Semua Bab Forbidden Confession:- An Extra Spicy Erotica Collection : Bab 21 - Bab 30

The quiet hum of the old house was a comforting sound, a stark contrast to the bustling halls of Northwood High. I was Evelyn Reed, twenty-eight, and the newest intern in the English department. Stepping into the shoes of the abruptly departed Ms. Davies had been a whirlwind. Most evenings, I found solace in my modest rental, grading papers, trying to ignore the niggling anxieties about my temporary status. I was a little curvier than I’d like—a soft stomach, generous D-cup breasts that strained against my professional blouses, and a full, rounded backside that always seemed to attract unwanted attention. Tonight, I was in worn sweats, curled on the sofa with a mug of herbal tea, lost in a student essay.A subtle creak. Not the usual settling of old wood. I froze. My heart jumped, thudding against my ribs. I lived alone, and I was sure I’d locked the back door.The shadows by the kitchen entrance shifted. A figure emerged, tall and slender, illuminated faintly by the living room lamp.

The summer heat was heavy, thick and still in the old house. My stepdad, Arthur, was usually gone. He was an architect, always flying off to new places for big buildings. But this summer, he was home. All the time. It was strange. But I liked it. He was handsome, with eyes that saw everything and a quiet way that made me feel safe. I was sixteen. My body felt new. It had curves now, and big breasts that felt heavy. I didn't know what to do with them.He worked in his study most days. I tried to draw in the living room. Our talks used to be short. Now, he asked about my day. He listened. Really listened. It was different.Last night, the night before the storm, I was bored. I went to his study. He was on his computer. He looked at me."Bored, Eliza?" he asked."Yeah," I said.He nodded. He turned the screen a little. "Want to see something interesting?"I came closer. He was watching a video. It was a man and a woman. They were naked. They were doing things. Their bodies moved together

I woke up to the smell of bacon and the blinding Saturday morning sun. For one blissful, stupid second, I thought it had all been a nightmare.Then I moved.A deep, throbbing ache pulsed between my legs, a brutal reminder that it was real. Every muscle screamed in protest. The slick, shameful memory of Mark’s cock filling me, of his hot cum flooding my insides, washed over me, and I curled into a ball, burying my face in my pillow. It was real. The study. The desk. The floor. His voice. All of it.I stayed in bed for as long as I could, but eventually, the sound of my mom’s cheerful humming from the kitchen forced me up. I couldn’t hide forever. I had to face him.I took the longest, hottest shower of my life, scrubbing at my skin as if I could wash away his touch, the memory of his scent. I dressed in the baggiest sweatpants and hoodie I owned, a pathetic attempt to build a fortress around my body.When I finally forced my trembling legs to carry me downstairs, the scene in the kitch

The old house groaned, then shuddered. A sharp crack echoed from the pipes in the wall, followed by the unmistakable gush of water. Not a drip, but a deluge. My parents, of course, were on their annual cruise, leaving me, Olivia, twe nty-two, to manage. Just my luck.I’d thrown on an old tank top – faded cotton, stretched almost transparent across my chest – and a pair of worn denim shorts. The fabric clung, pulled taut over the generous swell of my breasts. They’d always been… prominent. A natural bounty. Sometimes, I’d catch men’s eyes lingering, and a part of me, a small, defiant part I rarely acknowledged, reveled in it. Why hide what you have? I’d sometimes think, a rebellious whisper. Tonight, though, I just needed to stem the tide.Panicked, I grabbed my phone. My parents’ first instruction for any household crisis: “Call Mr. Thorne.” Mr. Asher Thorne. Our neighbor for as long as I could remember. A widower, mid-forties, always kind, always reliable. He’d taught me to jump-star

The office hummed, a dull thrum under the fluorescent lights. Sarah adjusted her skirt, the silk stretching taut over her thighs. No panties today. She liked the feel of the fabric against her skin.Or maybe not. Mr. Devereaux had a way of looking at her. A slow, knowing gaze that trailed down her curves, making her skin prickle. She’d always wanted him. Every crisp white shirt, every tie loosened at the end of a long day. He was sharp, commanding, and she imagined, even naughtier than her.Today was big. The promotion she’d been eyeing. Her chance to step up.She walked into his office, heels clicking a confident rhythm on the polished floor. His door was already open. He was at his desk, leaning back, watching her approach. His eyes, dark and intense, were already on her. She felt the heat, a familiar rush that started low in her belly and spread through her.“Sarah,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Come in. Have a seat.”She took the chair opposite him. Her dress, a little too ti