also teach me how to suck their cocks.”

Angie was in the spotlight now.  First, she smiled in Linda’s direction, “Linda, that was very erotic tale. I’m sure you can always match anything.” 

Linda smiled appreciatively at the compliment.

Angie then continued with her own story. “I’m captured by a strange cult.  I’m young and inexperienced and they’re preparing me to have sex with this enormous, demon like creature.  It looks something like a man, but it’s a lot bigger and has a very large cock.  The women tie me down in a spreadeagled position and begin to work on me.  I’m lying on an altar.  They start by spreading my body with aromatic oils and work them into every inch of skin.  Then they lubricate my vagina with a slimy substance and bring out a series of dildos.  At first, they penetrate me with the smallest one, gradually working their way up until they’re opening me wide with this huge, sculpted phallus.  They’re pleased with the results of their work.  My vagina is gaping and just about ready to receive the demon. I gasp in pain and pleasure when the brutal beast starts to fuck me.”

Angie raised her eyebrows at the end of the story, and then lowered her lids to the carpet.  She’d never told anyone about that dirty little scenario before

Evelyn, the Professor, beamed as she looked around the room, “What a creative group we are! I suppose it’s my turn now."  Lowering her eyes slightly she continued, but much more softly, "I sometimes imagine I’m a young woman at a large society party in a country mansion.  I’m the daughter of the house, a bit of a pampered princess. But the family is down on its luck financially and consequently, is involved in some shady dealings with these gangster type characters.  Of course, they’re at the party too.  The boss, an older hard-bitten man, takes a fancy to me.  As I’m walking past the loo on the upstairs landing, he drags me inside.  He pulls up my skirt, yanks off my knickers and makes me kneel over the bowl.  He unzips his fly, pulls out a very large erection and fucks me hard from behind.  One of his men stands guard outside the toilet.  I know I can’t tell my family, they won’t listen because these people have them over a barrel.” 

Evelyn lost herself in thought for a moment after finishing her tale. Just as she'd expected, the stories she’d heard contained no trace of hearts and flowers.  ‘Women’ she thought, ‘are much more interesting, much more carnal.’


Angie glanced at the clock on the old-fashioned mantelpiece and noticed morning had nearly faded into lunchtime. She was hungry.  She was pleased when Evelyn announced a break for refreshments.

There were a number of herbal teas on offer, some fresh brewed coffee and a great array of food. A few inviting plates caught Angie’s eye.  She was munching on some Greek salad when she struck up a conversation with Corinne, the elegant mannequin who’d been the first to divulge her secrets.

“Hi.” Corrine smiled warmly. “What do you think, should we go into business with our disgusting fantasies? It would sure beat the office grind.”

Angie returned the smile.  At first glance, she’d pegged Corinne as a brittle, perfect canvas.  Now she was discovering a wry humour under that expensive exterior.  “Yeah, you’re right, it would beat the office grind. Wonder if it’s legal?”

They both giggled.

“What do you mean?” Corinne chuckled. “Do you think the law might frown if I kept an 18 year old Adonis on a chain?  For research purposes only, of course.”

“Perhaps” Angie quickly replied, “but we could go for a precedent.”

Evelyn’s voice soon cut across their wicked amusement. “Well ladies, now we’ve had a break and indulged in this fabulous food, perhaps we can indulge in a different kind of carnality.”

It sounded very interesting to Angie.

Evelyn had organised relaxation mats and pillows and when she’d comfortably settled the group, she began.  “The seat of sexual power is often thought to lie at the base of our spines.  In fact, at certain times of the month, many women experience some heaviness there, or even pain.  I want us to explore this area through relaxation and visualisation.”  She began to play a CD of soft ethnic music.  The sound formed a perfect background to her lilting voice.

When Evelyn felt the group was relaxed enough, she guided them to the next level.  “Go into that space at the bottom of your spine.  Enter it.  Feel it. Experience it.  Touch it. See it. Smell it. See whom you meet.  Find out where you journey.”

Angie heard the gentle tribal rhythm beneath the soothing directions.  Gradually, she felt her muscles relax.  Her breathing became slow and measured.

Almost at once, Angie was in a dark, exotic cosmos, walking along a dim wooded pathway.  Soft, luminescent sparks danced and played in the shadows. There was the occasional shaft of sun, but the day was rapidly dying.  The trees were magnificent and old – ash, oak, elm, chestnut.  Summer had faded and golden leaves littered the ground. She smelt the earthy scents of decay and felt a slight crispness in the air.  There was a kind of electricity about the place, a kind of expectation.  A movement caught her eye and turning in its direction, she saw two fairy-like creatures hovering in the still air.  These were not the characters of fairy tale.  Their beautiful naked bodies – one male, one female - glimmered in the broken light.  Their skin had the black, satiny glow of a staghorn beetle and their dark, lacy wings were beating in excitement.  They were copulating on the slight breeze.

The lulling tribal beat persisted.

Angie’s journey went on.  She passed a satyr-like being.  He was resting in a bed of dead leaves by the side of the trail.  Lazily, he smiled up at her, gently manipulating a glistening erection. Continuing on the murky pathway, Angie noticed her nakedness and felt a snaking warmth in her genitals. Fear and desire mingled.  Her breath caught in her throat when she came to a large clearing, lit by a large ripe moon. 

“Welcome.”  The voice contained seductive warmth.

Angie peered further into the space, and couldn’t help wandering forward.  She soon saw a tall curvaceous woman standing in front of an ornately carved alter.  The figure leant back slightly, her hands flat on the stone and her legs parted.  Between them knelt one of the naked, satyr-like creatures Angie had passed on the way.  He was obediently lapping at his mistress’s cleft and his hands rested softly on her statuesque thighs.  The strange woman had a satisfied, calm look on her face. 

“Welcome.  Watch me.”  That liquid voice cut through the still air again.

Angie watched fascinated, taking in more detail as she did. 

This dark beauty was wearing thigh high boots of patent-black leather, and their spiky heels elevated her even more.  A matching corset, laced at the back, pulled in her waist and created a full cleavage that gleamed in the soft light.  Her full lips glowed blood red, and her dark eyes were emphasised by velvety kohl.  A black mane tumbled wildly around her shoulders, while a long whip rested in one expertly manicured hand. Lavish rings, and scarlet talons, adorned her long fingers. The figure was squirming a little now as her enchanted servant continued his devotions. 

Angie heard deep, echoing groans when the strange woman came, holding the magical being’s head tight against her pussy.

“Go now,” said the Amazon.  She sounded abrupt.

The creature darted into the undergrowth.

Angie saw the clearing was at the centre of four pathways.  It was a crossroads.  Three sleek, coal black hounds sat stone still, resting near their mistress.

This powerful woman now looked in Angie’s direction.

Angie knew what she had to do.  She lay on the granite altar, limbs spread wide.  Her heartbeat pulsed in her throat.

In a moment, the unholy Goddess was kneeling between Angie’s legs, those talons digging into her inner thighs.  The woman pushed them apart even further, and then forced her tongue inside her helpless pussy.

Angie shuddered as the wetness wormed its way in, and then trembled in pleasure when she felt a warm, stickiness lap at her clit.  She arched herself towards the searching mouth and began to rock her groin in a begging motion. 

The dark Goddess pressed harder into Angie’s flesh, willing her victim towards orgasm.  The deity was ravenous.

With bitter disappointment, Angie heard Evelyn’s clear tones cut across the hot scene.

“You can start to return now.  Just relax.  Just fade-out.  Come back to the room.  Open your eyes when you’re ready.  Ground yourselves in the here and now.  Sit up when you feel like it.”

Slowly, Angie sat up, curling her arms around her bent knees.  She looked around.  Most of the other women were beginning to stir, but one or two still lay motionless.  Angie relaxed again, her head full of dramatic pictures.  She wondered if there’d been anything in the herbal tea.  If so, she made a mental note to order a kilo.

After ten minutes or so, everybody was awake, stretching and stirring - gradually bringing themselves back to life.

The Professor suggested a warm drink.

Over a lemony brew, Angie began to chat with Corinne again.  “It’s amazing,” she thought, “how women get down to their emotional knickers so quickly,” as her new friend sketched in her life.

Soon though, Angie needed to go to the loo.  Locked in the cubicle, she noticed a book casually placed on a small mahogany table, “Lost Goddesses.”  Distractedly, she flipped it open at a random page and started to read.

“Hecate is an ancient dark goddess of Greek heritage.  In myth, she is a powerful, vindictive protector of women and children and traditionally, Queen of the Witches.  She often appears at the crossroads in the dark of night, accompanied by three vicious hounds.”

Angie gulped as she recalled her vision



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