Forbidden
Secret affairs, taboo desires, the thrill of the forbidden
23 stories
Popular tags
Showing 23 stories
Low Treble
The neck of the Gibson felt like a stranger's hand, cold and unyielding, while she stood by the oak vats and watched him bleed through a ballad.
Rough Silk
Her fingers on the glass were steady, but the way she looked at my mouth was a chord held just a second too long.
Tallow
She was the high priestess of deprivation, and I was a man who lived and died by the grace of butter and bourbon.
![](https://miscd.fra1.digitaloceanspaces.com/medium/"if-you-don't-close-that-door,-i'm-going-to-keep-thinking-you're-a-tourist"-951-cover-1785283262235.jpg)
"If You Don't Close That Door, I'm Going to Keep Thinking You're a Tourist"
The rain didn't just fall; it dismantled the city, turning the limestone facades into something slick and treacherous, much like the look in her eyes when her husband left the room.
Aisle 4, Under the 'Foreign Language' Sign
She’s balanced on the rolling ladder like a mountain goat in silk, and I’m ninety percent sure she’s not wearing underwear.
November 14th, 8:14 PM
His thumb hooked into the waistband of my silk trousers, dragging the fabric down just enough to expose the scar from my appendectomy.
A Smudge of Charcoal on a White Collar
He looked at her and felt the same bone-deep rattle you get when you’re too close to a controlled detonation.
Why Did You Let the Door Click Shut?
The air conditioning in the gallery hummed like a low-budget horror score, a cold, mechanical buzz that did nothing to chill the sweat pooling at the base of my spine.
August 14th, 2:44 PM
I knew I was over the line the second I saw her in that white dress, looking like a target I wasn't allowed to hit.
Don't Look at the Clock
The carpet was a violent swirl of hospitality-grade maroon, the kind designed to hide stains and secrets with equal efficiency.
I Definitely Didn't Come Here for the Music
His thumb was hooked in the waistband of her trousers, pulling the fabric taut against the swell of her hip like a resistance band.
Who Told You This Was a Good Idea?
Julian’s hand was a heavy, warm anchor on my thigh, mocking the ‘Quiet Car’ sign while his thumb traced the seam of my stockings.