Your erotic stories

Author's Notes: Contains violence and what could be considered blood-play. ~*~*~ He could smell the blood everywhere. The scent was so strong that it seemed to cling to everything in the large building as he hurried up the stairs, taking two or three at a time before he burst into the room, nearly pulling the door from it's frame and hinges with the force of opening it.

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Warning! This story includes very heavy BDSM, rough sex, anal fucking and other nasty stuff. As usual there is also a romance but it is secondary to the stroke. Another caveat: I don't write with a dictionary or a thesaurus at my side. I use words which are familiar to me---words I use in daily conversation. I am not writing stories for children. If you are the persistent anonymous poster who wishes I would use smaller words so that you can understand them, just give me a zero and move on without comment.

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“I’m coming over,” I tell you, purring into the phone. “I’ve done a little shopping. Be ready for me when I get there.” “What did you buy?” you ask me eagerly, “And what do you mean by ‘ready’?” I laugh, not cruelly but coolly enough that I don’t reveal that I am nearly as excited as you. “Patience. Some new toys for us to play with. You’ll see when I get there.

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I've been a single dad for about 6 years now. My wife died when our son was 12. It's not been an easy road for me, but I wouldn't trade it. My son and I have a very good relationship. Since my wifes death, I haven't really done any dating to speak of. I've been out a few times, but they were more friendship dates than anything else. Needless to say, sex has been pretty much non existent. I chose this lifestyle for a reason;

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The first thing that you should know about me is that my name isn't really Betty. Even if you were one of the men that I'd... entertained on Thursday night, you probably couldn't pick me out of a police lineup. That's because I dress and act completely different during the day. I keep my hair pulled back and don't wear a lot of makeup and wear neat but plain clothing, like the successful businesswoman that I am.

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Prologue 5 years ago 18 year old Kenny sat beside the bed holding his mother's hand. He was both frightened but calm at the same time. When she had been diagnosed with lung Cancer a year ago, the doctors had given her weeks. Yet now, almost a year later, she was still hanging on. As he held her hand though, he knew the end was near. Her grip was a lot less than it used to be and her face was contorted with pain.

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"OK, what the hell is that?" Eileen asked laughing. "That is our Play Chair," the saleswoman said with a smile, coming up behind them. "It tends to get a reaction from everyone that comes in here." 'Here' was an upscale 'erotic boutique' in Boston. Eileen and Tom were in town for a get-away weekend and decided a visit would provide a nice bit of spice to their romantic weekend. Neither had been to the store before and didn't quite know what to expect.

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I grew up in Charleston SC. My mother and my father had divorced when I was 12. Mom met my stepfather, and moved my sister and I to Charleston after they were married. It's a nice place, but I digress... Ms. Wells was probably the toughest teacher at my high school. She was very demanding and accepted nothing less than 100% from her students. The problem I had was that school always came easy for me. Not much of a challenge, if you know what I mean. For most teachers, that was enough. Not for Ms. Wells though.

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I wrote this as a love story, not a quick thrill. I have taken certain liberties with names and locations, because, it was told to me, by a very close friend. So read it if you enjoy a short story not necessarily one with sex and orgasms every five lines. Willy was a cop, daughter of a cop, a sister to cops and cousin to many cops. A few months before her thirty-sixth birthday, she was slim, standing five foot nine with the wide shoulders, flattish chest, and slim hips with the incredibly powerful thighs of a swimmer.

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When I met Don; my husband to be in five months I had been a widow of four years. Don had been a single father for nearly a year. I had a son age thirteen and Don had a son age fourteen. So when we met I think we both were looking for a partner and welcomed the idea of marriage for the second time.

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