Sinful Whispers: A Collection of Forbidden Tales

I made sure to arrive early the next Sunday.The sanctuary was still half-dark when I slipped into the choir loft. I left my robe open over a black dress that sat lower on my chest than anything I had worn to church before. When I bent to gather the sheet music, I felt the fabric stretch tight across my breasts and the soft curve of my ass. I stayed bent a second longer than I needed to, knowing the angle would show him exactly what I wanted him to see if he walked in.He did.I felt his eyes on me before I heard his footsteps. When I straightened and turned, Pastor Elias stood at the bottom of the loft steps, already looking away like he hadn’t been staring.I smiled the shy smile I had practiced.During service I sang with my eyes half-closed, letting the music move through my body the way I wanted him to. Every time I felt his attention drift toward the choir, I let my lips part a little more, let my breath catch on the high notes like I was already being touched.After the last pr

I locked the office door myself.The second click of the bolt felt louder than the first. Elias stayed seated behind the desk, chest rising and falling too fast, eyes fixed on me with a mixture of hunger and pure panic. He looked like a man standing on the edge of a height he had never meant to climb. I walked around to his side of the desk slowly, letting him watch every step. When I reached him I placed both hands on the arms of his chair and pushed it back from the desk with a soft scrape of wood on wood.Then I sank to my knees between his spread legs.The carpet was thin. I could feel the hard floor beneath it. My hands were steady when I reached for his belt. The leather slipped free. The button opened. The zipper lowered with a sound that seemed to fill the entire office. I hooked my fingers into the waistband of his trousers and boxers together and pulled them down just far enough. His cock sprang free—thick, flushed dark, the head already shiny with the wetness he had been le

I was two months from walking down the aisle and my friends cancelled on the dress appointment with less than three hours’ notice.One had a work emergency. One had a sick kid. The third simply stopped answering her phone. I sat on the edge of the bed in the apartment I already shared with Mark, staring at the confirmation email from the bridal salon, and felt the familiar tight knot of disappointment settle under my ribs. Mark was at the office. When I called him he sounded genuinely sorry, then hesitated.“My sister’s free today,” he said. “Sarah. She’s been asking if she can help with anything. I can text her.”Sarah.I had met her only four times since Mark and I got engaged. She was thirty, two years older than him, quiet in groups, with a dry sense of humour that appeared only when she felt safe. Mark had once mentioned, almost casually, that she was bisexual and that it had caused a few tense Christmases when they were younger. I had filed the information away and never thought

The car smelled like her.Cedar and clean soap and the faint trace of what we had done still clung to the upholstery. I sat in the passenger seat with my hands folded in my lap, staring straight ahead through the windshield while the city slid past in ordinary daylight. Sarah drove the same way she had on the way to the salon: steady, quiet, one hand on the wheel. She did not turn on the radio.My body still throbbed. Between my legs I felt the residual stretch, the slick heat that had nothing to do with the dress I now wore again. Every shift of my hips reminded me of the mirror, the cool glass against my breasts, the thick length of her pushing into me while her hand covered my mouth. The memory arrived in sharp, unwanted flashes. I pressed my thighs together and tried to make it stop.Guilt settled over everything like a second skin.I had cheated on Mark. Not with a stranger in a bar. Not with some half-forgotten ex. With his sister. In a bridal fitting room, two months before our

Sarah’s fingers slid lower when I pressed her hand. She found me still wet and open, and the quiet sound she made against my shoulder was almost a laugh.“Still?”“Yeah.”She turned onto her side, propped on one elbow, and watched my face while two fingers pushed inside. Slow. Testing. I exhaled through my nose and let my knees fall open wider.“You’re sore.”“I know.”“Want me to stop?”I shook my head once. Sarah kissed the corner of my mouth, then reached over to the nightstand. A drawer opened. Plastic clicked. She came back with a slim vibrator, the kind that fit in one hand. She didn’t ask again. She simply switched it on. The low buzz filled the quiet room.She settled between my legs, cock already hard again, and rubbed the head through my folds until I lifted to meet it. When she pushed in this time the stretch burned sharper than before. I gritted my teeth. Sarah paused halfway.“Breathe.”“I’m trying.”She waited, one hand steady on my hip, the other resting the vibrator ag