Face-Slapping Novels & Stories

On Christmas Eve, my uncle, Garrett Wayne, takes a sip from the fancy whiskey I bought. Then, he points at me while grinning. "Well well well… I've been watching you since you were a kid, Flint. You were a bed-wetter when you were a little boy, and now that you're all grown up, you stay cooped in your parents' shop while running that social media account of yours. You don't have any skills at all. "My Ronnie, on the other hand, has an amazing job that will continue paying him and keeping him around no matter how hard times get. Small businesses like your family's will definitely crumble as soon as the tiniest change happens in the global economy!" All of my relatives roar in laughter at Garrett's quip. My cousin, Ronnie Wayne, pretends to be playing on his phone, though his grin has already become ear-splitting. Mom and Dad can only laugh along as well even though deep down they are very uneasy and anxious. I just gaze at Garrett coldly. In six hours, the blizzard apocalypse will descend onto this world. At the same time, a zombie outbreak will occur across the globe. In my previous life, Garrett, who had looked down on my family and me, didn't hesitate to push us into the upcoming zombie horde just to take over my parents' grocery store. In this lifetime, I swear that I will never let him off the hook! I'm about to pick up a plate of food and smash it onto Garrett's head when I hear a mechanical voice chiming in my head. "Ding! You have been bound with the Rage System! You may talk back and retort to others to your liking in exchange for supplies. The more arrogant you sound, the better supplies you'll receive!" As I look at Garrett's insufferable face, I let out a chuckle. "Oh yeah, I'm not skilled at all. But I suddenly remember this funny little thing. Uncle Garrett, you claimed that you had gone on a business trip to Brimstone eight years ago. But the truth is, you got arrested by the vice squad, right? "Does Aunt Cassia know about this?"

Roseline's stomach turned and her fist clenched tightly around the handle of the big travel box beside her. She heard the clanging sound of the metallic head of Thompson's belt meeting the ground. Next, quite footsteps. Then, Thompson appeared in her view, like a ghost she didn't believe existed. He was completely bare, with his hairy chest rising and falling slowly, his cock shooting out in front like a gun ready to be fired, his balls bloated from desire, swinging from side to side as he walked closer to bed. Roseline's feet stuck to the ground and her eyes refused to blink as they looked on. "That's it, my boy. Hmm! I like what I see", the red hair gasped, rolling her eyes longingly at Thompson. As Thompson climbed unto the bed, his eyes totally locked in hers, she drew her breasts closer him, then, proceeded to rock the big pumpkins against the flushed skin of his face. "You like them?", she asked, moaning lightly. Thompson paused. Then, in a defiant move of uncontrollable desire, dug his chin into her breasts, burying his entire face in them. "Ouch", she gasped, then broke into a weak laugh, pushing his head more into her chest. "The damn bra", she spoke again, twisting uncomfortably as she threw her hands behind her to unhook the material. But Thompson caught her hands. Without words, his head still hidden in her cleavage, he slowly returned her hands to his head. Obliging to his silent command, she cackled loudly, pressing her chest even more into his face and then, with her tongue, glided across his neck and ears hungrily. Roseline froze. She wanted to scream but in that moment, she forgot how to.

Esther Davenier has spent her life proving she belongs—first to the elite family who raised her, then to a society that values bloodlines over loyalty. But when a long-lost “real” daughter is found, Esther is discarded like yesterday’s scandal—her name erased, her face mocked, her engagement stolen. They thought they could bury her. But Esther doesn’t go quietly. Armed with multiple powerful hidden identities and a dangerous new ally—CEO Evander Westvale, the man they said she could never have—Esther steps back into the limelight not to reclaim what was stolen, but to take what was never offered. Now she’s more than ready to turn the game upside down.

I was on the verge of unbuckling his belt when he pulled away so forcefully I stumbled forward, disoriented by the sudden loss of contact. My core throbbed, my nipples could cut diamonds, and my skin was so sensitive even the brush of air caused me to tremble. But when the fog of sensation dissipated, I realized Alex was glaring at me. “Fuck.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, his scowl fierce enough to make grown men quake. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” “Alex—” “No. What the hell were you thinking?” he bit out. “Did you think we would fuck in the kitchen while your friends are in the other room?” Heat scorched my cheeks. “If this is about Josh—” “It’s not about Josh.” Alex pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled a slow, controlled breath. “Not entirely.” “Then what is it?” He wanted me. I knew he did; I felt it, and I’m not just talking about the massive bulge straining his pants. Yes, Josh would attempt to murder us both if he found out what happened, but he couldn’t stay mad at us forever. Besides, he didn’t return to D.C. until Christmas. We had time. “It’s me. And you. Together. It won’t work.” Alex’s glare intensified. “Whatever fantasies you have of us swirling in that pretty head of yours, kill them. That kiss was a one-time mistake. It’ll never happen again.”

On our wedding day, my bride-to-be, Jody Simmons, disappears without a trace. All she leaves behind is a baby with a heart condition and a letter. She writes, "Dami, I love you, but I've also fallen in love with Henry Ziegler. I can't officially make him mine. So, I've decided to travel around the world with him to make it up to him. I'll give you a chance to raise the child Henry and I have together. While we're away, let our child keep you company." But why should I raise another man's child? Six years later, I take my daughter to the airport to see my wife, Ivy Simmons, off on a business trip. When I turn around, I spot Jody pulling a suitcase behind her. The moment she sees the little girl in my arms, her face lights up with delight. She gushes, "Dami, is this Henry and my child? You've raised her so well! But Henry and I are already married overseas, so I can't marry you anymore. Don't worry, though. In my heart, you've always been my husband." Looking at the striking resemblance between her features and my daughter's, I chuckle softly. I say meaningfully, "Careful. Don't go around claiming someone else's daughter as yours. This is your cousin."

Jenny Shaw, my roommate and belle of the campus, had been stealing my skincare products for four whole years. She even used them to fake a wealthy and beautiful persona, becoming a million-follower influencer and bagging a wealthy heir. Right before our graduation defense, her face suddenly erupted in severe lesions, completely disfigured. Jenny immediately accused me, claiming that I was jealous and vicious enough to lace the skincare products with poison! In an instant, I was branded online as the Poison Queen and a dangerous figure. Facing the police, I simply smiled at them and showed them my thesis. [Molecular Deconstruction Analysis of Herbal Medicinal Materials: Skin Regeneration and Reconstruction.] "Poisoning you? That's like a pot calling the kettle black. But thanks for providing me with experimental data!"

My five-year marriage with Alexander was like a couture gown, ripped to shreds. "I want Victoria to show your collection for the New York Fashion Week spring preview." My husband Alexander's voice cut through the sketch I was working on. I stopped drawing. I must have heard him wrong. "What did you say?" "Victoria is new. She needs a platform. Your new spring collection is the perfect springboard for her." "You're a showstopper every year. What's the harm in giving her one shot?" he asked, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "Besides, the brand needs new blood." I stared at the man I'd spent five years with. Suddenly, his face looked sharp, unfamiliar. "Do you have any idea how many nights I've stayed up working on this collection? And you want to give it to some new assistant?" "Evelyn, don't be so petty. It's just a preview." His expression turned cold. "I've already decided." I clenched my fists, a thousand emotions churning inside me. Fine. If you're going to treat me like this, don't blame me for leaving you.

My husband, Shawn Payne, goes bankrupt overnight. That very night, he ships me and our son, Tommy Payne, off to a deserted island, claiming it's the only way to keep us safe from his creditors. Worried sick about leaving him to face the danger alone, I sneak back home halfway there, only to find him throwing a wild party, his arms wrapped tightly around a beautiful woman. His best friend, Ryan Foster, needles him. "You dumped your wife and son in the middle of nowhere. How are they going to survive out there?" Shawn shrugs like it's no big deal. "Yvonne's closing down her dog food factory anyway. I had all the surplus kibble repackaged and shipped to the island. It's more than enough to keep them fed for a few years." The woman, Yvonne Sullivan, purrs and snuggles deeper into his chest. "Oh, babe, you're so good to me and the baby," she coos, gently stroking her belly, which isn't even showing yet. He taps the tip of her nose affectionately. "You're so innocent and soft-hearted. If I don't look out for you, who will?" He pulls Yvonne closer and continues, "For your sake, I had to ship that shrew off to some godforsaken island. If she ever found out you were pregnant, she'd tear you apart. Once you have the baby and she turns two, I'll bring them back. By then, it'll be a done deal. There's nothing she can do about it." His words hit me like a ton of bricks. A cold sweat soaks me to the skin. Three years later, right on schedule, he calls. "Hey honey, how are you and Tommy doing? I'm ready to come pick you guys up." I glance at the man beside me, and a rush of satisfaction washes over me. "We're doing great," I reply. "My new husband treats both me and your son incredibly well."

A month before the SATs, I, Jenny Reid, could see my score. Literally. It was just floating right above my head. But there was a catch. Every time I cracked open a prep book, my score would drop by ten points. But if I skipped a day of school? It jumped right back up by ten. So, I played the system. For a whole month, I barely lifted a finger. And on the day of the test, the number glowing over my head was a solid 1560. When the scores finally dropped online… I'd scored a 500. And the 1560? That was my little sister Patricia's score. My parents lost it. As punishment, they got me a grueling night-shift job at a local electronics factory. That first night, a bunch of guys I'd never seen before cornered me in the parking lot and beat me half to death. Fading in and out of consciousness, I heard my sister's voice right by my ear. "You just had to one-up me, didn't you? Thought you were so smart… but you never figured out I was the one controlling that number over your head." The truth hit me like a physical blow. The score had been her trick all along. I opened my eyes—and I was back. One month before the SATs. The number above my head read exactly 1300. "Hey," my sister said, all fake sweetness. "Want to study together tonight? We can go over the practice tests." I looked at the stack of papers in my own hands. Without a word, I pulled out my lighter and set them on fire right there in the driveway. "Exams are coming," I said, watching the flames. "I'm not studying." My score ticked up to 1310. My sister's face was this perfect mask of disappointment, but the second I turned away, I caught the sly smile she couldn't quite hide. She had no idea… the real performance, the one I'd been rehearsing just for her, was finally about to begin.

While negotiating the terms of a project, a client pressured me into downing a large glass of liquor. While I was washing my face in the restroom, I saw my younger sister’s latest Instagram post. [Low salary? What of it? My parents will always support me!] Above the caption was a photo of a property deed with her name on it, along with a message from our parents. [Mom and Dad will always be your safety net!] It was in a newly developed residential complex. It was also the very neighborhood I had been desperately saving up for a downpayment to buy a home in. At that moment, a torrent of complex emotions washed over me. I splashed my face with water. After clearing my head, I sent a message to my manager, Mr. Jenkins. [I’m willing to take on that overseas project you mentioned.]