Your erotic stories

Zarah's eyelids fluttered as she moaned softly, waking up to a pounding headache... what had happened last night? She only remembered having two drinks, not nearly enough to be hung over... She stirred gently, and only then noticed that her movements were strangely restricted... Her eyelids flew open as she suddenly took in her surroundings, her eyes locking on wrists wrapped securely with rope and attached to leads bound to the bedposts of the big four-poster bed in which she lay.

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Nan and I met a few years ago. She was recently cast in a play I wrote and directed. I was immediately taken in by her intelligence, her poise, and her ass. She was an excellent actress in a minor role and outshone many of her cast mates by her talent, as well as her looks. She was tall, 5'9" or so, Her long, dark auburn hair framed her translucent face and soulful blue eyes beautifully. I was arrogant and she was playful.

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I couldn't unfasten her safety belt. Have you ever heard those lyrics? They're part of a song that Chuck Berry put out in the sixties. Basically, the song gives the story of a young lad who took his girlfriend for a drive. He tells of how, when they parked and wanted to go for a walk so he could pitch a little wooing, they couldn't undo her seat belt. She was stuck in the car and he had to home, wooing being deferred to another day.

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At some point I would ask Nicole how she found out about my fetish for women's panties. At the moment, I couldn't ask her anything, a pink pair of her sodden satin underwear was stuffed in my mouth and serving quite ably as a gag. My wrists were bound to the bedposts with silk scarves, my ankles pulled back toward my head and also tied to the bedposts.

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I brought her down from the branch that held her bound hands ever slowly, let her pool in my arms in a flow that would end at the earth. Stoppered there. Unable to slip between the fingers of clay as she would have slithered from mine had I not worked to keep her, so limp was she. The reverberations of electricity and the shivers of unrequited need gave her skin a feeling of vibration.

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"Hey gorgeous, I'm at the airport and on my way home. I should be there in about an hour," I said into my cell phone as I flagged down a cab in front of the main terminal. There was a soft laugh and then my girlfriend said, "Then look over your left shoulder. I'm on the second plane to the left and on my way to China."

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Matthew's heart began to race as he saw the text message from his wife Michelle pop up on his iPhone. The last time he waited up for his wife, his ass had been sore for a week... Of course, in reality he loved every minute of it, but much like her seemingly-innocent text message, it was something that was kept close-knit between the two of them.

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As he sipped his gin and tonic he realised he had mixed it too strong. A little dutch courage was a godsend on nights like this, but he had to keep his wits about him. He dragged his eyes away from the muted television to his watch. Fifteen minutes had passed. He thought a moment, and decided she could wait a little longer.

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"Well," Tom sighed, "what other romantic songs do we have for Valentine's Day? More Dean Martin?" The little piano bar was more crowded than on some nights. It had been a shore day, St. Martin. No big production show tonight, just one of those juggling comedians that seem to find their way on to cruise ships. Washed up, like him, flotsam bobbing against the shoreline, but not quite, not quite stranded yet.

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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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