Todos os capítulos de Wet Confessions: Capítulo 91 - Capítulo 100

I should’ve known better than to notice. He’s my doctor. His touch is supposed to be professional, clinical, detached. And yet every time his hands are on me, my body betrays me. It started with something simple. A routine exam, the kind I’d had a hundred times before. But when his fingers brushed my skin firm, careful, lingering just a heartbeat too long I felt heat pool low in my stomach. I told myself I imagined it. That it was nothing. But then it kept happening. His hand guiding me just a little lower, his palm resting on my thigh longer than it needed to. The way his breath would hitch so subtle, but enough to make me wonder if he felt it too. And God help me I didn’t move away. I sat there on that paper covered table, pretending I was unaffected, while inside I was burning. My pulse racing, my thighs pressing together under the flimsy gown. Every touch of his stethoscope against my chest made me shiver. Every time his fingers steadied me, my breath came shorter. And th

I should never say this to anyone. If anyone ever found these pages, I’d burn with shame, but my body won’t let me forget, and if I don’t put it somewhere, I’ll explode. It started so innocently. I was babysitting, the kids finally asleep, the TV murmuring in the background. His house was too warm, the couch was too soft, and I made the mistake of letting myself drift off. When I woke, I wasn’t alone. At first, I thought I was dreaming the faint touch along my leg, the careful weight of fingers that didn’t belong to me. I froze, eyes still shut, breath shallow. My heart pounded so loud I was sure he could hear it. It was him. The father. The man who trusted me in his home. His wife’s husband. My boss. His hand moved up, slow, testing, like he was waiting for me to flinch, to push him away. I didn’t. God help me, I didn’t. I lay there, still as stone, every nerve in my body burning, shame, and heat tangling until I couldn’t tell them apart. His fingers slid under the hem of

Dinner Table Temptation The dining room buzzed with clinking glasses, laughter, and the chaos of too many relatives stuffed into one space. Daniel sat wedged between an uncle who wouldn’t stop bragging and his father who’d had one too many whiskeys. Across the table, Eva, his step-sister in-law, watched him with eyes that lingered too long, too knowingly. She laughed at jokes that weren’t funny, sipped her wine too slowly, her tongue wetting her lips as though only he could see. And he did. Every damn time. When the dessert arrived, something shifted. He felt it before he saw it the subtle graze of her bare foot against his calf under the table. His body stiffened, breath catching. He tried to ignore it, shoving a forkful of pie into his mouth. But her toes traced higher, teasing along his shin, then pausing at his knee. He choked on the sweetness in his throat. “Everything okay?” his uncle asked. Daniel coughed, forcing a smile. “Yeah just, uh, went down the wrong way.”

The Silk and the Mirror I wasn’t supposed to be in her room. Every night, I carried her laundry upstairs, folded her lace, and tucked her perfumes neatly in a row. Every night, I smoothed the sheets she would later spread her body across. And every night, I imagined myself where she belonged. I told myself it was just curiosity. Just harmless wondering. But the closet pulled me like a magnet, the heavy wooden door, the scent of jasmine and rosewater seeping from inside. I lingered there too long, heart pounding, until one night, temptation won. The handle turned beneath my hand, and I slipped inside. Her world was waiting for me. Racks of silk and satin, gowns whispering against each other like secrets. A vanity crowded with gold capped bottles, diamonds glinting faintly in the lamplight. My breath caught. I reached out, fingers trembling, stroking the sleeve of a gown. Smooth. Cool. Forbidden. I buried my nose in the fabric, inhaling the faint perfume clinging to it. My

I thought I could control it. That if I sat perfectly still, if I kept my breathing steady, no one would notice the way I was trembling on his lap. But he noticed. Every time the bus lurched, his grip on my waist tightened. Every time I tried to lean forward, his hand anchored me back, pressing me down harder against him. I could feel the shape of him so thick it made me shiver. The thin cotton of my panties felt soaked, shame pooling where his body pressed against mine. My thighs clenched, but it only made me rub against him more, like I was betraying myself. The worst part? No one else on that bus seemed to notice. Old women fanned themselves near the window. A couple argued softly a few rows up. A baby cried at the back. The world moved on as if I wasn’t perched on a stranger’s lap, his mouth so close to my ear that every breath made me wetter. “Good girl,” he whispered, when I stilled after another bump. The words sank into my skin, molten, dangerous. I bit my lip h