Your erotic stories

He doesn't need to blindfold me. The room is dark as pitch, even with my eyes wide open, staring so hard that I can feel my pupils dilated fully, making my ears ring, all I see is dark in dark. The high backed wooden chair I'm tied to is the only solid thing my senses can grab hold of, the harshness of the rope that binds my hands tightly behind my back and my feet to the chair legs.

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1. When she was nineteen, two bandits dressed-up as Indians killed Molly Sheridan's father and her three younger brothers, and burned their ranch. They carried her off, but hadn't tied her hands properly, perhaps because they'd got so drunk, perhaps only because they didn't imagine she could give them any trouble, bound or no. Thus as they were riding, she was able to get hold of one of their pistols, and shoot the men dead.

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Her head bends reverently forward to rest on his knee. His hand is eager to stroke the light brown locks that fall covering her reflective green eyes. Her eyes are his to see or to cover at his desire. For a moment he wishes to see her sparkling eyes and the gentle smile that so gently curves her soft lips, but not for long.

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"...When you greet me at your door I want you to be wearing your dildo-pants. Oh, and wear them under your tightest pair of jeans. I'm taking you out tonight, and yes; I do want you wearing them out in public. I'll see you in a bit," I said, and then hung up without giving her a chance to respond.

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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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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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