Your erotic stories

Synopsis; 'Plain Janes' are not always as they seem – some have been tutored by relatives who lurk in the background, waiting to receive those caught in a contrived web. Jane Whistler's appearance was that of a well groomed, prim and clean living girl. At 30, she appeared to have been left on the shelf. She rarely socialised, other than to indulge her workmates on rare occasions – she was rarely asked to dance by the males as she was considered to be flat, a bit fat- not like the beanpole women that the 'blokes' seemed to lust after-and very plain.

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She knew she shouldn't be out. It was late, nearly midnight already. The full moon glowed high in the sky, illuminating the path in front of her in the hazy shades of silver and blue~fae light she'd always heard it called. She sighed and moved gracefully along the path. She knew it so well now, traveled it as often as she could, as often as nature allowed.

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I got dressed as provocatively and with the sluttiest make-up that I could manage without looking like a transsexual, slipped on my heels and tottered my way to the interview. They had been so secretive, and I amused myself by twiddling with my cellphone and imagining things they would give me to do.

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Dave had wanted to be crucified for as long as he could remember. He was brought up in the Catholic religion and even though the religious side of things had never made much sense to him he found the images of the crucifixion and the scourging erotic beyond words. He had long kept his fantasies to himself until he saw a personal in his local newspaper.

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He was going to kill me. Not merely an idle thought, but quite possibly a fact considering what I was about to do. I was treading not only the very distinct line of our abstract relationship this afternoon, but perhaps straddling the damn thing, erasing the permanent marker with the lacy tops of Chinese silk stockings, fraying the edges on the constitution of our very own sexual etiquette.

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"Be seated, my dear." The woman indicated an armchair in front of her large oak desk. The young woman sat, legs primly together, her green eyes glancing around, taking in her new surroundings. "You have been sent here by your family for training," the woman said. She had a kind face, and her lips curved naturally into a slight smile.

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The minute he stepped into the room a slow and aching fear began to spread across his back and settle into his shoulders. In one quick glance he could tell his entrance was a mistake, but it was far too late to turn back. The room was a perfect cube, four rust stained walls, a window covered with a thick layer of dark brown filth, one solitary light bulb hanging from a mass of wires in the center, dangling forebodingly over a plain musty mattress.

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You have me tied down to the bed, my limbs stretched and tightly secured with the silk scarves to each of the bedposts. A fifth scarf is wrapped around my head, covering my eyes, completely blocking out all light. The faint scent of jasmine incense is in the air, combined with the smell of hot melting wax.

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Chapter One As he had instructed, she was naked and kneeling, near to the foot of the bed. She was facing the headboard so she could not see him enter the room, so she would be vulnerable to him. She heard the door knob turn and her heart raced. In her mind, she kept repeating to herself what he had told her "Keep your head high, your eyes lowered and do not speak."

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PROLOGUE James Smith was lounging on the couch in his favorite beat up pair of pajamas, slowly perusing the Sunday paper sprawled on the floor beside him. He was flipping from page to page in the Entertainment section when something caught his eye. His sound of disgust caught his wife Sarah's attention as she sat at the dining room table looking through circulars and clipping coupons.

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