All Chapters of Taste of Pleasure(Short Story Collection): Chapter 71 - Chapter 79

"Simon," she whispered in her sleepy voice. "I knew you'd come." I smiled down at her, my hand reaching out to cup her face. "I promised," I said softly. "I never break a promise, especially one made to you when I knew how fucking good you taste." She leaned into my touch, her eyes fluttering shut again as I gently ran my thumb over her lower lip. "Your taste was so good also," she murmured. I placed my lips on her forehead and kissed her. Then to her nose, before finally taking her lips in a soft, gentle kiss. It was different from the one we had shared earlier this one was slow, deliberate, and full of promise. It was a promise of what was to come. Her hand moved to my neck, pulling me closer enough to deepen the kiss. I groaned low in my throat as her tongue met mine, a dance of passion and hunger. I felt her hand slide down my chest while her other fingers worked at the buttons of my pyjama top. My own hands moved to her waist, pulling her up so she was sitting, her legs w

Serena. The bathroom wasn’t a sanctuary; it was a battlefield. I didn’t slip into the steaming water to wash away the day’s grime or to luxuriate in the fragrant suds of some expensive soap. I came here because I was aching. A deep, insistent throb had settled between my legs hours ago, a pulsing, painful reminder of a life half-lived. I was so wet it was a torment, a slick heat that my own husband had ignored me for six long months. Six months since our wedding night, a night that was supposed to be the beginning of everything and was instead the end of it all. "So, fuck him." Fuck Paul and his gentle, disinterested smiles. Fuck his endless work and his tired excuses. As the first drops of hot water pelted my skin, I shed the final layer of my pretence. I wasn’t going to play the part of the dutiful, unaffected wife anymore. Not here, not with the water muffling the sound of my own fractured sighs. My fingers were already between my thighs, parting the slick folds, searching fo

I sat on the edge of the bed for a long moment completely naked and exposed, the cool air of the room raising goosebumps on my skin. The sounds of the rain outside were a steady, mournful drumming against the window. The dim light from the bedside lamp cast long, dancing shadows across the room, making it feel like a stage. And I was the sole performer, waiting for an audience that never arrived. A decision crystallised in my mind, sharp and clear as ice. If Paul wasn’t going to come to me, then I would go to him. I would meet him at the door. I would make it impossible for him not to notice me. I would give him a vision he couldn’t ignore, a welcome home he would never forget. What would be more shocking, more undeniable, than me with nothing on? So I walked out of the bedroom and went to the parlour, the large, open space that was the heart of our sterile home. I grabbed the towel I’d discarded, not to wrap it around myself for modesty, but to carry it like a prop. My body was sti

I tried ignoring her. I tried pretending she didn’t exist, that she was just a piece of furniture, a pretty ornament in my son’s life. But it was no use. She was an infection, and I was a willing host. I started taking pictures of her secretly. The security cameras I’d had installed for “protection” became my private peepshow. I had footage of her sunbathing by the pool, her skin glistening with oil. I had clips of her sneaking into the kitchen late at night, completely naked, drinking a glass of water like she owned the damn place. I would replay them in the dead of night, taking screenshots, zooming in until the pixels blurred, committing every curve, every shadow, every forbidden inch of her to memory. I’d jerk off to those images, groaning her name into the suffocating darkness of my bedroom. She had become my favorite sin, the one I hated to commit but couldn’t resist, a secret addiction that was slowly eating me alive from the inside out. And now here she was. Not on a scree

He pushed back in, deeper this time, so deep that I choked, my throat constricting around him as my eyes watered. But he didn’t stop. He didn’t care. His hand was on the back of my head now, guiding me, forcing me to take more, to surrender completely to his pace. My jaw ached, but I didn’t care. I moaned, loving the stretch, the sheer, unadulterated wrongness of it all. He was my father-in-law. I was on my knees. He was fucking my mouth. And I was in heaven. He moaned in response, a low, vibrating sound that was my undoing. “Serena, your mouth,” he hissed, dragging his cock out slowly, watching with a hypnotised gaze as a thick strand of spit connected us. “You were made for this. Fuck.” My father-in-law was praising me, and the sound of my name on his lips, spoken in that tone of utter reverence and depravity, made my pussy drip even more, my thighs becoming slick with my own arousal. He bent slightly, his free hand sliding down my spine, a path of fire that left me trembli