What Are The Key Techniques In 'How To Keep People From Pushing Your Buttons'?

If you’re a delicate little flower who clutches pearls and believes sex should only happen in the missionary position with the lights off and your spouse’s permission, close this book immediately. Seriously. Put it down before you ruin your boring little life with uncontrollable wetness and questionable morals. Still here? Good girl. Welcome to Dripping Forbidden: 100 Ways to Make Yourself Wet — a ruthless, dripping-wet collection of one hundred filthy, plot-driven taboo stories that don’t just flirt with the line… they bend you over it, fuck you senseless, and leave you leaking.😉 💦

I often wonder whether I was cursed as a child since the amount of bad luck in my life seems almost supernatural. I've been called a computer genius, but to most, my true talent remains unknown. I've been called beautiful, but I tend to hide my looks behind tons of insecurities and loose clothing… After I broke up with my cheating boyfriend, my crappy job seemed like the only stable thing in my life… until I lost that last thing as well. The source of my tragedy had a name—Killian Blair. My bad luck stuck again and my high school bully became the newly appointed CEO of the company I worked for. Naturally, his first decision was to fire me and my entire department, ruining my life just like in school. I wasn't sure whether the fact he didn't recognize me was a blessing or a curse, but I was determined never to meet him again. Unfortunately, my fate had other plans… First, Killian managed to save me from an uncomfortable situation with my ex, and a moment later, I was rumored to be his girlfriend! But then the tables turned. The mighty CEO needed to avoid scandals at all costs, even if it meant convincing me to act as if we were in a relationship. “Name your price.” A smug smirk danced on his lips. “Do you want your job back?" “Make me a director in your company. Only then will I act as your loving girlfriend.” I thought he would never agree to my bold demand. I underestimated his determination… “Deal,” he answered simply and fixed his eyes on me. “Just remember, Josephine Clairmont, you can't go back on your word. Once you sign the contract, you belong to me.”

She signed a contract with him to become the lady at his beck and call. He claimed, “This is for our mutual benefit. Once the contract expires, we will be nothing but strangers.” However, he broke his promise and refused to let her go. “Liam Ackman, when will you ever let me go?” His thin lips curled up into a smirk as he picked her up bridal style. “Anna Hamilton, you are mine for the rest of your life! Don’t even think about leaving!” Turned out, it had always been a trap, and she fell for it. There was no escaping his grasp! 

As I'm unable to get a ticket for my return trip after the Thanksgiving holiday, I specifically booked a first-class seat home. Just as I find my seat, I see an unruly child jumping around on it. I patiently smile and say, "Kid, this is my seat. Where is your seat?" He makes a face at me. "It's mine now, old hag!" I grab him by the collar of his shirt, wanting to lift him out of the seat. At that moment, a woman's piercing voice sounds behind me. "What are you doing? Let go of my son!" I release my grip and say as gently as possible, "Please control your child. This is my seat." Suddenly, she raises her voice. "He's just a child! Can't you, as an adult, give way to him? You're young and dressed decently. How can you have no compassion at all?" I'm so angered by this distorted reasoning that I laugh. "If you're so compassionate, why didn't you spend the money to buy your child a first-class seat?"

My husband, Chandler Goodwin, claims that he doesn't understand what the phrases "silent treatment" or "giving the cold shoulder" mean. Yet, in the three years we have been married, he has never once spoken to me sweetly. The first time we have a falling out, I remain proud and dignified. We end up ignoring each other for seven days straight. The seventh time we have a cold standoff, I start to panic a little. However, despite trying all sorts of methods, he doesn't back down. The 11th time it happens, I have already learned to work through my emotions myself. Chandler doesn't even need to say anything before I take the initiative to apologize first. I simply think that he's just a naturally indifferent person, that nobody can warm his stone-cold heart. Then, on the third year of our marriage, I accidentally ruin his dress shirt while ironing it. Chandler doesn't say a word, but that very night, he packs his things and moves into a hotel. On the third day of being blocked, I head to his company with a handwritten apology. While passing by his office, I spot him leaning over to shoot his angry assistant a doting smile. "I'm sorry for raising my voice at you just now and upsetting you. It's been 57 minutes since you started ignoring me. Please stop giving me the cold shoulder, alright?" I freeze on the spot, the apology letter in my hand practically burning my fingers. As it turns out, it's not that he doesn't know what the silent treatment means—it's just that I've never been the person he wants to coax.

My mom is terrified of being laughed at by others the most. Whenever the holidays are here, she will keep repeating one sentence to me—"Don't go around embarrassing me." When my relatives gather around and chat with each other, I accidentally knock a fruit platter over. Mom drags me over and slaps me on the spot. At the holiday feast, I grab extra pieces of steak for myself. Mom responds by kicking my chair over. When it's time for the holiday gifts to be distributed, my aunt, Gabriella Hall, has miscalculated the number of children present among the family. So, she has prepared one less gift for the occasion. Mom doesn't hesitate to kick me out of the apartment, leaving me shivering in the cold corridor in just my indoor clothes. The icy winds chill me to the bone. I keep slamming my palms on the front door while screaming and crying my apologies at Mom, and yet she remains unmoved and silent. Instead, she turns to face Aunt Gabriella with an apologetic smile on her face. "I'm really sorry. I didn't raise my daughter well. It's only fair that you ridicule me." What Mom doesn't know is that I get triggered whenever I hear the word "ridicule" thanks to her so-called parenting lessons. Whenever I hear that word, I want nothing more than to hurt myself uncontrollably. So when I hear the word "ridicule" coming out of Mom's mouth through the front door, I turn on my heel quietly and begin making my way toward the bridge next to the neighborhood that's plunged into darkness. The moment I jump from the bridge, the only thought I have is, "Mom, no one will ridicule you because of me this time."