Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 61 - Chapitre 70

Tessa’s POVI walked into the pediatrician’s office. It smelled like rubbing alcohol and strawberry stickers. The waiting room had the usual toys; plastic blocks, a fish tank with one dead plant, and posters of smiling kids getting shots. I sat on the edge of the exam table in room 3. The paper roll crinkled under my butt every time I moved. It was still fresh… white, thin, a little waxy.I wasn’t here for a kid. I was 27, and single. With no kid.But Dr. Cole had been my pediatrician when I was little. Now he still practiced here, and still attended to grown patients sometimes “for old time’s sake.” He had messaged me last week, late at night *“Need a quick check-up? You'll find me in room 3. Come Tuesday 4:30. The door will be unlocked.*That's why I was here. The door was unlocked when I walked in, I locked it behind me.The room was quiet except for the whispering hum of the little fridge with vaccines. The exam table was in the middle, neatly padded abs covered with fr

The late-September sun hit the school parking lot, the sound of cars hooting, driving in and out could be heard. Cotton-candy scent drifted from the snack table, mixing with grilled hot dogs and freshly cut grass.Some kids were shrieking on the bounce house, parents calling out bids at the silent auction.A banner hung between two poles, it read. “Sringfield Elementary Fall Fest --Dunk the Teacher!” in bright red letters.The duck tank sat in the center of the midfield. A big clear plastic box filled with water that looked deceptively blue under the sun.A folding chair was placed on the platform above the tank. Ms. Harder, third-grade teacher in a modest one piece swimsuit and a forced smile sat on it.A line of kids holding onto their softballs, waiting their turn.I wasn't here for the kids. I was here for “Avery.” Avery Brooks—PE teacher, 34, looking all sun-kissed, and always in whistle and shorts even when there wasn't a gym class in session.He has been flirting with me since

It’s wrong on every level. And I’ve never been more turned on in my life.Oh God, where do I even begin with the basement? It's not just a place anymore. It's my personal hell and heaven twisted into one sweaty, filthy knot. Every third Friday, when Dad's poker buddies roll up, I feel that pull like a magnet. The anticipation starts hours before, my skin tingling, I'm already wet. I tell myself this time I'll skip it, play it safe, but by the time the first car pulls into the driveway, I'm downstairs, heart slamming against my ribs, waiting like a junkie for her fix.The basement smells like old cardboard and the sharp tang of Dad's forgotten gym equipment in the corner. The concrete floor is cold under my bare feet, the single bare bulb overhead casting harsh shadows that make everything feel more raw, and more exposed. The washer and dryer hum in the background a constant white noise that drowns out the wet slaps and muffled groans, but not completely. There's always that edge

Upstairs poker night is basically a big acting gig. Everyone’s pretended it’s just cards and beers, but the real game happened downstairs like ten minutes ago. I sat at the dining table, legs squeezed together super tight, so nobody noticed the warm, slippery situation going on between my thighs. Jeans and cozy sweater? Total cover-up fail. I’m basically a human furnace.Dad’s sat at the head of the table, shuffling cards like it’s his job, the same grumpy-efficient way he always does. The guys are spread out: Mark on his left looking way too pleased with himself, Tony and Rick across from me cracking dumb work jokes, Javier chilling quietly but stealing glances at me every few seconds, and Paul at the far end fiddling with his chips like he’s remembering exactly how my nipples felt earlier.The room smelt like cigars, spilled beer. Everyone laughing, chips clicking, but I swear every single one of them undressed me with their eyes. My nipples were still tender from those clamps. My a

Dominic’s POV It was evening, few hours later after I fucked a hot looking girl of 25… her sex appeal was too raw to resist.I sat in the rectory, my collar off. Shirt unbuttoned. I did nothing, just staring at the wall. The marks on my neck throbbed, I remembered how I earned that mark. I could still taste her. I should’ve felt guilt. Crushing, soul-deep guilt. But I didn’t. Instead. I felt… alive. It's been more than 5 years I felt this way.My phone buzzed, I picked it from my desk. An unknown number, sent a message. I opened it, it was a photo.Clara… that was her name. Her legs were spread on what looked like the back pew, fingers inside herself, already wet.Caption: *Thinking about Thursday. Don’t keep me waiting, Father.*I groaned, walked out and dismissed the people waiting to see me, scheduled them for another day. I made sure it was just myself left.I went back to my office, thoughts of her already on my mind. I was already hard again.I typed back:“Penance starts now.