Dirty Laundry Book Novels & Stories

Twenty minutes later, I felt like giving myself a dirty slap. How was I supposed to know that this lady was a bookworm? Her research materials were endless! “Oh goddess,” my back felt like it was about to snap into two, but I was satisfied. The entire bedroom was dusted off and cleaned, the clothes were neatly arranged, and the living room was finally not a library. My only problem was the books, which seemed endless. “Hmm,” a dusty book with a very sharp edge caught my attention. It was so dull and black that I wondered what it was even still doing with Ann.

I've been so busy with life I hadn't really thoroughly gone through their stuff , I just felt like it was a heap of used clothes , I didn't feel the need to until now. I folded my legs sitting on the floor as I pulled the box closer to me and opened it. There wasn't really anything special there, just a couple of old clothes. I sighed tiredly. Just as I was about to close the box my eyes caught a brown book , more like a diary and kind of tattered. I reached for it and brought it out. It was really dusty so I used one of the old clothes to clean the front cover. I opened the first page and a picture fell from it .

His grip on her chin tightened, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh until she could feel the imprint of each one. “Such a greedy little slut,” He murmured, his lips brushing against hers with every word, his breath mingling with hers. “Say it. Say you're my dirty little slut." "I.. I'm a dirty little slut'" She said, not even feeling ashamed. "My dirty little slut" He corrected huskily. "I'm your dirty little slut" “That’s right. But you're still not getting anything yet." His thumb traced the shape of her lower lip before slipping inside, pressing down on her tongue. “Let’s play a game, my dirty little slut.”

Chapter Seven The shape that stepped fully into the thin spill of light from the hallway resolved into a body I knew too well and the recognition hit me with a force that made every muscle in my already trembling frame lock tight because the person who had been standing in the dark watching Elias bury himself inside me over and over was the one who had once shared this same bed with me through long nights of similar hunger and the sight of that familiar outline standing there now while my cunt still clenched around the softening length of Elias and the thick mess of our combined releases coated my thighs sent a complicated wave of shock and raw exposure and darker unwanted arousal crashing t

Nyla’s POV I'm drawing a pentagram on my apartment floor with sidewalk chalk at midnight on a Tuesday because apparently this is what my life has come to. There’s a leather-bound book open beside me, old, as if it survived the Victorian era. I found it at an estate sale last weekend, buried under a box of porcelain cats, which feels like the universe burying a loaded gun inside a Build-A-Bear. It was quite an… interetsing book. The chapter I keep returning to shows a naked woman arched on her back on the floor, with a demon-man like being, with extra limbs, and an abnormally huge-sized cock burried inside her pussy.

Anyone could walk in at any moment and see us, but none of us seemed to care. There was a certain thrill to it; the fact that we could get caught. We weren't doing anything illegal, but it sure felt like it. "You shouldn't be pleasured after your actions, yet here you are, enjoying it like a good little slut." I literally moaned. I'd thought dirty talk was overrated, but this… this right here was everything.

The rest of us took her lead and seated ourselves around the basement, Jonie and Mitch together on the couch with the rest of us finding chairs. “I’m not exactly sure. Whatever it was had to do with their personal dirt.” “Personal dirt?” “When the Dirt blows in, it brings with it everybody’s personal dirt.” “What do you mean?” “Those things in our lives that we’d like to stay buried, forgotten, in other words, our personal dirt. Here’s mine.” She went over to the computer and jiggled the mouse, dismissing the screensaver. Underneath the screensaver was the F******k page of a man in his late forties.

I moved over to the bookshelf next and ripped the books off, throwing them in a pile, then plopped down on the floor cross-legged and began shoving them back onto the shelf in alphabetical order. The process of deep cleaning my room didn’t really do much to soothe my frayed nerves. If anything, it just pissed me off more, because every surface seemed to have some speck of dust or other issue that needed to be dealt with, and now my entire room was a disaster from the whirlwind of cleaning. It also drew attention, clearly, because a knock came on the door. I didn’t answer. I knew it would be Dominic, likely coming to scold me after what happened earlier. I picked up another book and shoved it

Little did I know, the spark was about to become a raging inferno, courtesy of something far beyond the mortal realm. It started on a rainy Friday night. I’d come home exhausted from a long week, my blouse clinging to my skin from the downpour outside. I kicked off my heels, letting them thud against the hardwood floor, and poured myself a glass of merlot. The apartment felt emptier than usual; my last girlfriend had left months ago, citing my “workaholic tendencies” as the reason. Truth be told, I missed the warmth of a body next to mine, the soft curves and whispered promises in the dark. To distract myself, I rummaged through the old box of junk in my closet— relics from my rebellious pha

His free hand dipped into her leggings, finding her panties soaked. "Fuck, you're wet," he said, fingers circling her clit through the fabric. She bucked, moaning his name. The realism hit her—the scratch of the rug, the pop of embers, his stubble rasping her skin. No fantasy; this was Max, the guy who'd bandaged her scraped knees, now unraveling her.