Pervert Face Slapping Short Stories & Novels

Three years ago, Samantha Jade and her parents were trapped in a raging fire. She watched with her own eyes as the flames devoured her mother and father. At the critical moment, it was Connor Parker who charged in and saved her. She fell hopelessly in love with him. For the following three years, she drowned in the tenderness he wove so carefully around her. But later, Samantha discovered the truth: that fire three years ago—Connor had set it. He had approached her on purpose, loved her on purpose, all to avenge his first love. Every bit of love, every gentle word, every beautiful moment between them—none of it was real. It had all been a lie. Since he hated her that much, Samantha decided to play along. Amid Connor's revenge, she faked her death. But when he saw the charred body—believing it was hers—Connor lost his mind.

Introduction A year ago, I had my eyes on the winning prize in the arena - a rare red gemstone, and wanted to win it back as the mating ring with my Alpha mate Damien. Just as I was about to claim victory and take the prize, Damien's secretary Celia stepped forward to challenge me. Damien laughed helplessly. "Young girls love these shiny things. As the Luna of our pack, you should be generous and let her have them, okay?" I refused outright and defeated her. That day, Celia ran off the platform crying. I proudly showed Damien my prize. He kissed my forehead helplessly. "My stubborn little wildcat." After our mating ceremony, he claimed me night after night for a whole year, in every way imaginable, never giving me a moment's rest. But one year later, I received an invitation to a private combat arena. Videos and photos of me beneath Damien, my eyes hazy with desire, were brazenly displayed as the victor's prize. Damien had his arm around Celia's waist. "Don't you love fighting? There are over a hundred people here. I'll have them challenge you one by one. Whoever wins gets a sex tape of you and me. A whole year's worth."

On our wedding night, my fiancé's best friend barged into our room for the third time, claiming a wedding prank. Having had enough, I warned Sam Whitman that if we didn't consummate our marriage that night, it was as good as over. He glanced at my half-unbuttoned dress and dismissed my words as a tantrum. Then Candace Lombard stormed in for the ninth time, ripped off the covers, and livestreamed our intimate moments. Sam merely pushed me aside and told me to be understanding. She climbed into our bed, smirking as she claimed the spot between us. "Wedding night prank? I get it," I grinned, leaning into her livestream camera. "Alright, everyone, fire up those donations! I'm about to let my husband take a mistress live. Let's make it a show!"

It all began with a single post about canceling a food delivery order. Overnight, I became the internet's punching bag. Thousands of vicious messages flooded my inbox, filled with photoshopped memorials urging me to die. They doxxed my family, plastered my personal details across shady websites, and used AI to create obscene images of me, spreading them in vile chat groups. They spread lies about my income, claiming it came from illicit sources, and accused me of carrying diseases. I didn't call the police or block the messages. Instead, I read every hateful word before singling out the 100 worst offenders. Every day, I sent each one a luxurious meal: Boston lobster, Australian wagyu, the works. Each delivery came with a simple note: [Thank you for your hard work.]

Harry Pate fails in his plan to secure a fortune from my family. He tries to drug me, hand me over to his friends, and even film it to control me. Luckily, a kind netizen overhears him plotting with his mistress at a restaurant. The netizen posts a missing person alert online. "Please share widely. Looking for Freya White. Her boyfriend is trying to drug and assault her." I see the post and quietly pour the drug into the pot they are about to drink from.

My best friend has always been stingy to the bone, so the moment she volunteers to buy a bottle of water for the heir to Bellaris' most powerful family, who collapsed from heatstroke, I know she has been reborn, too. In my previous life, she and I sat for the college entrance exam together, and when the results were announced, we both got the same high score. Both of us had our eyes on Kingsley University, yet the admissions quota was limited, and neither of us wanted to jeopardize our friendship, so we kept delaying our application. In the blink of an eye, it was the last day to file our applications, and as I was about to start on mine, I stumbled upon the heir to Bellaris' most powerful family, who happened to be suffering from heatstroke. I not only bought him a bottle of water, but I also held an umbrella over him until he came to. By the time he regained consciousness, I had already missed the submission deadline. My best friend submitted hers just in time and got accepted into Kingsley University. Because I never submitted mine, the opportunity to attend university slipped past me. However, the heir apparent was touched by my act of kindness, and he asked for my hand in marriage. In the end, I married him and became a socialite, whereas my best friend, despite getting into Kingsley University, was overwhelmed by the demanding curriculum. Watching me live with more money than I could spend, she was fueled with jealousy until one day, she snapped and stabbed me. The moment I open my eyes again, my best friend and I are back on the day the heir to Bellaris' most powerful family passes out from the heat.

While picking up my parcel from the mailroom, I run into Ivan Judd, an underprivileged student from my grade who is working part-time there. While we chat, he finds out that I'd spent 128 thousand dollars during the Black Friday sales. Dumbfounded, Ivan cries, "I've never even seen that kind of money in my entire life! And you're spending it so casually? Did your mom send you to college to study or to blow money like this?" He yanks the parcel out of my hands and physically blocks the exit. "Return it immediately! Kids like you never understand how hard it is for adults to earn money! If you're this wasteful now, what man can afford to marry you in the future?" I can't help but laugh angrily at Ivan's ridiculous attitude. I retort, "What does me spending my mom's money have anything to do with you?" "How does it not?" He looks completely justified when he says, "I'm dating your mom. Every cent you spend counts as our future marital assets!" I am shocked. Isn't Mom a lesbian? Since when did she start liking men?

After my sister, Mona Ramsey, and I graduated from college, our family went bankrupt. Our father gave us two options: One was to marry into the Whites through an alliance. The other was to take over the company and clean up the mess. In my previous life, Mona wanted the rich socialite lifestyle and chose to marry into the Whites. She ended up being brutally tortured by her husband, leaving her disfigured and disabled. I, on the other hand, relied on my talent for business to bring the company back from the brink. For a while, I was riding high and had everything going for me. Mona grew insanely jealous of me. At the company's IPO launch event, she stormed into the venue carrying gasoline and set me on fire. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment when our father gave us the choice. This time, Mona rushed to stand in front of me. "Dad, let Laura marry into the Whites," she said. "She's been spoiled since she was little. She can't handle a hard life. I'll stay with you and face everything that's coming." I couldn't help laughing. Oh, my silly little sister! Staying would be far more miserable than marrying into the Whites.

As I was watching a movie in the cinema, a rude child kept kicking the back of my seat. He even took off his shoe and extended his foot next to my face. I turned around and chastised him to take his seat, but he stabbed me in my neck with a sharp needle. Feeling the pain, I reached out and wiped the blood from my neck. His mother chuckled. “It’s fine, he’s just fooling around with my sewing needle. It’s just a harmless jab. It’s not like it has poison on it. Be a good sport about it.” I threw the popcorn bucket onto the floor and aimed my phone’s flashlight at the rude child. I roared, “The child’s holding a discarded needle that was used on an AIDS patient in the hospital! There’s an AIDs patient’s blood on it!”

Three years after I landed on the wanted list, all 88 pieces of my dismembered corpse were thrown in front of the police station. After the forensics team put my body together, they identified my body as Julian Colt, the fiancé of the Organized Crime Department, Captain Kyra Schneider. Everyone, from elders in their eighties to young children, wanted me to see justice because not only had I betrayed Kyra and her team, but I had also publicly joined the criminal organization and become the lover of its leader. I was fired from the police force and hated by my loved ones. Kyra hated me the most, and she used the most cruel method of retrieving my memories to be broadcast to the world. On judgment day, the city square was filled with spectators, but when my memories were retrieved, along with the huge word 'innocent' splashed on it, everyone went crazy. "Traitor! A man like him should have been executed." "The evidence clearly points to his guilt. How is he innocent? Everyone knows how he helped the criminal organization to kill numerous police officers!" "Don't be tricked by him! He must have altered those memories!"

At my daughter’s graduation party, the laptop I gave her turned out to be the same model as the one my ex-wife's boyfriend gave her. She slammed the computer I bought violently onto the ground, smashing it to pieces. "You obviously knew Chad was going to give me this, yet you bought the same one. You just want to make Chad look bad!" My daughter screamed hysterically at me, while my ex-wife flashed a malicious smile. Half a month later, my daughter secretly drugged me during dinner. When I woke up, I found myself smuggled across the border, trapped inside a cold iron cage. On stage, the auctioneer announced, "Today, we're auctioning off every single organ from this man's body. Highest bidder wins!" Meanwhile, my daughter sat down below the stage, her gaze filled with venomous hatred. "Connor, since you love buying identical things just to steal everyone else's spotlight, today, we'll let you steal the spotlight to your heart's content! "Let's see which of your organs you actually have the power to save on your poor worker's salary!" As my heart turned to stone, I silently awakened the system that I had neglected for many years. [Ding—Host has successfully activated the Damage Transfer System.]

I am a real estate agent. For the past three years, I have been the top seller in the industry. It is not because I am a smooth talker; it is because I can hear houses speak. The houses will chatter about a hollow wall, a leaking pipe, or a window with a bad seal. During move-out inspections, I point out exactly what tenants try to hide. When showing a place to renters, I warn them about hidden red flags. I have been doing this so long that both sides treat me like family. Then, one Friday, a regular client, Eleanor Wilson, shows up. "Devan, the tenants at the Eastmere place are moving out." Eleanor is in her 60s. Her husband is long gone, and she lives off the rental income. She is a sweet soul. She charges 20% below market rate and even makes cookies for her tenants during the holidays. The couple moving out this time is Henry Johnson and his wife. They run a fruit stand at the local market and have a six-year-old daughter, Lea Johnson. "Lea is missing," Eleanor says, her eyes welling with tears. "She vanished outside the market last month. Just like that, in the blink of an eye. Henry and his wife have been searching for a month. They're worn out and broke. They just can't take it anymore." A heaviness settles in my chest at her words. I grab the keys and head out with her. Eleanor gasps for air with every flight of stairs we climb. I walk ahead of her. The moment I slide the key into the lock of Apartment 602, the doorknob vibrates violently against my palm. A second later, I dial 911. "I want to report a case of murder. There's a hidden body on the sixth floor of 18 Montclair Heights, Eastmere. The victim is their daughter."

Ever since I was little, my dad taught me that no matter what happened, I should put my studies and exams as my top priority. When I was eight, I accidentally broke my leg during gym class, but my dad insisted that I finish that day’s class before taking me to get it treated. When the doctor said I was brought in too late and would have to be hospitalized, my dad looked troubled. “Third grade is a crucial transition period in elementary school. My child absolutely cannot waste any time right now!” So, I went to school in a wheelchair during the day and returned to my hospital room at night to finish my homework. When I was discharged, I was left with a lasting condition. Ever since then, I walked with a slight limp. When I was eleven, I ran a high fever of 102 degrees and started babbling incoherently. But my dad took forever to arrive. The teacher was so anxious that she took me to the hospital first, only to be berated by my dad when he finally showed up. “The transition from elementary to middle school is a critical moment for a child’s future. If my son, Teleus Costa, misses these three classes, just think how far behind the other kids he’ll fall!” Even though I had not fully recovered, my dad sent me back to school the very next day. From then on, I suffered from severe myocarditis. At seventeen, I developed a serious heart condition that put me at risk of sudden death at any moment. But my dad insisted I wait until after the SATs to seek treatment. “The SATs are the pivotal moment that determines your future. Missing even one class at such a time is tantamount to suicide!” One night during evening study hall, my heart seized up again, and I stumbled down the stairs. Lying in a pool of blood, I mustered my last ounce of strength to press the emergency contact button on my smartwatch to call for help. But on the other end, I heard my father’s voice. “There’s still one more session of evening study hall left. Can’t you just hang in there until it’s over?” ‘Dad, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I could make it,’ I thought.