What Household Items Hold A Gallon?

If you’re a delicate little flower who clutches pearls and believes sex should only happen in the missionary position with the lights off and your spouse’s permission, close this book immediately. Seriously. Put it down before you ruin your boring little life with uncontrollable wetness and questionable morals. Still here? Good girl. Welcome to Dripping Forbidden: 100 Ways to Make Yourself Wet — a ruthless, dripping-wet collection of one hundred filthy, plot-driven taboo stories that don’t just flirt with the line… they bend you over it, fuck you senseless, and leave you leaking.😉 💦

The world plunged into a new Ice Age. As the frozen apocalypse spread, 95% of humanity perished. In his first timeline, Cyrus Knovell's kindness cost him everything. The people he had helped betrayed him and left him for dead. Fate, however, granted him a second chance. He awakened one month before the world froze, gaining a dimensional ability that let him store anything without limit. Now he hoarded supplies by the billions and built a fortress no one could breach. While others shivered, starved, and traded their dignity for a morsel, Cyrus lived in comfort. The desperate came begging. The manipulative vixen: "Cyrus, let me into your shelter, and I'll be your girlfriend, okay?" The spoiled rich heir: "Cyrus, I'll give you all my money for just one meal!" The greedy neighbors: "Cyrus, you shouldn't be so selfish. You should share your supplies with us!" Cyrus remembered their betrayals. Lounging in his steel fortress and savoring his private paradise, he sneered, "Your survival has nothing to do with me. I'd rather feed the dogs than feed you."

Ninety stories. Ninety descents. No apologies. 90 Days Wet is a relentless erotica compilation that strips desire down to its rawest form…power, hunger, obsession, and the choices people make when they stop pretending they’re good. Each story stands alone. Different lives. Different rules. Different limits. From polished housewives with dirty secrets to sugar arrangements that blur into ownership, from age-gap dynamics to domination that doesn’t ask permission…every chapter peels away restraint and leaves something exposed. The further you go, the wetter it gets. The darker it turns. The more dangerous the wants become. This is not slow burn romance. This is filth, sex and taboo in all this glory. Read one. Read ten. Just don’t expect to come out clean. 18+ | Explicit themes | Reader discretion advised

While inspecting my family's cold-storage operations, my husband, Hayden Gibson, and the poor college student I had sponsored, Olivia Hall, suddenly disappeared. As I passed by a research supply container, lines of floating text suddenly appeared in my vision. [That was close! They almost got caught by the heiress! Good thing Hayden reacted fast and pulled the innocent young woman into the cargo container.] [But this supply container is about to get locked and loaded onto a ship and sent to the Southfrost Reach research station. Are those two trying to turn themselves into ice sculptures?"] I just stood there. Hayden, my husband, who had married into my family, was cheating right under my nose? I was about to pull open the container door when Hayden's personal assistant, Robin, stepped in front of me with a smile. "The seal around the door was just waxed, and it hasn't dried yet. You might get your hands dirty." The bullet comments appeared again. [That scared me to death! This assistant is pretty smart. Once Hayden gets out, the assistant definitely deserves a new car.] [As expected of the Chosen One. He can always escape danger! I can't wait to watch his sweet romance with the sweet, innocent young woman.] I stared at the floating text and laughed coldly. "These are critical supplies for the research team. Seal the container now so that nothing goes wrong. Get the welder and weld the door shut." The assistant froze, and the bullet comments momentarily stopped. [Holy moly! She's so ruthless! The two people inside are completely naked right now!] [Help! If the container door gets welded shut, Hayden and the female lead will spend a month at sea and really freeze into ice sculptures!]

I was the only female carpenter in town, and I made caskets at cost price for anyone in the area who needed one. Everyone said I was generous, kind-hearted, the whole routine. Then one afternoon, Doug Hadley showed up at my shop with his wife Trish Grady and a handful of neighbors to order a cremation urn. Trish stared at the price tag. "An urn for only 50 dollars? What is this, scrap wood?" Doug shot her a look. "Don't run your mouth about things you don't understand. It's solid ebony. Bridget makes them herself, so it's cheaper." Trish snickered behind her hand. "Solid ebony? That might fool someone who doesn't know any better. My cousin runs a funeral supply shop, so trust me, I know what I'm looking at. This isn't ebony. It's plywood. It's five dollars' worth of material, tops. "I can take you all to my cousin's place. I'll make sure he gives us a deal." The neighbors were already nodding. "The urn's supposed to last a hundred years. Obviously, I want the best for my mom." "Selling plywood and calling it ebony... You ought to be ashamed." "Come on, let's all go to Trish's cousin. I'm not giving her the chance to make dirty money off any of us." Dirty money? As far as I knew, mine was the only shop in town that actually stocked real ebony. Everyone else used MDF. If they were not afraid of the thing falling apart, they were welcome to go for it.

During the mandatory freshman orientation camp, my skin had flared up with a severe allergic reaction, so I didn't use the plastic washbasin the school handed out. Instead, I opened my suitcase and took out the custom silver basin I had brought from home. My roommate, Louisa Carter, immediately made a snide remark, drawling, "You're really something, huh? Kids from broke families like us are lucky to have any basin at all." I didn't bother responding. I simply pulled out my facial essence to do a cold compress, but she immediately rushed over, slapped the bottle out of my hand, and jabbed a finger at my face. "Bet you get tens of thousands a month for living expenses. You have a sugar daddy, don't you? Don't you feel guilty making your folks work their fingers to the bone back on the farm? People like you don't deserve to be at our school. I'm reporting you to the student counselor." I laughed in disbelief and slapped her. … The next morning, the family photo I'd left on my desk had been slashed to ribbons. Across the back, carved in ink, were the words: 'Daughter of a homewrecker. Go to hell.' I went straight to the police. While officers pulled the dorm security footage, our student counselor and the university president rushed in. The moment the president saw the man whose face had been cut apart in my photo, his legs nearly buckled. He almost dropped to his knees.