Your erotic stories

Preamble – a delivery. The six foot, 210 pound guard dragged the captive blonde across the room. "Take your hands off of me, you goon." She yelled as she raked a heel down the shin of her assailant. He manhandled her towards the small dark room that was to be her home for the next weeks. "Hey you great lunk, be careful with the merchandise," her kidnapper admonished. "We don't want this one bruised."

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I want to tell you a story. No, that's not right, I HAVE to tell you a story. It's not a true story. Well maybe it is, at least in parts. I'll let you decide. But I do have to tell it. The story is about Ed and Andrew, probably more Ed than Andrew. But you know, that may not be true either. You tell me. It's not the story you are expecting, but I think it is a pretty good one anyway. Ed, we'll start with her. Everyone called her Ed, but the name her parents blessed her with was Edwina.

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Goldie couldn't believe it. There she was, scuffing down a back road on South Goddamn Georgia with her disabled car half a mile back. It was getting dark, it was colder than the South had any right to be, her cell phone was broken, and there wasn't a soul in sight. Damn him anyway, him and all the shit he'd put her through over the past five years.

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I am asleep. Then, suddenly, I am awake. I can feel him. Standing there in the dark corner of the room. I can't see him, I only know he's there. Did he wake me? It's cold. And I'm naked under the covers. I sit up, thinking maybe I can catch a glimpse of him if I do. But I cannot.

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Our physical difference was striking. I'm a brute—at least I look like one. Over six feet, with broad shoulders and thick legs, I dwarfed her barely five foot frame. Where I loom, all burliness and beard and full, round ass, she receded, her thin arms and legs topped by a spindly bottom and slightly sunken cheeks that were the most obvious sign of her fifty-nine years.

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