WET DESIRES

“Shame is a collar they give you young. I didn’t know how good it would feel to take it off.”

I remember the first time I had sex.

I didn’t want it.

And James didn’t care.

He moaned in pleasure while I cried beneath him.

I also remember my mother’s words about sex:

“It’s not for you to enjoy,” she said. “Just make sure your husband is satisfied.”

I nodded. But something in me wanted to scream.

My name is Mariam. I grew up in a deeply religious home. My mother never questioned my father. She obeyed, submitted, stayed silent. I was raised to follow her footsteps.

But deep down, I hated it.

I craved freedom. I despised the idea of living my entire life under someone else’s control.

There was always something different in me. I knew it.

I had wet dreams I was too scared to talk about. I would wake up soaked, heart racing, filled with guilt and shame. I didn’t understand what my body was trying to tell me. I only knew it felt… good.

Sometimes, while shaving my pussy, I would run my fingers over its smoothnes and my body would tingle. I always stopped, frightened by what I was feeling.

I was just eighteen when my life changed.

My older sisters had all married early, like my mum. I knew my turn was near. One night, my mother called me in for “the talk.” She told me about my body and sex but only in the context of pleasing my husband.

But my body was already wet with curiosity. And I knew… I knew there was more to it than what she said. There was a door to pleasure, and I needed to find it.

Then he arrived.

His name was James.

I cried when I met him.

Everyone around me acted like I should be grateful. Girls my age were jealous, saying they couldn’t wait to be “disvirgined” by their husbands.

But I didn’t feel lucky.

I felt trapped.

James was cold. Distant. Controlling.

On our wedding night, he asked if I had received all the “orientation” I needed. Then he pulled out his dick it was big, and I was terrified my first ever dick .

I lay there, frozen, as he climbed on top of me. He fucked me hard. I felt my pussy tearing from the pain. I cried silently, staring at the ceiling. He groaned with pleasure, as if my pain didn’t exist.

I thought, maybe this is what my mum meant.

When it was over, he rolled off me and fell asleep.

I crawled to the bathroom, washed off the blood and shame, and sobbed. In the morning, he woke up and demanded sex again. From behind this time. It felt like my pussy tore all over again.

I asked him, “Is this what sex means to you?”

He said, “Yes. As long as I cum, we’re good.”

“And what about me?” I whispered.

He shrugged. “Just make me cum every day. That’s your job.”

That went on for two years.

James was wealthy. I had no real responsibilities. I dressed up, attended banquets, smiled for photos. Then lay under him whenever he wanted sex. He never asked if I liked it. He just used my body and rolled away.

I was just… there.

Asking for an orgasm was taboo. He said only prostitutes chased pleasure. He told me to be ashamed if I ever moaned or looked like I enjoyed sex.

So I stopped talking.

I kept having wet dreams. Sometimes, they were more intense than anything I had ever felt in real life. But I didn’t dare tell him. I knew he’d find a way to shame me for it.

I had designer clothes, gadgets, even a laptop and journal. But I wasn’t allowed to leave the house alone. I had bodyguards, a mansion, and no freedom.

Church wasn’t any better. All the women were obsessed with virtue and submission. Every sermon was about pleasing your husband.

One Sunday, a woman stood up and asked why she never had orgasms.

The church gasped like she had committed a sin just for saying it.

But I sat there, wondering…

What does an orgasm feel like?

I didn’t even know.

Then I met Jessica.

She dressed however she wanted. Her husband didn’t call her a prostitute or shame her like James did. She was married to one of James’s business partners. We started shopping together, and I quietly studied her marriage.

One day, James went on a business trip with her husband, and I asked to stay over.

That night changed everything.

Jessica wasn’t like the women I grew up with. She watched adult films. She owned sexy lingerie. I asked if she wasn’t ashamed.

She laughed and said,

“What year are you in, girl? Of course it’s normal.”

She handed me a thong barely enough to cover anything I was shy and

I hesitated.

She insisted.

I tried it on.

The air touched parts of me that had never been exposed. It felt dangerous. I felt… seen.

And I didn’t hate it. I felt good about my exposed body

Then she led me into a room that looked like something from a forbidden fantasy. Chains. Rubber dildos. A strap-on. Vibrators.

“Toys for pleasure,” she said casually.

My pussy throbbed. I didn’t know what that feeling meant. I felt sinful just being there. If my mother saw me, she’d faint and judge me .

I made an excuse to leave, but Jessica handed me the thong.

“Take it,” she smiled. “And if you ever want to get more, I’ll give you websites to order from. For you and James.”

But I couldn’t. James would never allow it. And my mother would say I’d lost my morals.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

All I could think about was the way the thong felt. The toys. The way Jessica spoke about pleasure. I wondered… What if I could feel it too?

What if there was more to being a woman than being a wife?

For the first time in my life… I wanted to touch myself.

I slid my hand down my thigh, brushing my pussy lips. I was soaked. My breathing quickened but I stopped.

I jumped into the bath, hoping to wash the thoughts away.

But they lingered.

Still restless, I went downstairs to find a snack.

Then I heard it.

Moaning.

Loud. Real. Passionate.

It was coming from Jessica’s room.

I crept toward the door, heart racing.

There she was her legs spread wide, fucking herself with a thick rubber dildo. Her head tilted back. Her body trembling. The moans... they were uncontrollable,I could see the pleasure on her face she hadn’t even notice my presence

I should have looked away.

But I didn’t.

My hand slid beneath my nightdress. My pussy was dripping. I rubbed slowly, circling my clit. I sat on the floor outside her room, biting my lip to keep from moaning. I was touching myself outside her room

My scent filled the air. I brought my fingers to my mouth I Wanted to know how I tasted

Fuck... I taste good.

A low moan escaped me. My fingers moved faster.

“Oh fuck… I love this,” I whispered.

I rolled my hips, slipped a finger inside. Then another.

I imagined someone not James. Not even someone real. Just someone who wanted me. Who made me feel alive.

“You’re disgusting,” I whispered to myself.

But I didn’t stop.

I put two fingers pumping my pussy

My breath quickened. My body trembled. My mind screamed sin, shame, taboo—but my fingers kept moving.

I was close.

So close.

My back arched. Thighs shook. I bit my lip to muffle the moan.I wanted more and more pleasure

Then

I felt someone watching me.

I froze. My heart slammed in my chest.

I yanked my hand away from my dripping pussy, pulled my nightdress down, and sat up straight. I was panicking already

“Jessica?” I called, voice shaking.

No answer.

Just silence.

Then I saw it.

A shadow in the hallway.

Watching.

Breathing.

Someone had seen me.

I panicked. Scrambled to my feet.

“Hello?” I whispered.

Still nothing.

Then, before I could turn on the light, a voice calm, rich, familiar drifted from the shadows.

“So… this is the real Mariam.”