Diapered Stories Novels & Stories

Holy hell. She was sprawled across pink flannel sheets, dim lamp light striping her bare skin like gift-wrap. Legs spread wide, knees hooked over the bed's edge, one hand working a thick purple dildo in and out of her shaved pussy like she was starving for it. The toy glistened, drenched in her delicious wetness. Every thrust made a filthy and wet squelch, her juices flicked onto her thighs, her ass, the sheets in messy little arcs. Her tits, round, heavy, nipples dark and stiff, with each move of her hips, begging to be

(And still I don't want a title of 'God'). The wide lap of this eternal sky is the shelter of every homeless and hopeless soul of the Ard. And that kid was also one of them, and I was interested in what if I cuddle his life with the huddles of lies. I narrated his life as a fact and people believe in it as a myth.

Sloane wakes up to her phone blowing up. The blurry tunnel photo has gone semi-viral on soccer gossip accounts. Sloane jolted awake in her bed as her phone vibrated nonstop on the nightstand. The screen lit up with dozens of notifications. She grabbed it with a sinking feeling in her gut and clicked on the first link. The blurry tunnel photo stared back at her from multiple soccer gossip accounts. Two figures locked in passion, one clearly on her knees. Comments flooded in fast. Some mocked the rivalry, others speculated wildly about secret affairs between coaches. Her stomach twisted with fear. This single image could destroy years of hard work. Sloane sat up quickly, heart racing, and thre

They made me cum so many times I lost count. They pissed on me once — Sophia first, then the others, marking me while laughing. They made me thank them after each orgasm. They took pictures on their phones. They wrote filthy words on my body with lipstick they found in the car: “Free Use,” “Cum Dump,” “Mafia Whore.” By the time the sun started to dip lower, I was a complete wreck — lying exhausted on the blanket, body trembling, covered in their juices, dirt, and marks. Sophia crouched beside me and stroked my hair almost gently.

“We are not done Riley. Open it to page twenty three. The one where I describe edging a shy girl until she is dripping down her thighs and begging for cock. Read it aloud for me. Slowly. Let me hear every filthy word in your voice and watch how wet it makes you.” His fingers brushed mine when he handed me the journal, sending another spark straight between my legs. I took it in my breath and opened to the page knowing this was the moment everything changed but unable to say no to the promise of safety and the raw dirty pull of his words.

Lorelei was adventurous, and she didn't do the same guy twice unless he was really worth it. “I have standards, Lora. I don't sleep with just any guy.” She scoffed, flipping back her hair. “What do you think about older guys?” She pulled back, as if she hadn't heard me right. There was silence, just as the smell of freshly baked croissants wafted through the air. She finally opened her mouth to speak. “I don't fuck with them.. they have bad blood.” I almost choked, finding her words silly. “What does that even mean?”

I opened a flower shop, determined to make it on my own, but it was overwhelming. The customers were demanding, the competition was fierce, my parents were disappointed, and then, there was Mr. Cobb... He was my dad's business partner. He said he would settle my debts if I… If I became his mistress. I fought it, I really did. However, seeing my dad grovel to the debt collectors, watching my mom losing hair from stress, I caved. I thought I could just close my eyes and get through it. It wasn't until that day, standing at the art gallery's entrance, that I saw you again.

"Used to be. Gave it up when the stories started costing more than they were worth." That answer carried weight, the kind that invited questions but also warned against them. I set the mug on the low table in front of me and leaned forward slightly. "What kind of stories?" "The kind that get people hurt when they come out wrong. Or when they don't come out at all." I felt a flicker of recognition then, something tugging at the back of my mind like a half-remembered name. "You sound like someone who has been burned by the industry."

My first memoir in a new diary. My old diary was filled with stories and stories of girls I've fucked and turned but after this incident that happened on 23/4/2027 I had to start a new diary. So... I was angry that mum was remarrying. I really hate the thought that she couldn't keep her pussy at check after dad's death and jumped into another man's arms. However, she kept reassuring me that it's going to be fine but I hate it as hell.

Chapter 1: Leaking Nípples I sat alone in the dim office. The clock showed past ten and papers spread across my desk. My bréasts ached heavy, full, straining against the thin blouse. Damp patches darkened the fabric over both nípples. Milk leaked steadily. Warm trickles slid down my skin. I shifted in the chair. Thighs pressed together. Heat pooled low in my belly. I felt hórny and desperate. Work kept me late again and no one else stayed.