All Chapters of Dirty Forbidden Confessions: Chapter 191 - Chapter 200

I wake up in a pile of warm bodies.Sunlight streams through the cabin windows, and for a moment I have no idea where I am. Then I feel the soreness between my legs, the dried cum on my thighs, and everything comes rushing back.Four wolves. Four knots. An entire night of being used and filled and claimed in ways I never imagined.Trauma would be the expected response. Calling the police, running for the nearest road. Instead, I stretch like a satisfied cat and burrow deeper into the warmth surrounding me."She's awake." Bastian's voice is eager. "I can hear her heartbeat changing.""Let her rest." Alaric's arm tightens around my waist. "We were rough with her last night.""I'm fine." My voice is hoarse from screaming. "Better than fine."I open my eyes to find all four of them watching me. They're sprawled across the massive bed in various states of undress, their bodies tangled together as naturally as breathing. Alaric on one side of me, Bastian on the other, with Fenris and Corvin

"That's the sound I wanted," he growled, gripping my hips hard enough to leave bruises. "Scream for me again, Vanessa. Let everyone know what's happening to you."He pulled out and drove back in, deeper this time, hitting places inside me that made my vision blur and my knees buckle. I screamed again, my fingers scrabbling at the dressing table, sending makeup and brushes clattering to the floor."You're so fucking tight," he groaned, setting a punishing rhythm that shook the entire table. "So wet and desperate for it. How long has it been since someone fucked you properly?""Years," I gasped, my cheek pressed against the cool surface of the vanity. "Never like this. Never this hard, never this good—oh god, oh fuck—""That's because you've been waiting for someone to take control." He leaned over my back, his chest hot against my spine, his lips at my ear. "Someone to stop asking and start commanding. Someone to see through all your walls and give you what you really need. Isn't that

The fertility clinic doesn't look like a place where lives get changed.It's a glass building in a medical park, sandwiched between a dermatologist and a physical therapy center. The waiting room has neutral art on the walls and magazines from three months ago. Nothing about it suggests the experimental nature of the program I've signed up for."Harper Nolan?" A nurse appears at the door. "Dr. Reese will see you now."I follow her down a hallway to an exam room that looks like any other. Stirrups, exam table, medical equipment. Normal. Boring. Safe.Then Dr. Reese walks in.He's older than I expected. Early forties, silver threading through dark hair, sharp features softened by smile lines around his eyes. He's wearing the standard white coat but there's something about him that doesn't feel clinical. Something warm."Harper." He shakes my hand. His grip is firm, his palm warm. "Thank you for being part of this study. I know the protocol seems unusual.""Induced lactation without preg

The next month passes in a haze of milk and pleasure.Dr. Reese nurses from me every three days, sometimes more often when my production spikes. My body has learned to crave his mouth, learned to associate his presence with relief and orgasm. I leak constantly now, soaking through nursing pads within hours, my breasts perpetually full and ready to give. I've stopped wearing regular bras entirely, switching to nursing bras that allow easy access.But the real change is psychological.I dream about him every night. I wake up wet and aching, my nipples dripping onto the sheets, my pussy clenching around nothing. I count the hours between appointments like a prisoner marking days on a wall. I think about him drinking from me while I touch myself, coming to the memory of his mouth on my breasts, his hands kneading my swollen flesh. I've become completely dependent on him for relief, for pleasure, for meaning. Without him, I feel incomplete.I'm his. In every way that matters, I belong to h

The collar is heavier than I expected.Sterling silver, custom-fitted to my throat, with a small tag that reads "Property of Weston Cole." He fastens it himself, his fingers warm against the back of my neck, and I hear the click of the tiny padlock that means I won't be removing it myself."Perfect fit." He steps back to admire his handiwork. "How does it feel?""Strange." I touch the metal, cool against my skin. "Good strange.""You'll get used to it." He reaches into his pocket and produces a leather leash, clipping it to the D-ring at the front of my collar. "Now. Let's establish the ground rules."I've read the contract a dozen times. I know what I signed up for. But hearing him say it out loud, while I'm standing naked in his penthouse with a collar around my throat, makes it feel terrifyingly real."For the next three months, you belong to me. You're my pet. My property. You don't make decisions. You don't wear clothes unless I dress you. You don't eat unless I feed you. You don