Dirty Diaries Novels & Stories

I feel every pulse flooding me, and my pussy contracts around him milking every drop. I cum with him biting the back of my hand, a silent scream into the granite while my best friend’s husband empties himself inside me. He stays inside me, both of us breathing, and the kitchen clock ticking. I can hear Harper snoring through the archway. He pulls out and his cum drips from me onto the kitchen floor, white on dark tile. It’s the filthiest, most honest thing I’ve ever seen. I should clean up, fix my clothes, and go home to my husband.

' Mischa angrily hissed to herself while her eyes burning in flames locked on Narco. Eyebrows pulled down and face wrinkled in disgust, Klauss grimaced at his current situation. He was having trouble with the dirt that stuck to his clothes and body. The veins in his head, neck, and hands have popped out of anger. He wants to take a bath in boiling acid just to get rid of the extreme grossness he feels right now.

I start to write, my hand moving quickly across the paper: "Dear Diary, I did it. I spent an entire day naked, and it was the most liberating experience of my life. I felt so free, so uninhibited. I did everything naked – watched TV, ate, cleaned the house, even danced around like a fool. And you know what? It was amazing. I felt sexy and powerful and alive. I know it sounds crazy, but I think I might do it again sometime. Maybe next weekend. Wish me luck!"

One month after Sophie’s wedding, Ava Harper’s apartment looked like a shared crime scene. Finn’s sneakers (nine pairs, she’d counted) were scattered like the house was a nursery house. His hoodie hung permanently on the couch. His “World’s Okayest Actor” mug sat on the counter, half-full of cold coffee he swore he’d finish “later” (he never did). The spice rack, once an alphabetized perfection, was now in “Finn’s flavor order”: hot sauce first, cinnamon last.

We go upstairs, walk through hallways, open doors we definitely shouldn’t be opening, laughing a little at first like it’s a game, like there’s nothing serious behind any of this. We reach a door at the end of the hallway, closed, and Sofi stops beside me, hesitating just enough for me to notice, but I can’t stop, not now, so I reach for the handle and open it without thinking. And there he is. Mateo, against the bed, with a girl, his hand slipped between her legs, his mouth on hers, both of them completely absorbed, like nothing else exists, like the world isn’t about to crash down around them.

I lie there in my ruined sheets, pussy still pulsing, thighs sticky with cum and squirt, and press his shirt to my face one more time. Tomorrow. He's going to teach me to suck his cock. I don't know how I'm going to survive the wait. Dear Diary, I was wrong. I'm not going to hell. I'm already there - drowning in it. And I never want to fucking leave.

The bottom fell out. “Shit,” he mumbled as he looked at the mess. “No more rolls of tape from the discount store. It ain’t worth a shit.” One of Danielle’s diaries had opened. It was face down on the floor. Something was sticking out of it. It looked like a picture. Nick thought he got all the pictures together and put them in the small box downstairs.

◆◆◆ Chapter 2 ◆◆◆ I spent the entire weekend hiding in my apartment, ignoring texts from classmates who suddenly found me fascinating for all the wrong reasons. The humiliation replayed on loop as my own words, my deepest, most depraved fantasies, were read aloud in front of everyone while Darian Rho watched with those unreadable dark eyes that seemed to strip me bare without ever touching me. Monday morning, I discovered my diary was missing. Tuesday afternoon, the first text arrived from an unknown number: “Page 23. The elevator fantasy. Creative use of the emergency stop button.”

“Dear Diary, I'm Cindy, I'm seventeen years old, and this marks my first day staying clean and sober. Finally kicked that addiction, and I'm over the moon. I have no friends to share this little triumph with, except for Bianca and Scott. Figured pouring it onto these pages might ease some of the excitement." Reading through the entries, the diary revealed a side of Claire I had never known. Cindy, a younger version of her, wrestling with the shadows of addiction, finding peace in the simple act of journaling. Each page showed her battles, triumphs, and the intimate details of a life she had kept hidden from me. Rolling my eyes, I couldn't help but notice her overly romanticized view of Scott

We can be friends. The phrase fired me up. I didn’t want to be friends with him. I wanted to be the dirty girl in the photos, and I could take it if only he’d let me. I dropped my backpack on the floor, somehow managing to find the strength of confession. “I have sides to me, too,” I said, then launched into a stream. “I looked in your wardrobe drawer, Julian. I shouldn’t have done it, but I was curious when I was taking one of your shirts out. I saw the pictures, and I saw the toys. I do know those sides of you, and it doesn’t make me want it any less. It makes me want it more. I’m not as innocent as I look. I’m not a baby who doesn’t know what sex, smut, and kink is. I love that stuff. I l