Your erotic stories

She couldn't believe this was happening. Her heart was beating hard and fast. She could feel the pulse in her throat and hear the rapid thrum of it in her ears. She felt warm and flushed, even though she was completely naked. The surface she lay on was soft and molded comfortably under her. The fur tickled gently along the edges of her skin. She was acutely aware of the kiss of it against the lips of her freshly shaven labia.

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"You've got to talk to me, Babe." His fingers trailed down her throat...down her chest...over the curve of her breast, the nails leaving the slightest trace of redness in their wake. Her body arched instinctively, hungry for his touch. She writhed there, tugging at the nylon cuffs that kept her wrists bound over her head.

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You walk into the room, and immediately you feel that something is different. Its a room you have been in a thousand times, but yet you can't quite place it. Then you see her, and you forget what it was you were thinking. Not that there is anything different about her today, she just smiles her usual smile as she walks towards you.

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Mark's the sort of man you can't help but want to tie down and gag. He's clean shaven, nicely dressed and well mannered with slight build and quick eyes—ah, but that Mr. Brady routine is just a front. The man is actually a tightly wound ball of futile energy and repressed urges. I think he only shaves his head to keep from tearing his hair out in frustration. After a while, his manic approach to life in general makes you want to push him down, sit on his legs and scream, "BE STILL!"

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Milla took three deep breaths as the elevator took her up to the penthouse. She knew she would have to step outside herself to do this job, way outside herself. She promised that she would be strong throughout, as this was her only choice and would be over in two weeks time.

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I step from the elevator onto the second floor of the city hotel. The corridor is empty, beige and clean cut like something lifted straight out of a seventies ideal home magazine. I adjust the black silk scarf as I walk along towards your room, trying to make it look casual. My brand new stilettos dig into the dense pile carpet and form a curious counterpoint to my low slung combat pants and white vest. I like the way the heels make me walk.

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He doesn't need to blindfold me. The room is dark as pitch, even with my eyes wide open, staring so hard that I can feel my pupils dilated fully, making my ears ring, all I see is dark in dark. The high backed wooden chair I'm tied to is the only solid thing my senses can grab hold of, the harshness of the rope that binds my hands tightly behind my back and my feet to the chair legs.

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He was sitting at his desk, exhausted from another long day at work. Tie loosened, his jacket thrown over the back of the chair, he looked as if he was ready to head home at any moment. And he was. Until his boss dropped another stack of files to go through. As if he didn't have enough to deal with already. He was working well into the evening, when there was a knock at the door. Finding this strange, he called out for the person to enter.

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You walk straight through the hotel reception and head over to the elevators. Pushing the button you wait for it to arrive. You are wearing the tight blue jeans red hoodie that you know I like. Underneath is the black underwear from one of the pictures you sent me when we first started talking to each other.

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"Alison, have you seen my light blue shirt? You know, the silky one that I wear for more formal occasions..?" My mum barely dragged her eyes away from the news on the TV. "I ironed it yesterday. It's hanging in the wardrobe next to your best suit." "And my dark-blue tie..?" "Where you hung it yourself after you wore it last time, inside the wardrobe door..."

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