Your erotic stories

Green eyes stared back at her from the mirror as she pondered the start of their special weekend. She had pinned so many hopes on this time with her Master. Hopes for romance, kinky sex, laughter and a hope that they would feel even closer after spending this time alone were in her heart. She desperately wanted to please him.

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Sam knew. "Who?" was all he asked. I didn't have to ask what he meant. "My new partner." Department regulations strictly prohibited fraternization between fellow officers. Fuck your partner, and you're not going to put your head out there in front. You have to think, not lust, or you end up dead. Toll collecting's a dangerous business these days, what with anarchy only a hair's breadth away.

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I had been waiting for months for an opportunity to try my new contraption out. Let me back up a little. I am what you would consider a bondage addict. I have always thought of it as being taboo thoughts so I am about as much a closet bondage addict as one can get. For years I would buy adult magazines and have to go to really sleaze places to find what I wanted, then I was so embarrassed having them I would hid them in cracks and crevices I'd find around my living quarters so no one would ever know. My mom and dad never knew, my roommates in college never knew then later in life my wife never knew.

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Tonight is the first time in three months that I have attended the monthly Saturday night mixer that has been a tradition in Portland for almost ten years. The initial group of about fifty people from fraternity affiliations, support of the football team and college groups of all kinds formed right after graduation from the University of Oregon. Over time we've added OSU and PSU members to heckle. We've also have dates and spouses that still come after relationships broke up.

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There is a long, still silence. Finally, you exhale slowly and speak. "Yes." "Yes, what?" You hear my voice beside you. "Yes. ... I surrender... to you." You are blindfolded and tied to your own bed, secured by each ankle and wrist to the four bedposts. You are spread-eagled on your back, naked except for the exquisitely soft blanket covering you from shoulder to ankle.

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Her name was Jenna Malone. Adam knew she would succumb. He could see in the flash of her striking green eyes a deep erotic yearning. He was certain she would be seduced, would submit to him, and would surrender to his whims. When he saw her that day, in his bank, deep in conversation with one of the Investment Advisors, he knew he had to have her.

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As she stood viewing herself in her black outfit consisting of a mesh/solid skintight sleeveless shirt and tight soft leather flare pants. Spike heal boot on to add just that few inches of height. Rich strawberry-blond hair gelled back into a ponytail that reached the middle of her back. She'd done her make-up skillfully, black of course to match her outfit even her nails.

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She reaches up & turns the radio a little bit louder. Dipping her hands back into the soapy water she goes back to washing the dishes. Her body sways as she dances & sings along with the music. He stops in the doorway, silently watching her as she moves. Looking her over he smiles, completely nude save the silver collar around her neck & the leather ankle cuffs. She has grown accustomed to being naked, even come to like it.

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The identity of the man who purchased the mansion on the hill that rose above any landmarks for a mile around was a mystery to every resident of Langley Street, the street that led motorists and pedestrians alike to the private estate and the foot of its sweeping front drive. As much as rumor could provide, the new owner was a young man in his early twenties, obviously a man who had recently come into good fortune, either by his own merit or by luck.

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The night was your friend. It was always important to remember that. The night was your friend because in it you were dominant. In it you had the control, the power and the mastery. The night was your friend because you made it the enemy of those who deserved to be your enemy. It was a mantra that The Wight repeated to herself regularly, and not least before starting a patrol.

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