Your erotic stories

Nan and I met a few years ago. She was recently cast in a play I wrote and directed. I was immediately taken in by her intelligence, her poise, and her ass. She was an excellent actress in a minor role and outshone many of her cast mates by her talent, as well as her looks. She was tall, 5'9" or so, Her long, dark auburn hair framed her translucent face and soulful blue eyes beautifully. I was arrogant and she was playful.

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"Who could that be," Tia wondered as the doorbell of her condo rang. She had arrived home late. Although it was a Friday, she had no party to go to tonight and had decided to stay extra long at the office to catch up on some paperwork. She had only managed to hang up her blazer, kick off her shoes and toss her pantyhose into the hamper. Dinner was next on the agenda.

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Kurt was nervous. She was meant to be there in fifteen minutes, it was quarter to six now and the movie started at six-thirty. She had told him she would be round to pick him up, it would just be easier that way. He had put on his favourite shirt; Navy blue and plain, he wore it everywhere he went and didn't feel the need to dress up tonight. He was also wearing his oldest pair of jeans, held up by a belt he had just gotten the week before, Kurt despised shopping and even more so when it was for pants.

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I feel ridiculous; underdressed and overly aware of how much glitter is on my face. "Come out," Maddy had said. "It'll be fun," Tiff had said. "It'll be good for you," Amber had added. "You have to get out of that dark dungeon of despair you've condemned yourself too," I had said to myself.

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When I woke up, I panicked, almost choked on the collar around my throat. The leather dug into my windpipe as I jerked on the cold cement floor, hurting my shoulders and arms. My hands were cuffed behind my back, my naked body pressed to the floor sideways, as my legs, which were free, kicked wildly in a desperate attempt to get loose. I let out a feral scream, almost choking again on the thick leather around my neck.

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On Caitlin's thirtieth birthday, she woke to find a letter on her husband's pillow. "Open at 10 AM," it said. She looked at the clock. It was 8:15. She looked back at the envelope, and considered it. If she opened it now, there was absolutely no way Richard could know. Right? As logical as that seemed, Caitlin didn't trust that. Richard had a way of knowing these things.

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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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