Your erotic stories

In the year 1008 as reckoned in Rome on the Julian Calendar, Brother Cyryl Procopius was given a writ of Accession to take over the Parish of St. Adelbert in the Polish town of Virlun at the edge of the God-forsaken Wood of Mldawa. It was well known that the world ended at the Bug river, and that the Woods of Mldawa were the beginning of the Great Wilderness that surrounded the realm of Blessed Christendom, a place where Satan and his minions held sway out of the reach of God and his all his angels;

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You check the mirror for the last time. The blue slut top. The collar and fishnets. The heels look good. And the riding crop feels at home in your hand. You're ready for him now. As you leave the bedroom and make your way to where he is waiting, you find an anger you didn't know you had welling up inside.

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As Lorraine walked up the steps of the mansion for Andrew's one o'clock lesson, she could hear him butchering Beethoven's "Für Elise" in a way so awful it had to be intentional. Sure enough, the musical carnage soon ended in a burst of raucous laughter followed by the sound of several people slamming their hands down on the keyboard—all in all a forced, nasty sound.

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"I knew you were unique as soon as I saw you in the club." She clutched his arm firmly, her head resting against his shoulder. The fact that she held his arm against her left breast was a nice bonus to the close physical contact. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Do I have a dark aura or something?" She looked up at him, smiling sweetly, her red-painted lips making that small facial gesture all the more prominent underneath the street lamp. "If you do, then I can't see it. But the moment I first saw you, I just 'sensed' something unique about you, only I just can't put my finger on it."

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By the time our second meeting ended, I had decided two things. First, my Master was very, very good at what he did to me. And second, there was no way I could wait until Christmas for our next visit. Almost a month had passed since our second "date." I had been teased, pleased, fucked, and damn well tortured during our short time together. Even though he had to leave early, we kept in touch over the phone. His contact was addicting;

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He obeyed so well. It was one of her favorite things about him. Her other favorite thing about him? The way he disobeyed. Tonight she'd push him to his limits and test his devotion. She had to. If he succeeded, she would collar him. She'd searched for weeks for his collar, the one that would fit him perfectly. One that fit them perfectly. It was black leather, dark, soft and supple.

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Feeling that deep thrill, that slow burn that seems to consume, that long deep obsession with being worshiped. I have him on his knees now, he is complacent, docile....he is submissive. It was not always this way. We began with a completely old fashioned relationship, with no power exchange. We were blind to the Ecstasy of submission, innocent of the line between pleasure and pain.

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Going through emails was normally quite tedious when you owned a website. Joseph's website, however, was a niche site that only attracted specific viewers, so the emails he received were very specific, and much more interesting.

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If time could be recognized, then we would have no need for clocks or calendars. These things are metres set against a background of haze and dream. The truth of time is that we live it. We breathe in moments and release seconds to the atmosphere where they bound and prance, teasing us before disappearing completely. They taunt us with their ephemerity.

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Jenna drove as fast as she dared. The wreck on the bridge had caused a stand still in traffic for thirty minutes and when it had started to move it was at a snail's pace. She was fifteen minutes late. Jared would be displeased. He'd told her to be home no later than six-thirty. She left the packages in the car and went straight inside. "You are late."

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