Tabby’s Tease of the Week – New Erotic Short Stories Every Week
Indulge in Tabby’s Tease of the Week — a fresh, steamy short story served up every Monday. Bold, erotic, and unapologetically hot tales featuring Tabby and her wild adventures. Whether you crave public play, dominant encounters, or unexpected passion, these short reads are made to thrill. Perfect for fans of curvy redhead erotica, confident storytelling, and weekly NSFW escapes.
“The Elevator Ride”
I only pressed the button for the 12th floor because I liked the way he looked at me.
Tall. Clean-cut. A little too polished to be single, but I wasn’t in the mood to care. He stepped into the elevator behind me, the scent of his cologne catching me mid-breath. We were alone. The doors slid shut with a soft ding.
I waited until the numbers blinked past 4 before I spoke.
“You ever ride this elevator and imagine doing something you’re not supposed to?”
He looked surprised—then amused.
“Depends on who I’m in here with.”
I smiled, slow and deliberate. I didn’t break eye contact as I reached down and slid one finger under the hem of my skirt. Just enough to suggest.
His gaze dropped.
I let the silence stretch. Tension blooming between us, heavy and hot.
By floor 6, I stepped closer.
By floor 7, his back was against the wall.
By floor 8, I was on my knees.
He didn’t say a word. Just braced his hands on the railing, mouth slightly open, breathing harder than before.
The elevator was quiet, but not silent. Not with the slick sound of my tongue teasing his tip, not with the little gasps he tried to hold in.
It was risky. That was the thrill.
Floor 10.
I pulled back with a pop, lips wet and swollen.
“Maybe next time I’ll let you finish,” I whispered, rising and adjusting my skirt.
The doors opened at 12. I walked out without looking back.
I knew he’d be thinking about me all day.
The Car Wash Show
The sun was scorching, the kind that baked the hood of Nate’s truck until it could fry an egg. Tabby didn’t mind. She had plans for that hood.
She leaned against the passenger door, sucking on a cherry lollipop and letting the sweat bead between her breasts. Her white tank top clung to her curves like a second skin, soaked straight through from the heat and the two-minute water fight she started with Nate while they waited in line.
He didn’t complain. Not when her nipples were pressing through the fabric, not when her tight cutoff shorts rode high on her thighs, and definitely not when she kept winking at the guy behind them who couldn’t stop staring.
“Third car from the front,” Nate said, checking his watch. “Ten minutes to our turn.”
Tabby glanced around the parking lot. There was a teenage worker in a reflective vest dragging a wet mop across the pavement. The guy in the blue sedan behind them was openly watching now, probably wondering if her tits were actually out or if his imagination was just that good.
She reached behind her and pulled the soaked tank top up and over her head.
“Jesus, Tabby,” Nate muttered, laughing under his breath as her bare breasts bounced free. “You really gonna—”
“Uh-huh,” she purred, dropping the top onto the hot pavement. “It’s just a car wash. And I’m just a dirty girl.”
She climbed onto the hood of the truck, the metal hot on her bare skin, and arched her back like a cat in heat. Nate sat back against the open driver’s door, arms crossed, grinning like it was his birthday.
The sprayers clicked on ahead — high-powered jets of water hammering against the cars one at a time.
Tabby crawled up the windshield, thighs spreading with each movement, and pressed her tits to the hot glass. The soap jets fired from above, soaking her skin in white suds that slid down her belly, across her nipples, and between her legs.
A low groan came from behind the sedan.
Nate didn’t even look back. “Think he’s enjoying the show?”
Tabby smiled and wiggled her ass toward the mirror. “Let’s give him a little more.”
She spread her legs wider, baring everything, letting the spray from the pre-soak hit her clit in pulsing bursts. Her moans were soft at first, teasing, barely audible over the hiss of water. But they grew louder, sharper, the sound of a woman using the wash to get herself off.
The soap covered her in frothy white trails, highlighting every curve, every dip, every glistening inch of wet skin. Her fingers slipped between her thighs. She was already soaked — not from the wash, but from the way Nate stared. From the way the stranger’s jaw had dropped. From the way the whole world seemed to pause and watch her.
She slipped two fingers in deep and moaned out loud.
“Fuck, baby,” Nate whispered, one hand rubbing his hard cock through his jeans.
Tabby looked over her shoulder, eyes locked on her husband.
“Come finish me.”
He was on her in seconds.
Nate pulled her down off the hood and bent her over it instead, spreading her legs as the rinse cycle kicked in. The water streamed over both of them now — her tits swaying under the pressure, his shirt clinging to his chest as he yanked his jeans down just enough to free his cock.
She gasped when he pushed inside her, wet and ready and moaning like a pornstar. He held her hips tight, slamming into her with the rhythm of the machines, steam rising around them like a live set from some depraved fantasy.
The soap slicked her thighs, the water kept her dripping, and his thrusts were relentless — brutal, hungry, primal.
“Think he’s still watching?” she gasped, looking back toward the parking lot.
Nate leaned over her, lips against her ear.
“Let him.”
She came with a scream, body bucking against the hot metal hood, and he followed seconds later with a groan that echoed in the steamy space.
They stayed like that for a beat — bodies tangled, water still pouring around them, the wash cycle wrapping up with a roar.
Tabby stood slowly, shaking her soaked red hair out of her face and grinning like the sin she was.
She turned toward the entrance.
The blue sedan was gone.
But the teenage worker? Yeah. He was still standing there — mop forgotten, mouth open, eyes wide with something between shock and awe.
Tabby winked, reached down, and gave her clit one final stroke.
“Better wax it next time,” she said with a smirk. “She likes it extra smooth.”