SCANDALOUS AFFAIRS (AN EXTRA SPICY EROTICA COLLECTION)
WARNING ⚠️: EXPLICIT CONTENT UP AHEAD. ONLY SUITABLE FOR READERS ABOVE THE AGE OF 18.
Scandalous Affairs brings together sensual short stories filled with tension, longing, and undeniable chemistry. From slow-burning connections to intense encounters, each tale explores what happens when desire takes control.
Forbidden touches. Broken vows. Power that bends to raw need.
Lust wins. Every filthy time.
Some affairs end in regret.
These affairs always end with someone begging for more.
If you want more breathtaking dirty stories, feel free to click on it.
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Chapter 2
ANNA'S POV
My breath caught at the question. His smirk grew wider.
God, he was so handsome.
But I couldn't let this happen again. Not with Tom's friend for that matter.
"Forget that night ever happened," I said firmly, making sure my voice didn't shake. "Whatever we did that night...it's in the past. A mistake. We've never met before today. Understand?"
He leaned back on his chair, just watching me. His gaze stripped me of my clothes, probably imagining my body from that night.
"Fair enough." His tone sounded casual, but there was an edge to it.
I nodded, relieved that he didn't argue. Picking up his pen, he continued with his questions.
This time, the questions felt a whole lot personal. Maybe it was what he asked his other patients, but I find that hard to believe.
"Let's talk about your arousal levels during sex." His eyes locked on mine. "For you to get pregnant, it's important. Do you get wet naturally, or do you need lubricants to help that area?"
What the hell!
My eyes widened, is that a medical question?
I shifted in my seat, the sweat already soaking my underwear.
"I....ummm...I get wet naturally." I mumbled, avoiding his gaze.
He nodded, writing it down. "That's good. And, how sensitive are you? Does light pressure on your clitoris make you throb, or does firmer pressure do the trick?"
Is this normal in a consultation?
My breathing picked up, my mind going over that night he rubbed on my clit as he pounded in me.
"I prefer a firm pressure there."
He leaned closer, his cologne filling my nostrils. "Interesting, but as your doctor I need more details. Can you describe how your body feels when you're close to climax? Does your vagina tighten or pulse?"
I knew we were crossing boundaries, but my body longed for it.
Nipples trying to poke out from my bra, as I pressed my thighs together, smashing my pussy lips together, a zing going through me.
His words had me worked up already, something Tom's cock couldn't even do.
"It tightens when I come," I whispered, my face red as a tomato.
"And penetration?" He asked smoothly. " How deep do you like it. Shallow thrusts, or you like it deeper with something a lot thicker hitting that spot inside you."
His eye bored into mine, I couldn't look away.
I was sure he knew what I was thinking at that moment.
How that thick cock of his stretched my cunt walls as he shoved into me from behind as I held onto the sink for my life.
My thighs were getting soaked at the memories.
"I like it deeper." My voice is barely audible, trying hard not to moan. "It feels good when I'm stretched full."
He smiled knowingly, eyes filling with lust.
"These questions are to help you, Mrs Goldberg. Moving on, do you need any other form of stimulation to come, apart from being stretched fully? "
My pussy pulsed, imagining his mouth on me, lapping my juices clean.
Shame mixed with guilt at what I was enabling.
"Not always but sometimes I need extra stimulation," I confessed.
"What extra stimulation?" He pressed on, his voice low. "Is it fingers circling your clit, or a tongue?"
He was crossing all lines of professionalism, but I didn't have the willpower to stop him.
"Yes, something like that." I breathed.
My pussy was pounding with the blood quickly filling it.
He nodded, eyes trailing my body again.
Thank God for bras.
My nipples were straining out, the sensitive points rubbing against my bra.
"One more question. How wet do you get when you're aroused? Is it heavy, like it soaks through your panties, or just a little dampness?"
Gosh.
I was ashamed and wanted to tell him to stop. But I couldn't deny how my body wanted him.
"I soak through my panties," I answered, my eyes dropping to his thigh.
I shouldn't have.
He was so hard, his erection pressed against his slacks. I could even see the huge cock head with a damp spot forming already.
"This is wrong." I hissed out, shaking my head out of the lust-filled haze.
He smiled a bit, as he could see through my bullshit.
"Is it? Or your body just needs proper manhandling for better results?"
Before I could lay it out to him, the door burst open.
Tom strode in, phone still in his hand.
"Is everything all good? What did I miss?" He asked.
Marcus straightened, his cold clinical mask slipping back on.
"We were just going through some routine questions. And, we're also done for the day."
Tom nodded at him, smiling like a loon. "That's great. So, what's the next step?"
"We'll set up tests to check Mrs Goldberg's hormones and do an ultrasound," Marcus said as he stood up.
He grabbed a card from his desk and pushed it towards me. "Mrs Anna, you can call me anytime if you have questions. Anything at all, I'll be available."
His words had a double meaning and I sneaked a look at Tom.
He was clueless as always. At least now it's working in my favour.
Marcus' fingers brushed mine as I took the card. " Thanks"
As we left, Tom chatted away about things I really didn't care about.
It's okay, I told myself.
I didn't cheat on my husband again, now I'll just have to convince Tom about changing my gynaecologist.
Preferably someone who hadn't been inside my pussy.
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7.3
I borrowed my wealthy best friend's identity to seduce Colonel Ethan Christensen. He was the powerful uncle of my ex-boyfriend, Kayden, who had brutally dumped me for a rich heiress.
My revenge plan worked too well. Ethan fell deeply in love with my fake persona and proposed. But then he handed me a thick envelope: a top-secret military background check requiring fingerprints and ten years of history.
My fake identity was about to be shattered. I faced federal fraud charges and prison time. More than that, the guilt was eating me alive. Ethan wasn't a pawn; he was a genuinely honorable man who promised to protect me. Terrified and exhausted by the lies, I typed out a full confession, ready to tell him everything and walk away.
But right before I hit send, Kayden's new fiancée called to gloat about their engagement. Through the phone, I heard Kayden's voice, lazily mocking my low status.
"Tell her to stay home. Tell her to find someone on her own level in the gutter."
The rage burned away all my guilt. Why should I be the bigger person while they destroyed my life without a second thought?
I deleted the confession and called my friend to hire a black-market hacker. I needed a flawless, forged background in forty-eight hours. I am going to marry Ethan Christensen, and I am going to smile when Kayden is forced to call me "Aunt."
8.0
Finley's stepfather gave her a sickening ultimatum: marry her predatory stepbrother Shane tonight, or he would throw her fragile mother out on the street.
To escape this hell, she used a matchmaking agency and hastily married a complete stranger. Garrison Strickland claimed to be an ordinary data analyst making $95,000 a year, driving a beat-up Honda Civic, and needing a wife in name only. They got their marriage license at City Hall that very afternoon.
But when Finley returned home to pack her bags and threw the certificate on the table, her family just laughed. Dozier ordered Shane to drag her into the bedroom to "teach her a lesson" and trap her forever.
"Come on, little sister," Shane crooned, lunging at her. "Don't fight it."
Finley's own mother just stared at the floor, blaming Finley for ruining the family, watching blindly as Shane cornered her.
Terrified and desperate, Finley smashed an ashtray over Shane's head and frantically dialed her new husband's number. Shane snatched the phone, mocking the "imaginary husband" before the line went dead. Finley felt a bottomless despair. Garrison was just a normal guy; he would never risk his life against her violent family. She was completely on her own, waiting for the end.
Suddenly, deafening bangs echoed through the house, and Garrison stepped into the living room radiating a cold, terrifying fury. This supposedly "frugal data analyst" effortlessly snapped Shane's wrist, leveled a ruthless death threat that made Dozier tremble, and whisked Finley away in a waiting Bentley. Looking at the powerful man beside her, Finley's heart raced: just who exactly had she married today?
7.2
I thought I was just marrying a middle-class commercial pilot who proposed to me in a Brooklyn cemetery to fulfill his grandmother's bizarre dying wish.
But when an arrogant pilot tried to harass me at the airport, my "ordinary" husband suddenly appeared, his eyes like chips of ice.
"Take your hand off my wife."
With that single cold command, he had the airline's top executives groveling and the man practically fired on the spot.
Everyone called him "Mr. Chandler." He handed me an exclusive black Centurion card, claiming it was just a standard "manager's perk." His retired parents, who supposedly ran a small business, visited me wearing Patek Philippe watches. I ignored all the glaring red flags, foolishly believing I had just lucked into a stable, caring marriage after a lifetime of disappointments.
Yet, despite his constant, suffocating generosity, he kept a physical wall between us. After a kiss so desperate and hungry it felt like he had been starving for it his entire life, he violently pushed me away.
"We should take this slow."
I couldn't understand why a man who looked at me with such intense, possessive devotion would treat our marriage like a sterile business deal. Why was he orchestrating every perfect detail of my life while refusing to even share a bed with me?
I had no idea that the man sleeping in the guest room wasn't a pilot at all. He was Harmon Chandler, the ruthless billionaire emperor of the Chandler Group. And he had been secretly monitoring my every move for ten years.
9.8
I reached for my fiancé's phone to silence an alarm and found a hidden folder named "The Protocol."
Inside was a spreadsheet that systematically dismantled my entire existence.
Task 399: Buy blue hydrangeas. Note: Her favorite. For Denzel.
Task 400: Schedule anniversary dinner. Note: Make sure she feels special. For Denzel.
In that heartbeat, I realized the man I had loved for three years hadn't looked at me once without seeing a chore list left by his dead brother. I wasn't Elfrieda Stewart, the woman Jaxon Tate loved. I was a legacy project.
The truth turned lethal at our engagement gala. When a massive chandelier detached from the ceiling, Jaxon didn't lunge for me.
He tackled his "ex" Janice—who I later discovered was his secret wife—to safety.
He left me standing in the center of the target to be crushed by shattering glass.
But the cruelty didn't end there. On a "reconciliation" yacht trip, Janice pushed me overboard. Jaxon looked at me struggling in the freezing black water, then threw the life preserver to her.
He saved the shark and left me to drown.
I lost everything in that water, including the unborn child I hadn't even told him about.
He thought I was dead. He thought he was free to play house with Janice.
But my brother pulled me from the darkness.
And when I resurfaced in Norway, wearing the ring of a man far more dangerous than Jaxon could ever dream of being, Jaxon realized too late that he had destroyed the only thing that could have saved him.
9.6
Daniella Harris never imagined her life would change dramatically after graduating high school.
Diego Johnstone, her forgotten stepbrother, reappears surprisingly-paying off her adoptive parents' debt and taking her away.
Unbeknownst to Daniella, Diego wanted her for himself, even if it meant going against his own family.
But their relationship was fraught with obstacles. When Daniella's family planned her marriage, Diego found himself trapped in a matchmaking situation he didn't want, and they had to decide whether to give up on fate or fight for each other.
9.5
My husband Kamden and I were the most powerful couple in New York, an unbreakable alliance of wealth and influence. To the world, we were perfect, especially with our new baby daughter, Penny, waiting for us at home.
But the illusion shattered at the Jasper Stone gala when Cason Vincent walked in. He wasn't just a rival; he was a dead ringer for Kamden—a cruel, predatory mirror image who seemed to know the secrets of the year I spent in London.
In front of the city’s elite, a socialite screamed that I was a fraud, accusing me of using Kamden as a "substitute" for the man I truly loved. The music stopped, and the room turned into a sea of judgmental whispers.
I expected my husband to shield me, but the paranoia in his eyes was sharper than any rumor. He grabbed my scarred left hand—the one I had ruined to save his life years ago—and squeezed it until I winced in pain.
"Am I just a replacement?" he hissed, his voice trembling with a terrifying insecurity. He didn't see the wife who had sacrificed her world-class piano career for him; he saw a woman who had settled for a copy.
The injustice of it felt like a physical blow. I had destroyed my body and my future to keep him safe, yet he was ready to believe a stranger’s lies over three years of marriage. He didn't want the truth; he wanted me to beg for his forgiveness for a sin I never committed.
I realized then that my silence wasn't an admission of guilt, but my last shred of dignity. I pulled my hand away and walked out of the gala alone, leaving Kamden standing face-to-face with the man who had come to dismantle our lives.