DIRTY, ROTTEN SEXCAPADES (Erotica Collection) のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 21 - チャプター 30

ENID'S POV"You think she's asleep?" I heard Lauren's voice whispering outside my door. She sounded like she was approaching a wounded animal or a live bomb."She better be dead... or at least unconscious," Darla's raspy voice complained. "I turned down a night of top-shelf weed, world-class pussy, and questionable dick just so I could come home early to her crazy, crying ass. If she's just in there scrolling through her ex's tagged photos again, I'm moving out."I sighed into my pillow, which was currently a damp, salty rag of misery. I might have sent them a three-minute voice note earlier that consisted mostly of me hyperventilating, screaming "HE HAS A DADDY!" and then making a sound like a dying walrus."E, are you in there?" Lauren knocked softly.I didn't answer. I wanted to melt into my mattress and become one with the springs."That's it, we're coming in," Darla declared. I heard the familiar click-clack of the lock. Darla had a very specific break-in technique for my door: s

ENID'S POVAfter Darla rudely discarded the men who delivered the gifts, she was quick to start ripping into the velvet box. "Hey!" I tried to grab it from her, but she brushed me off. "What do we have here?" she asked as she examined the items. It contained a sleek black dress, a pair of dangerous-looking pumps, and a heavy cream envelope. Darla didn't even wait. She snatched the envelope and tore it open like a starving animal."Do you mind?" I asked, trying to grab my own mail."Yes, I do," Darla snapped, her eyes widening as she pulled out a slip of paper. "This is a check.""What?" Lauren ran up, her glasses nearly sliding off her nose when she read what was on it. "Is this real?""How much is on it?" I asked, my heart doing a nervous tap-dance."One million dollars!" Darla screamed, the sound echoing off our thin apartment walls."Seriously, Darla, quit playing. What's the real amount?""No, girl, she ain't lying," Lauren whispered, her face pale. "It's really one million dol

ENID'S POVFebruary 14th, 2026I was standing in the hotel suite, admiring my reflection in the mirror. My skin glowed from the expensive shimmer lotion I'd massaged into every curve, making my skin look like polished silk. On my left hand, a rock the size of a walnut caught the light, a custom-cut pink diamond surrounded by black gold, the ultimate symbol of Preston's obsession.I turned slightly, checking the view of my rear. The red, heart-shaped head of a crystal butt plug peeked out from between my ass cheeks, catching the sun. Preston had made me promise to wear it from the moment I woke up until the moment he took it out with his teeth. It was a heavy, constant reminder of the hardcore night ahead."Gosh! I can't believe you're getting married today," Lauren said, breathless as she tugged the laces of my silk corset, pulling my waist into a sharp hourglass curve.My parents had nearly had a stroke when they found out Preston's age and our history, but their disapproval was whit

WENDY'S POVThe engine of my 2008 hatchback, affectionately nicknamed The Buggy because it was small, round, and currently infested with a strange rattling sound, coughed one last time before dying. I sat there in the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.Before you judge my life choices, let me provide a little context. Once upon a time, I was a romantic. I was the girl who believed in cinematic finales. That was before I met Antonio. Antonio had a French accent that sounded like endless orgasms and a smile that could convince a nun to rob a bank. We met in Paris, married in three weeks, and I flew him back to America like a prize trophy. Two years later, I woke up to an empty bed, a drained bank account, and a missing jewelry box. He hadn't just left. He had taken out two mortgages on the debt-free house my adoptive mother left me.Now I spend my days living on instant noodles and my nights staring at credit repair spreadsheets. If I ever hear a

WENDY'S POVMarch 9th, 2026I spent the entire weekend vibrating with a mix of academic obsession and dread. I brushed up on the O'Malley account until I could recite their quarterly earnings in my sleep. I knew their CEO liked golf and high-stakes poker; I knew their lead creative hated the color mauve. I was prepared. I was also busy dodging my neighbor, Mr. Henderson, who had been bugging me to sell him my house for months. He smelled like mothballs and desperation, but I wasn't budging. My house was all I had left of my mother, and goddammit, I was going to pay off Antonio's fraudulent mortgages if it killed me. At the rate I was going—saving every penny, eating enough ramen to turn my blood into sodium—I'd have it cleared in two years.I woke up two hours earlier than usual. The Buggy was currently at the shop, and my mechanic, a man who spoke only in grunts and expensive estimates, told me the radiator and engine were basically held together by hopes and prayers. I took a taxi