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Home / Romance / Forbidden Holes: A Filthy Taboo Collection / Chapter 41 - Chapter 47

All Chapters of Forbidden Holes: A Filthy Taboo Collection: Chapter 41 - Chapter 47

47 Chapters

INK AND SIN 1

AdeleI pushed open the heavy glass door of Ink & Sin and the bell above it jingled like it was announcing my bad decisions. The studio smelled like antiseptic, warm skin, and that faint metallic tang of fresh ink. My heart was already hammering against my ribs as I stepped inside, the cool air conditioning kissing my bare legs under my sundress. I’d spent weeks—months, really—saving up for this. Skipping lunches, picking up extra shifts at the café, lying to my boyfriend Ryan about where the money was going. “Just some new clothes,” I’d told him. He’d shrugged with that same bored expression he gave everything these days. “Cool.”Ryan. God, he was so fucking nonchalant it hurt. Six months together and the spark had died somewhere between his video games and my growing frustration. He barely touched me anymore. Meanwhile, I was here, my thighs already tingling at the thought of letting a stranger put permanent art on the most intimate part of me.Timothee.I’d been stalking his Insta

INK AND SIN 2

The needle buzzed to life again, but the sound felt distant compared to the pounding of my heart. Timothee’s gloved hand rested firm on my inner thigh, holding me steady while the other guided the machine. The first real lines of ink sank into the sensitive skin just above my clit, a sharp sting that quickly melted into something warmer, deeper. I gripped the armrests, trying to breathe through it, but every vibration traveled straight down to my core.“You’re doing good, Adele,” he murmured, voice low and steady, like he was talking me through something far more intimate than a tattoo. His breath ghosted across my bare mound, warm and deliberate. “Relax into it. Let your body feel everything.”I bit my lip hard, eyes fixed on the ceiling tiles, but it was impossible not to look at him. Timothee leaned in close, dark hair falling over his forehead, his hazel eyes focused with that intense artist concentration. The muscles in his forearm flexed with every careful pass of the needle, b

INK AND SIN 3

The needle finally went silent. Timothee set the machine down with a soft click, but the vibrations still hummed under my skin like a second heartbeat. I was a trembling mess on the chair.. my legs spread wide, sundress bunched uselessly around my waist, pussy swollen and dripping from the combination of pain, pleasure, and his relentless fingers and tongue. The fresh ink on my mound throbbed in time with my clit, the delicate thorns and roses now permanently part of me. Marked by him.Timothee peeled off his gloves slowly, eyes never leaving mine. Those hazel depths were dark now, pupils blown wide with the same hunger I felt twisting low in my belly. “We’re done with the tattoo,” he said, voice rough like gravel wrapped in silk. “But I’m nowhere near done with you, Adele.”I should have said no. Should have pulled my dress down, thanked him, and run back to Ryan’s nonchalant existence. Instead, I whispered, “Then don’t stop.”He stood up, towering over me, and stripped his black t-

INK AND SIN 4

He pushed in slowly at first, the fat head stretching my walls inch by inch. I felt every vein, every ridge as he sank deeper, filling me completely until his hips pressed against my ass. The fullness was overwhelming… pleasure bordering on pain in the best way. He stayed buried deep for a long moment, letting me adjust, hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise.“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned. “So wet and hot around me. This pussy was made for my cock.”Then he started moving. Long, deep thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot inside me. The table creaked under us. My tits bounced with every slam, my nipples rubbing against the leather. The fresh tattoo throbbed in time with his strokes, pain and pleasure twisting together until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.He leaned over me, his chest against my back, one hand sliding around to rub my clit in tight circles while he fucked me harder. His mouth was on my neck, biting and sucking marks into my ski

My Stalker Professor 1

OliviaThe rain had been falling since noon, soft and steady against the leaded windows of the old stone building. I sat in the front row of Professor Hale’s seminar the way I always did— my spine straight, my pen moving acros the paper, every answer already rehearsed in my head. Scholarship students didn’t get to look bored. We didn’t get to miss a single mark. My mother still worked double shifts at the hospital back home, and the last time I’d spoken to my father he’d told me not to come back if I failed. So I didn’t fail. I couldn’t.But that afternoon the words on the page kept blurring. It wasn’t the text. It was the low, measured sound of his voice rolling through the lecture hall, the way he paused just long enough for the silence to tighten around every throat in the room. I had spent three months pretending the heat that pooled low in my belly whenever he looked at me was nothing more than academic adrenaline. I was good at pretending. I’d been doing it my whole life.When

My Stalker Professor 2

The rain had returned by the time I climbed the steps to his office the following Thursday. Seven o’clock exactly. My heart was already hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat, in the soft place between my legs, everywhere.I knocked once. The door opened almost immediately. Professor Hale stood there in the same dark sweater and rolled sleeves he’d worn in class that morning, looking calm and severe and completely unsurprised to see me. He stepped aside. I walked in. The door closed behind me with a soft, deliberate click, and then the lock turned.My stomach dropped and tightened at the same time.He didn’t speak right away. He simply walked past me to the desk, set a slim leather portfolio on the polished surface, and opened it. Photographs. I saw my own face first. Soft, open-mouthed, eyes half-lidded in the dim light of my dorm room. Then another: me in the library stacks, my hand between my thighs, my head tipped back against the shelf. A third where I was clearly saying

My Stalker Professor 3

The weekend arrived like a fever I couldn’t sweat out.By Saturday morning I had already touched myself twice —once in the shower with my forehead pressed to the cool tile, once in bed with my face buried in the pillow so my roommate wouldn’t hear the broken sounds that kept spilling out of me. It wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. Every time I closed my eyes I felt the weight of his cock on my tongue again, the stretch of his fingers, the calm, filthy way he had called me his good girl while I came all over his hand. The photographs. The lock turning. The promise of next Thursday.Thursday was four days away.I couldn’t wait four days.I told myself I was only going because I needed clarification on the final paper. The secondary sources on Hawthorne’s use of guilt were tangled and I was a scholarship student who couldn’t afford confusion. That was the story I rehearsed the entire bus ride across town, the one I repeated under my breath while I walked the quiet residential street li

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