Your erotic stories

She was somebody else's date. I'd met her when they arrived. She was his arm candy for the evening. Of the fifteen or so people in my home, she was the one that caught my interest. It was obvious from the moment I opened the door she knew who I was and she was interested. Others may have thought I was a curiosity or maybe interesting, but she was interested.

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"Mistress LF Slave Boy. W4M, 18-28" was the title of the Craigslist add. Trey, a 25 year old beta male, had taken to perusing various personals listings. He wasn't much of a bar kind of guy, nor did he know much about how to go out and meet women. Sifting through the postings mostly made by men Trey had managed to come across several listings by women that seemed potentially promising. Unfortunately he'd never gotten the nerve to actually try and contact one of the listing parties.

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I wanted to grab a fucking bottle of vodka and chuck it. Or throw it. Or burn it. Extraordinary stress, huh? Yeah that is what I am feeling. Damn pissed off at Daniel. We had an argument last night about where we are headed and in the midst of it, he said we should part ways for a while.

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I don't know how it happened. Nothing seemed out of place. The last thing I remember is getting out of the shower and drying my hair. That's when I saw him in my vanity mirror. A figure, clothed in black with a mask over his face, wrapping him arms around my shoulders and face. Then everything went black. I know I should call the police but...I don't know if I want to.

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Stacy closed the front door, and instinctively headed to the kitchen to grab herself a glass of wine to ease the pain of yet another unsuccessful blind date. This had become a far too familiar routine. Friends paraded guy after guy in front of her, all with the promise of "he'd be PERFECT for you". "Perfect seems to be subjective", Stacy mused to herself.

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She thought I had forgotten. It's pretty impossible; it's two weeks after mine exactly. Her temper tantrums as of lately have been cute. It'll make tonight so much more fun. I haven't said anything about her birthday and it's cute that she's stressing about it. Not to toot my own horn or anything but, I'm the best girlfriend ever.

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Synopsis; 'Plain Janes' are not always as they seem – some have been tutored by relatives who lurk in the background, waiting to receive those caught in a contrived web. Jane Whistler's appearance was that of a well groomed, prim and clean living girl. At 30, she appeared to have been left on the shelf. She rarely socialised, other than to indulge her workmates on rare occasions – she was rarely asked to dance by the males as she was considered to be flat, a bit fat- not like the beanpole women that the 'blokes' seemed to lust after-and very plain.

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You have me tied down to the bed, my limbs stretched and tightly secured with the silk scarves to each of the bedposts. A fifth scarf is wrapped around my head, covering my eyes, completely blocking out all light. The faint scent of jasmine incense is in the air, combined with the smell of hot melting wax.

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"Missy... wake up!" "Who... what is it?" "It's me, Officer McDonald. Come on, sweetie, wake up!" "What time is it?" "Shhhh! It's just after three in the morning. Come on, get up." "Why?"

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Sadly, this is merely something that took place as a messenger conversation between a Nicole and I. I have changed the style into a more reader friendly story. * I sneak up behind Nicole, grabbing her sides, tickling her. She gives off a surprised squeal, and I tickle her more intensely, making her squeal even more, squirming around in my hands.

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