Taboo Short Stories Novels & Stories

Isabelle Moreau stared at her phone, Mark’s loving message glowing on the screen while her pussy still throbbed from Vic’s fingers. Vic Lang stepped closer, her sharp green eyes dark with want. “Well, Izzy? What are you going to tell your sweet husband when you get home smelling like another woman’s touch?” Izzy’s violet eyes flicked up, full of guilt and heat. “I… I don’t know, I should go home. This is wrong, Vic. I’m married.”

The summer heat in the suburban house was stifling, even with the AC humming at full blast. Emma sprawled on the living-room couch in her panty shorts—tiny black cotton that hugged her ass like a second skin—and a matching bikini bra that barely contained her full breasts. The fabric was thin, damp with sweat, her nipples faintly visible through the material as she fanned herself with a magazine. Sarah, her roommate, lounged beside her in similar attire, scrolling through N*****x on the big screen. “Horror?” Sarah suggested with a grin. “It’s too hot for anything else need something to give me chills.”

She pinched my hard nipple, rolling it between her fingers, and I arched into her with a whimper. “Fuck, Emma,” she breathed against my lips. “You’re so responsive. So wet already, aren’t you?” I was. My tiny shorts were soaked, the crotch clinging to my shaved, puffy pussy lips. I nodded, kissing her harder, our tongues tangling sloppily. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jake stand up. He shoved his shorts down, and his thick, veiny cock sprang free—long, heavy, the head already glistening with precum. He wrapped his big hand around it and started stroking slowly, watching us with dark, burning eyes.

Our bodies said everything. “I love you,” Frank said suddenly. “Not just this. I love being with you.” My heart swelled. “I love you too,” I whispered. “More than I should.” We talked about our feelings. It was more than sex. We connected deep. He understood me. I made him feel young and alive. The taboo made it stronger. But it also made it scary. The next day we took more risks. Mom went to the store. We had thirty minutes. I sucked him in the kitchen. On the counter. I took him deep while he sat on a chair. Then he bent me over the table and fucked me. We came together fast.

********* "Wow, so you're saying, Aaron actually touched you!. Like he touched you!, as in he touched you! Oh my goodness, your brother, he... he touched you! He touched your body!, He touched your b**bs, he puts his hand in your...." "Stop it okay, stop. Yeah, my brother did all that, you don't have to sing it in my ear. All I want you to do, is tell me how to salvaged the situation." Alexia concludes. "I'm sorry Alexia, but I don't think there's a way to salvaged this situation. Nope, the taboo it's already takings place, you might think, since the both of you haven't had sex yet, it means you can still save the whole situation, but you can't. Right now, there's sexual tension between the

Story Note: “Room for One More” is a standalone short from my erotic collectiona mix of intense, sensual, and sometimes forbidden stories that explore the raw edges of desire. Each story introduces new characters, new fantasies, and unapologetically explicit encounters. This particular tale features a taboo dynamic between step-siblings, told with heat, dominance, and no holding back. Reader discretion is advised. *************************************************

I thought the sessions with the psychologist would be more difficult. The topics we address are heavy, yet I find it easy to open up to her. Like Jane, I’m a very reserved person, and it embarrasses me to admit that I endured severe psychological abuse from my husband. I'm also ashamed of having had a lover. According to the values I was raised with, that was immoral—no different than being a prostitute. And on top of all that, I danced in a nightclub where illegal dealings took place.

Mehta had walked up to the terrace to collect the clothes she had set to dry and every time she gave me a smile and I had this feeling, her eyes strayed all over me, especially my crotch. Again maybe it was just the mind of a perverted nineteen year old working overtime. Once in a while I was bored to work out, so I would light up a smoke but, making sure no one would ever find out. It was one of those days when I was relishing on my smoke without a care in the world when I heard someone behind me. I turned and saw Mrs. Mehta standing and staring at me. Now a nineteen year old smoking in the west is no big deal but in India that sure is taboo.

He’d touched himself, of course-religiously, guiltily, furiously-but the mechanics of actual intimacy with another person remained a mystery, a territory he approached with equal parts longing and terror. Jane’s experience was even more limited. A boy named Trevor had kissed her at a party once, shoving his tongue into her mouth like he was trying to find something he’d dropped in there. She’d pushed him away after three seconds and spent the rest of the night in the bathroom, wiping saliva off her chin. That was the sum total of her sexual history. So they circled each other. They flirted without knowing they were flirting. They touched casually, then less casually, then with intent that ma

Lena's heart raced as she realized the night was about to get much filthier. The first two new guys arrived in under ten minutes. They walked in and stopped dead at the sight of the naked, cum soaked woman on the floor. "Holy shit," one of them said, already pulling his shorts down. "You guys were not lying." Lena smiled weakly and spread her legs wider. "Come use me. All of you."