Filthy Obsessions: A Filthy Collection of Forbidden Desires
Marie Jessette · Ongoing · 55.7k Words
Introduction
In Filthy Obsessions, lust doesn't whisper, it grabs hair, rips buttons, and leaves bruises in its name. These stories are not sweet. They're soaked in sin. A sex therapist who doesn't use words to fix broken marriages. A judge who sentences two sisters to submission, then joins them. A father's best friend who doesn't just watch,he waits, dark and patient, until she begs for his cock. An art professor who sketches her body in secret... then ruins her innocence on the altar. These men aren't heroes. They're cravings in human form. And the women who fall for them? They never recover.
If you've ever whispered "Daddy, begged for it, screamed through it, or touched yourself thinking, "What if…" Filthy Obsessions was written for you.
Chapter 1
Trigger Warning
This collection is not safe.
Not for your morals. Not for your comfort.
Inside these pages, you'll find public degradation, corruption of innocence, voyeurism, cum worship, daddy kinks, strap-ons, virgin ruin, twisted love, and begging that sounds a lot like prayer.
There are no safe words here.
Only wrong men. Wet sheets. And women who stop pretending they want to be saved.
If you've ever said "just one more chapter" with a hand between your thighs
Welcome to Filthy Obsessions.
The elevator ride made her wetter.
Sariah had worn nothing under the trench coat except a red lace thong and a push-up bra that barely contained her tits. She'd sprayed perfume between her thighs, tied her hair up the way he liked.
She touched herself in the backseat of the Uber.
Twice.
First was a quick rub against her thigh while imagining his cock slamming into her over the desk. Second was full fingers down the front, pressing her clit hard through her panties until she bit her lip and tasted blood.
But she didn't finish.
Not yet.
She wanted him to finish her.
If he could still do it.
She was done waiting.
Six years married. Two since he made her scream. Now, she was walking into his office to remind him who the fuck he married.
When she walked in, Keon looked up from his desk. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, tie loose, hair messy. Fuck. He was still sexy. Just… useless in bed lately.
"Sariah?" he blinked. "Everything okay?"
She dropped the coat.
And his eyes went wide.
Her tits bounced slightly with the move, full and firm in the lace cups. Her nipples were already hard, nipples dark through the fabric. Below, her pussy shaved, wet, and barely covered by red strings soaked from the ride over. Her pussy peeked through the tiny triangle of her thong, soaked, creamy, glistening.
"Sariah, what"
"I missed being fucked," she said, walking toward him. "Thought I'd remind you what's waiting at home."
He stood, stunned. His cock was already growing in his pants.
She grabbed his tie, pulled him in, kissed him rough—tongue, spit, teeth. Then she dropped to her knees,
She unzipped him fast. His cock sprang out—already growing, half-hard in her fist.
Thick. Gorgeous. Half-hard.
"God, I missed this dick," she breathed. "So thick… so fucking good when it's hard."
He groaned. "You can't just"
"Shut up."
She licked up the side, slow, then wrapped her lips around the head, tasting his pre-cum on her tongue.
"Fuck, baby," he groaned. "You're gonna make me cum already."
Her mouth bobbed on his cock, spit dripping down her chin. She took him deep, choking a little, eyes locked on his while her hand slipped between her thighs.
He grabbed her head. "Shit, that mouth"
She licked from the base up, slow, tongue dragging across every inch. Then she opened wide and took him in, lips sealing around his shaft with a dirty slurp.
Keon's head dropped back. "Shit, baby…"
She sucked him like she meant it. Mouth slick, throat relaxed. She pulled him deeper until he hit the back, until her spit dripped down her chin, until she had to grip the base just to keep from choking.
He grabbed her hair. His cock throbbed. "Goddamn—don't stop. That mouth… fuck—"
She didn't stop. Not until she felt it:
That shift.
That slow, dreaded loss of tension.
He twitched… then softened.
Mid-thrust. Mid-fucking moan, his dick wilted.
She froze.
Pulled off. Stared.
Keon looked down in horror. "Wait—I—I don't know what happened."
Her eyes were glassy. Her lips still wet. Her hand trembled on his thigh.
"It happened again," she whispered. "You can't even stay hard when I'm half-naked on my knees?"
He grabbed her wrist. "Baby, I'm sorry. I want you, I do—I'm just stressed. Work's been hell—"
"Stop."
She stood up. Shaking. Furious. Devastated.
"Do you even fucking see me anymore?"
Keon looked broken.
"Let me make it up to you," he begged. "Please."
Keon looked panicked. "Fuck—I'm sorry, baby. I swear I don't know why—"
"Is it me?" she hissed. "Is it my body? My mouth? My pussy? What the fuck is wrong with you?"
She stood too—angry, heartbroken, dripping with a need that wasn't going anywhere.
"I came here to fuck you. To remind you I'm yours. I was ready to bend over that desk, beg for your cock, ride you until we broke the chair"
"Sariah"
"Instead you gave me a soft dick and excuses."
Her panties clung to her pussy lips, completely soaked from anticipation. Her clit throbbed, desperate for friction. She wanted to scream. Or cry. Or ride the desk lamp just to prove a point.
But then she looked at him.
And he looked… destroyed.
"I'm sorry," he said again, voice rough. "Let me try again. Please. Let me taste you."
She crossed her arms. "No."
He dropped to his knees anyway.
He kissed her inner thighs, slow. Gentle. His fingers traced the edge of her thong, pulling it aside, revealing her pussy—creamy, hot, slick with frustration.
"You're so fucking wet," he whispered.
"Of course I am. I wanted to be used."
He licked her, soft at first. His tongue dragged through her folds, tasting the mess she'd made for him. She grabbed the back of his head and forced him deeper.
"Eat it like you want to keep me," she snapped.
He tried. Tongue working, lips sucking her clit, fingers sliding in slow. It felt good. Almost.
But not enough.
"Harder," she moaned. "Faster. Stop teasing. I need to fucking cum"
He sped up. She rocked her hips, used his face, rode his mouth like a cock. For a second, she felt the edge
Almost there
Then he changed the rhythm. Slowed down.
She snapped.
"Fuck off."
She pushed him back.
"Stop pretending like you know what you're doing," she spat. "You don't. You used to wreck me. Now you fuck me like I'm fragile."
"I was trying"
"Trying doesn't make me cum, Keon."
He stood. Silent. Broken. His lips shiny from her pussy, his cock still soft.
She grabbed her coat and opened her purse.
"Someone gave me this."
She dropped a black envelope on his desk.
"An elite sex club. They said it saves marriages. I told them mine was dying. And they said if you can't fix it…"
She turned to leave.
He opened the envelope.
Inside was a black card. One word printed in deep silver: Come.
And beneath it, a handwritten note:
"If you can't make her cum… I will.
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