Your erotic stories

When you're a Villain, there are certain things you sign up for. The risk of arrest, the risk of getting shot by police, the risk of getting hunted and severely beaten up by heroes. The risk of what happens when your secret identity is uncovered. The risk of other Villains hunting you for their own ends. Oh yes, don't believe that only Heroines get hunted, trapped and put through slave training by Villains. Villains get it worse.

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Shrugging into the jacket of his tuxedo, Jacob smiled hearing the chatter of the crowd that had rapidly gathered in the parking lot below him in anticipation of the doors of the club opening. Earlier while making his rounds seeing that everything was ready he shook his head glancing outside seeing the wealth of jewelry that flashed and the vibrant colors of the couture clothing the women were sporting as they clung to the arms of their tuxedo clad gentlemen.

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The cabbie looked at me knowingly as I handed over his fare. I just smirked in return. He knew what a girl dressed like I was , what I was after and so did I. I was dressed like a dirty, fucking slut for good reason -- I was a dirty, fucking slut. I had come to this shattering realisation in the twelve months since my eighteenth birthday party (sucking off four different guys as a present to yourself can bring that realisation you know) and ever since I had realised how badly I craved first sex and then as kinky and as filthy sex as could be imagined.

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It has been a year today since my life changed drastically. I can remember that day with a vivid recollection that would scare most people. Even I was scared for the longest time, though it was a different kind of scared than most would recognize. I actually went through different levels of being scared. It was truly as if my world was flipped upside down that day.

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Recently, while preparing vanilla icing for a tray of cooling cinnamon buns, I heard Todd yell from the bathroom. "Gloria, I haven't got a towel!" It prompted my memory: I'd washed them earlier and had forgotten to replace them. However, there were plenty in the hallway. "Linen cupboard," I called back. He thudded down the passageway naked and wet. Hot, I thought.

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As a newly appointed detective assigned to a special police operation Georgina was less effective than the effect she had on men, which was electric. It wasn't just a pair of long legs or the tiny waist emphasizing large breasts, it was more than that, it was the innocent look upon her face when listening to them. She had a way of tilting her head to one side looking intently into a mans eyes as though he were the only man in the world and what he had to say was important. Sitting in his car with her Sergeant, Angelo was getting the full treatment.

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"Uncle Joe, please! I'm serious, OK? You have to stop sleeping with my friends!" Lilly, my niece, was livid. I'm not exactly sure how she found out, but then I hadn't exactly been going to great lengths to hide it either. Emily and Laura were both consenting adults. Sure, I was twice their age. But it was they who had come to me.

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Mr Valens reached towards the numbers on the alarm panel inside the front door of his modern, two storey home. The red light was not flashing. He paused and cast his eyes around without moving, noting the gleaming kitchen bench, the bleak smell of domestic cleaner. Then he remembered. Today was Wednesday - Sharni Peller's cleaning day.

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I'm so done with this school, with these ridiculous uniforms and my jackass classmates trying to look up my skirt and down my shirt. (Who picked these clothes? I mean the skirt is halfway up the thighs for god's sake. And these shirts must have been designed for girls who, well, didn't develop as early and as, uh, fully as me - which, trust me, is not all it's cracked up to be, big tits are huge pain even in clothes that weren't poorly designed for someone a lot _smaller_.

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I smiled when I saw the house. The corner streetlight reflected on the metal numbers screwed to the front door. This was the place. I slipped through the front gate and into the garden, walking quietly around the side of the house, carrying my bag. There was a back gate, locked, but reaching over I easily found the bolt and slid it open; stepping through I closed it behind me.

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