Drop The Soap Novels & Stories

“I’ll see you around.” Zane stood up, brushed himself off, and gathered a couple of books that had fallen. As he walked past me toward the door, his shoulder lightly brushed mine. That’s when I caught it—his scent. Fresh like soap and something sweet, maybe a hint of citrus or warm vanilla. It wrapped around me for a second and made my stomach do a little flip.

The screen didn't go black. But the green phosphor text vanished instantly, replaced by a single, clean window of high-contrast white that had no directory trees, no file paths, and no signatures from 2001. A single line of text ran across the center of the display, the letters large, sharp, and perfectly legible under the crimson glare of the ceiling light: LOCAL CORE ZEROED. TERMINAL PURGED. Sophia stopped by the landing. Her face didn't break into an expression of anger, but her hands tightened inside her pockets until the gray wool of her trench coat tore at the seam with a short, sharp rip that sounded like a dry branch snapping in the wind.

my client’s voice droned through the screen like a dying washing machine. I resisted rolling my eyes. “Clause thirteen is the international default. Changing it is basically rewriting the entire contract.” Sophia appeared in her little corner box, hair yanked into a messy tie, looking like she’d just lost a fight with the printer. “I’ve got an alternate draft ready if they insist,” she whispered into a mic she’d forgotten to mute. Classic Sophia professionalism.

Alright. Alright, so it's not functioning. It must still be too hot in the water. I completely turn off the tap, resisting the temptation to shriek as the cold water strikes my sternum. I'm reminded to take a breath by this stomach hit. I scrub myself as hard and quickly as I can after taking three for good measure and adding a generous dollop of soap on my sponge. I rinse off, resolutely refusing to look at Moretti in favour of an impolite, spontaneous dance that eventually results in my body being soap-free. Even though my dick is known to have a life of its own, it is never, ever half-hard in a circumstance like this.

Where you can see a blurry form but not everything. I rinse the conditioner out of my hair and grab my purple loofa when I hear someone walk in. I close the Winter Candy Apple soap from Bath and Body Works and quietly set it down. "Hello?" "You need to learn to keep your mouth shut!" The voice snaps back. Leon. "Get the hell out!" I exclaim and stop washing my body.

I really want to wipe away the steam so I can see his fresh face but I really don’t need the temptation when I’m naked, wet and feeling a little horny. “On the top shelf there’s a clean soap; shifters can smell everything so make sure you get every drop of blood. I can’t have you walking around smelling like your most recent kill.” I look up the wall to see several fresh bars of soap that have clearly never been used; they still have the sharp pointed edges from the mould that was used to make them.

The world no longer saw them as people. The latest stream was titled “Kane Sisters – Unmade.” Over 5.4 million viewers tuned in as Sophia and Aurora were thrown onto the filthy studio floor like broken dolls. The air was thick and foul, a choking haze of rotting cum, sharp piss, sour milk, sweat, and the constant reek of two endlessly used cunts. The black mats squelched wetly beneath their bodies, sticky with layers of old filth that clung to their skin.

I grabbed a bucket full of water and grabbed all the soap that I can find in my apartment. I have to get it out whatever it takes, I'm not going to wait anymore. I tried the first soap and it's not working at all. Then I tried the my favorite soap and the ring didn't even move. I tried the third soap and.. it failed again. I let out a long sigh. I even took a break.

She circled my nipples with her soapy thumbs, sliding down my torso, coating my skin in slick, fragrant lather. "You look tense," she murmured, moving lower. "Let me relax you." She dropped to her knees on the tiled floor, the water cascading over her back. She reached out and wrapped her soapy hand around my semi-soft cock. The sensation was instantaneous and overwhelming. The soap made her grip incredibly slick, reducing all friction to zero. She stroked me up and down, her hand moving like a piston, and I hardened in seconds, reaching full mast with a throbbing intensity that defied my exhaustion.

switch to a nightmare that had lasted two lifetimes. "Don't worry," Sophia said, her voice broadcasting through the room's speakers with a terrifying, ethereal calm. "I’m not going there to die. I’m going there to turn out the lights. I’ve lived through one death already; I can handle a deletion." Her eyes rolled back, glowing with the sharp sapphire light of the machine. On the massive overhead monitors, a timer appeared in stark, skeletal white numbers: SYSTEM PURGE INITIATED: 10:00... 09:59... 09:58...