Your erotic stories

"There," Master says. I tug experimentally on the cuff she has just locked around my ankle, and that feeling of helplessness and trust washes over me like a warm, gentle wave. She looks at me appraisingly. "You know what happens next, slut."

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Meg's heart pounded in her chest as she pulled into a parking space in front of the condominium. She was having difficulty believing that she had agreed to this. What in the name of God had her hormones gotten her into this time? Where was her mind when she visited that Internet chat room? It had been hard enough to admit that old desires had begun to surface again but to actively go out and seek someone who could help her fulfill them was madness.

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i. Inside the cell, on the top bunk, a heart shaped box of pink mints lay on the naked stained mattress. A note next to the box said, "Be my girl". The guard looked from the note to Kyle's pretty face. Kyle knew he was in trouble. "Welcome to Purgatory, boy," the guard said with a smile fit for Hells' gatekeeper. He slammed the heavy cell door, leaving Kyle to the cruel hands of the twisted God who ruled this place.

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Mike read the terse text message from his wife Sunny. She was working late, yet again, and had texted not to ask how his day went, but to demand he take care of dinner plans. Again. A second text amended the list: feed the dog, take all the trash out and start washing her work clothes. Sunny had been a real bitch lately, and he was getting tired of dealing with it. He knew part of it was hormonal.

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iv. That night, after dinner, Kyle sat on his bunk, looking out onto the empty tier. In the cell next to him, he heard the breathy sound of a man either fucking or getting his cock sucked. He lay down and tried not to think about what would happen if Tyrone won the fight tonight. Kyle would belong to the man who won the duel. Tyrone's words came back to Kyle with the frightening clarity of coming doom - if you was my bitch I would of raped your virgin ass already and made you scream real loud.

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Her silence spoke volumes as she looked out of the open window and saw a sea of green fields, interspersed by little islets of trees and edges. In the distance, a shadowy grey escarpment blocked her view of the sea itself, but she could hear the waves throwing themselves against the cliff-face under the heavy grey skies; and he wasn't listening to her.

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It was the thing she had for swoopy haired boys, Gwen decided, that made it so difficult for her to dislike Julian Swanson. And she really wanted to dislike him. Why? The reasons were many. His laziness, his money and the spoiled churlish attitude he wore with pride—fostered by his fawning mother— were at the top of the list.

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I still remember the first time I laid eyes on Annette. She was standing on my doorstep, looking up at me, a hesitant smile forming on her full lips. She was holding a portfolio under her left arm. With her right hand she pushed a wave of auburn hair away from her eyes.

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This was the test. "Zenith, take down your pants, NOW." 25 year old Enrico said to his insolent young wife. Zeni tossed her hair at Ric "What the hell are you doing, this is my family reunion." But Ric could see the challenge in her eyes, and he was enthralled by the way her light brown curls bounced against her shoulders as she attempted to flounce away from him.

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It all began when I asked Shira: "Have you been a good little girl?" My wife had been dreading this moment for hours. Indeed, she had known about her impending mortification for days. Even so, she began to blush and cry at once. It was bad enough to be treated like a baby, but to be treated so in front of her best friend was particularly humiliating.

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