Your erotic stories

She'd ruined her chance to get away. She knew it in an instant. She'd hesitated too long, stumbled when she started to run and he'd caught her arm. Now she was pinned between his hard body and the brick wall, the scent of garbage rising from the cans beside her, turning her stomach as much as the brutal fear did. "Please don't hurt me," she whimpered, breathless, terrified. "Take my wallet, my car..."

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She was a pale and kinky bisexual BBW, close to two hundred and fifty pounds, probably five foot ten, with long red hair that she wore in a braid when she shot pool. Her name was Opal and she drove around in a pale blue Mercedes. She shot in two leagues and even managed her own team, an all-Lady crew in which she was the best player and in which two of the other seven members were also BBWS.

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Our physical difference was striking. I'm a brute—at least I look like one. Over six feet, with broad shoulders and thick legs, I dwarfed her barely five foot frame. Where I loom, all burliness and beard and full, round ass, she receded, her thin arms and legs topped by a spindly bottom and slightly sunken cheeks that were the most obvious sign of her fifty-nine years.

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Lena hummed tunelessly to herself as she put away her groceries. Her voluptuously curvy figure, kept in check by four sessions of yoga a week and strict adherence to a healthy diet, was cased in snug denim and a soft knit sweater. Lena tried to keep her kitchen stocked with only healthy foods—whole grains, fruits and veggies, Clif bars. She knew that if she let herself snack on processed food, her toned waist would gradually expand and soften, and she refused to let that happen.

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Paterson trained the gun firmly on her as she did as she was told. She tied her husband's wrists behind his back, then bound his ankles together, then knotted the two ropes together, leaving him virtually immobile on the bed in his striped pyjamas. Paterson had a minor twinge of conscience - after all, he must be nearer seventy than sixty, and lame, to boot - but, he had been a soldier all his life and, even in the British Army, you don't make brigadier just by going to the right school or joining the right clubs.

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Everyone who knows Ellie, knows that she is a really nice girl. Born and raised in a small Midwestern town by strict and very religious parents, Ellie was the perfect daughter. She was a shy, polite, and religious girl who caused absolutely no problems for her parents. Ellie went to a small private high school and then to a small fundamentalist college where she met her future husband, Tim.

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She was so drunk. She thought the girls that brought her along were her friends, but they weren't. If they were, they'd have never let me drag her away from the fire. I was a gatecrasher. I hadn't expected to be at any party, I didn't really know too many people in this city apart from my house-mates. I work at a local drive-through liquor store. Late one night a bunch of immature, loud-mouthed lads came through and told us about a beach party they were going to.

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From the outside, the place was even worse than Rose had expected. The entrance to the long dirt driveway was hidden by pines and kudzu, and she drove right by it on the first pass. Once she was finally on it, her wheels spun, kicking up gravel and wet red mud from the recent rain. Good thing her Tercel had already seen its better day.

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There was definitely a noise that was unfamiliar. It wasn't a particularly loud noise but I heard it, it was coming from inside the house and it was two in the morning. I lay frozen in bed next to my sleeping wife listening but heard nothing. My heart was racing even though I was telling myself it was nothing. I turned my bedside light off and continued to listen for anything. Was someone in my house? I quietly got out of bed and walked slowly across the room trying to avoid any obstacles that may be in the way.

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PART 1 I race to a halt and stand panting outside the office. My feet are killing me. These new high heels are not made for sprinting. Gulping a few nervous breaths, I smooth down my pink top and white mini. The door is ajar but I knock anyway then take a few steps back. I look down at my fluffy pink purse swinging back and forth across my thighs as if it's as anxious as I am to get this thing over with. The door jerks open and I watch two slightly scuffed, black shoes step towards me. I dare not look up.

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