Your erotic stories

I have been married for close to eight years. My wife is what some consider a BBW, or a SSBBW, she is 5'11, medium length brown hair and hazel eyes, beautiful breasts that sag just a little, an ass that you want to grab from behind or smack and watch it jiggle, a tummy so soft you can't help but rub it, and thighs that are so thick they are better than any vise. God I love her.

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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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"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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My wife and I were still in love after all our 20 years of marriage but as with most couples some of the spark had slowly dropped from the relationship, especially in the sex department. Now that might not be too bad if she'd been a nympho at the start but she'd always been a lot more reserved than I was. She certainly wasn't a prude - we'd had sex in every room in the house, in the yard, on the beach, in the car and a whole bunch more places but it was always 'normal' sex.

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Friday night. I am secured in a standing position, naked and spread eagled. My ankles are secured to a spreader bar, my hands to restraints attached to new hooks she has attached to the ceiling. My wife's mouth surrounds but does not touch my pulsating cock. I tighten my groin muscles to make contact. She pulls away. "Bad boy!" She reaches down for her riding crop and slaps mildly at my balls, stretched and separated by a leather cock ring.

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I stepped from the shower and looked at myself in the full length mirror. Like most women, I think that my butt is too big, and my breasts too small. My hair is a pleasing shade of brown, thanks to the skills of my hairdresser. The triangle of hair between my legs has telltale streaks of gray. "Fast chance anyone will be seeing THAT anytime soon," I thought to myself. "I guess I could be a hell of a lot worse at 58."

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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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It had been a week since I met him in the club, since I had gone home with him not even knowing his full name and totally given myself to him. It had been two weeks of having my senses tormented, my body trained and my needs fulfilled.

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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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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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