Semua Bab Wet Confessions: Bab 21 - Bab 30

I shouldn’t be having these thoughts. But standing in front of the floor-length mirror in nothing but a half zipped bridal gown, I couldn’t stop watching him. Leon. The dressmaker. Quiet. Brooding. Dangerous in the most beautiful, artistic way. With rolled sleeves that revealed the sculpted lines of his forearms and a voice so low, it made silk sound crude. My fiancé should’ve been here. This was my final fitting. But it was just me and Leon. And the way he looked at me? As if the dress was in his way. He stepped behind me, adjusting the zipper with a measured touch. “You’re tense,” he said softly. “Breathe.” “I am breathing,” I whispered. He leaned closer, his hands brushing my waist. “Not like you want to be.” His voice was a seduction in itself velvet and heat. I met his eyes in the mirror. My breath hitched. “I designed this to hug you,” he continued, “but now that I see you in it, I realize it hides too much.” He circled me slowly, eyes roaming with h

When I walked into the atelier, I instantly knew something was different.The mannequins were gone. The sewing machines covered. The air was heavier thick with purpose and desire.And in the middle of the room stood a single dress.Not a wedding dress.Not lace or tulle.It was silk white and sleeveless, but strategically cut. It exposed more than it covered. The bodice was a teasing cage of diagonal silk strips that crisscrossed over my breasts but left my nipples barely shielded. The skirt hung in two long panels, split wide in the front, flowing to the floor like water. Every inch invited sin.“I made this just for tonight,” Leon said.He stepped out from behind a curtain. His eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them.“Try it on. No bra. No panties. I want to see your skin framed in surrender.”I obeyed.When I stepped out, I caught my reflection and felt a rush of shame and arousal.I looked like something out of a dark, forbidden fairy tale. Like a goddess groomed to be devoured.

What started as a casual board game night turned into something far more dangerous.There were ten of us: just a tight-knit group of old college friends, five guys and five girls, including Keon and me. Drinks were flowing, music played in the background, and the game of the night was Truth or Dare but a grown-up, no limits version.Keon sat across from me, legs spread, that usual teasing grin on his face. I was buzzed, flirty, and dying to cross a line I knew I shouldn’t.We’d always had tension. Too long glances, inside jokes, and that time, he nearly kissed me in the hallway during my last relationship. But tonight, it was different. Everyone else was distracted. Tipsy. And I was ready.My turn.“Truth or Dare?” his voice dropped when he looked at me.“Dare,” I smirked, locking eyes with him.He leaned forward, his gaze dark. “I dare you to sit on my lap for the next four turns.”Four turns. That meant at least forty-five minutes.“Can she touch you?” someone asked, laughing.“No t

They thought I was innocent.They saw the pink nails, the shy smile, the quiet girl with a tote bag full of poetry books.But they didn’t know what I kept in my Notes app.My Birthday List.1 Suck a cock until he begs.2 Get fucked in front of a mirror.3 Anal slow first, then hard.4 Try a blindfold.5 Hear someone moan my name.6 Cry from how good it feels.7 Be used by more than one man.Tonight, I was finally 19.And I was ready.It started at a lowkey apartment party. Just five of us. Music loud enough to shake the walls, smoke thick in the air, and the tang of tequila on everyone’s breath.I wore the shortest pink pleated skirt I owned and a crop top I had to tape to stay on. No bra. No panties.Every move I made felt like a dare.And Drew took it first.He cornered me by the fridge and ran his palm down my exposed thigh.“You forget your panties, birthday girl?”“No,” I whispered, my voice syrupy and loaded. “I left them off for you.”They gathered fast after that.Drew, Miles,

It started as an art project.A portfolio gig for a graduate student with a reputation: Leo Devlin mid thirties, dangerously talented, and known for pushing his models past comfort into obsession.He didn’t advertise his private collection.You had to be chosen."You have an untrained hunger," he’d said when we first met. "Untouched, but dying to be seen."I didn’t correct him.He was right.His studio was dimly lit, the air thick with cedarwood and a scent I later learned was him masculine, grounding, completely disarming.The first session was soft: shadows and silks, me wrapped in gauze, backlit. Innocent.The second: topless, lying across black velvet with ice cubes melting on my nipples.The third there was no clothing at all.He never touched me at first.Just posed me.Bent knees. Arched spine. Eyes lowered."You're not a girl anymore in my lens," he whispered behind the camera. "You're something men dream about when they’re too ashamed to admit it."That night, he had me sit s