Ballbusting Story Novels & Stories

In front of the orphanage gates, Rebecca Schwartz, the impoverished student I had been sponsoring, stood glaring at me with a face full of disdain. "If you don't let Freddie come along, I'm not going to your house either," she declared, her tone sharp and unyielding. In the past, blinded by love and hopelessly infatuated, I would have caved to her demands, humbling myself just to keep the peace. But things were different now—I had been reborn. Staring at this despicable pair, who had once caused my tragic demise, a tidal wave of fury surged within me. Yet, it settled into nothing more than a faint, icy smile on my lips. "Then stay here," I said, my voice cold and steady. "Rot in this place alongside your precious Freddie. After all, trash like you belong in the garbage heap."

Clayton Amos finally agrees to marry me during my fifth year as the antagonist of a novel. On the day of my wedding, the chandelier in the middle of the hall suddenly snaps and falls. At the most critical moment, he shoves me aside and runs over to protect Gladys Dawson, the protagonist of the novel, and his first love. Clayton's arm is slashed as a result, and blood pours out of the wound, dyeing his pristine white suit red. Meanwhile, Gladys remains unharmed in his arms. I hold a hand against the bleeding wound on my neck and finally accept the fact that Clayton never loved me. This is when the system appears and asks me, "Hailey Paltrow, would you like to abort your mission now?" I nod in silent response. "Since he's going to end up losing all four of his limbs and ultimately wish for death, I'll let him have it."

Someone posted a love confession to me on the college's confession wall. But then my roommate's boyfriend left a comment claiming I had slept with every guy on campus. I was furious and ready to call the police. My roommate begged me to forgive her boyfriend, promising she'd make him apologize publicly on the confession wall. But before that apology ever came, an adult video started circulating in the student group chats. Everyone was saying I was the girl in the video. The college summoned me for a meeting and suggested I take a leave of absence. When I went home, my parents refused to acknowledge me as their daughter. I lost everything. Depression consumed me, and with the endless rumors, I finally gave in to despair and ended my life. When I opened my eyes again, it was the day my name first appeared on the confession wall.

I'm the daughter of Don Falcone. After I got back from studying abroad, my family threw a welcome-home banquet, conveniently setting me up to meet the fiancé my father had handpicked for me—Santino Moretti. My father praised the guy to the skies in his letters: he was the heir to the Moretti family, elegant, ruthless, drop-dead gorgeous, and holding half the city’s underground operations in the palm of his hand. I arrived at the Elysium Hotel right on the dot. Just as I was about to take a seat, a hand shoved me hard. A woman's shrill voice pierced my ear. "Livia, what's a Sicilian peasant like you doing here? This is the Imperial Suite. Do you think you even deserve to breathe the air in a place like this?" I recognized the woman. It was Bella, a bitch who had always had it out for me back in college. She was clearly trying to humiliate me. Instead of getting mad, I smirked. "Whether I deserve to be here or not—is that for you to decide?" Bella sneered, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm Mr. Santino's personal assistant. Today, Mr. Santino is hosting the eldest daughter of the Falcone family here. This isn't an occasion for bottom-feeding trash like you." "Be smart and crawl back to your slum." I pulled out my phone and dialed my so-called fiancé. I wanted to ask him if it was a tradition in the Moretti family to let their dogs bark at the front door.

On the eve of the National Robotics Championship, I smashed my carefully designed bot to pieces and announced my withdrawal. Everyone said I was a fraud who was quitting out of fear of being exposed. Online, the netizens mocked me relentlessly. Only one person, Adrian Cross, the so-called genius of the century, spoke up in my defense, his voice dripping with false sincerity, "I believe in River Lowell’s skills. Only he deserves to be my opponent. No matter what setbacks he’s facing, I hope he comes back to the arena and proves himself." In my previous life, the robot I built was identical to his. No matter how I tried to prove he had copied me, Adrian stood before the cameras, wearing his benevolent mask, and said, "It’s fine. This robot can go to River. I can always build something even better." His fans swarmed me, tearing me apart online, and no one believed in my talent. I swallowed the humiliation and vowed to rebuild my robot from scratch. However, when I was assembling it, the Power Core in my kit exploded, shattering my skull. That same night, I was rushed into the ICU. Netizens clapped and cheered, saying I got exactly what I deserved. That night, my girlfriend, Lila Hart, signed the hospital’s DNR consent form without hesitation. Until the day I died, I never understood how Adrian had gotten my robot’s data or why Lila had joined forces with him. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day of the competition.

On our seventh wedding anniversary, my wife handed me a divorce agreement that was valid for seven days. She had fallen for a male intern at her company who was seven years younger than her. She wanted to experience what she called a proper romance with him, one that would last exactly seven days. On the first day, they booked an entire private cinema and made love to each other from the entrance to their seats. On the second day, they went to the seaside to set off fireworks, and the light spread across half the skyline of Veyron. On the fifth day, the intern burst into an art exhibition I hosted and cried in front of the entire press. He accused me of coming between them. That same evening, the story of a rising painter becoming a homewrecker for love reached the top of the trending searches, and the hate comments poured in. On the sixth day, my wife apologized to me on the intern’s behalf, and his punishment was a three‑day ban from shopping. On the seventh day, my wife finally sensed something was wrong. She called me ninety‑nine times and reminded me that we were supposed to reconcile the next day. I replied with a single “okay” and quietly told my assistant to arrange for my luggage to be shipped out. What she did not know was that seven days earlier, I had already made plans to go abroad to continue my studies. This time, I was done playing her game.

God forbid black and grey-furred werewolves walked amongst the others. As royals, the King and Queen had fur white as snow. The noblemen, their fur was either silver or gold. The commoner’s fur was red or brown. Then there was me, Deonna, fur as black as coal.Marlon Roessler was the most honored nobleman, master of the Roessler family, and the only one capable of competing with the King himself. He spent his life thinking that dark-furred wolves were uncleansed, uneducated, bottomless creatures. I was a dirtball wolf slave, and I was meant to be repulsed by him. Yet his wolf wouldn’t let him be disgusted; his wolf wanted me, as his MATE.God must want to kill me faster to make me his mate, especially we have sex after a drug accident. But after As the weeks went on, it seemed as though my relationship with Marlon has only grown more intense. He came into my room only to have sex again and agian.A dirty black sex slave. That is what I am.Until he said, he was mesmerized by me.

The Banished Alpha Heir x The Hybrid Vampire Princess Mate! Lucas cackled, high and insane in his mind. Our mate!! Daphne shrieked as the wolf leaped at her and tackled her to the ground. She stared up at the wolf looming over her, frozen in terror. She hissed at the pain in her neck as he removed its paw from her throat and stepped back just a bit. He growled, low and almost tender, “Mate.” Oh goddess, he was looking for his mate? He was going to kill her. “P-Please don’t k-kill me…” She pleaded, “P-Please, I…” The wolf flinched and trembled, “No. No. I wouldn’t-- Never-- I’m sorry…”

As the Alpha Princess, Elizabeth is asked by her Alpha King father to marry one of the famous Alpha heirs triplets—Alexander, Kai, and Ronan Ashford. Elizabeth's lover, Gideon, is about to return from the army and proposes to her, but her father does not agree to their union because of Gideon's inferior Gamma status. In order to get rid of this arranged marriage, Elizabeth and her father agree that she would hide her identity and enter the school where the triplets are studying, and as long as one of the triplets falls in love with her without knowing who she is, she will agree to marry him. Her father agrees to help hide her identity. Elizabeth enters the school in disguise and happens to meet the Ashford triplets. Elizabeth tries to hide her identity in front of the triplets, but they seem to have seen through her disguise: ”Why l think you’re lying, Princess Elizabeth?”

One week into her marriage, Mira longs to spend a passionate night with her husband, Tyler— only to come face-to-face with her fated mate instead: Valen Montclair, the Lycan King. All Mira wants is to stay by Tyler’s side. But fate has other plans, dragging her into Valen’s world against her will. When love and destiny stand on opposite sides… Will Mira choose her husband—or the fated mate she was never meant to meet? Her answer will change everything.