Family Guy Pervert

I gave birth prematurely, just twenty days before the due date. Two hours after I entered the surgery room, I had a stillborn baby. I did not cry at all. I did not even spare a glance at the dead baby. I endured the pain from childbirth and calmly walked into the hospital nursery. After the door was tightly shut, I turned down the temperature of the air-conditioning. The temperature inside the nursery would be too cold for newborns to bear after an hour. The doctors and parents were begging me on their knees to let their babies live. They screamed and cried. They said I was a mother and hoped that I would understand. Instead, I laughed and said, “Yes, I was a mother. But my baby died!” The gynecologist knelt on the floor and begged, “We may be at fault for not being able to save your baby, but these babies are innocent! “Please don’t be reckless just because you lost your baby! You’re so young. You’ll have more babies in the future.” I gritted my teeth and roared, “But my baby isn’t dead! “She’s still alive. I’ll give you one hour. Bring her back to me!” But I was unsure if she would still be alive after an hour.

After three years of marriage, I suddenly began to realize that my wife might have a low libido. One evening, my older neighbor, who was sympathetic, kindly invited me over. That night, I stumbled upon his wife in the middle of a passionate entanglement with another man through a crack in the door. The next day, my neighbor said to me, "Hey, Cyril, you know, Heather has always liked you."

"S-Stop… If you keep spreading my legs, I'll get hurt…" On the subway, three muscular guys spread my legs roughly while I try to stop them the best as I can. The man standing in front of me suddenly draws out his belt and ties my hands with it. "Stay put! Sluts like you are born to give us pleasure!" Then, he spreads my legs once again before ripping my soaked panties off my body.

After I got pregnant, my husband started driving for Uber after work to help with household expenses. He wouldn't return home until the early hours of the morning. Then, on Valentine's Day, I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my belly. I called an ambulance to take me to the hospital. When I arrived, I saw my husband entangled with another woman. Both of them were being wheeled into the emergency room. "Tsk, these two really have no shame, going at it right out in public," someone muttered. "They probably wrecked the car in the process, don't you think?" another chimed in. "What's even worse," a voice added with a hint of horror, "is that guy has a wife!" The bystanders gasped in unison. "His wife must be devastated." Whether his wife is devastated or not, I don't know. But one thing is certain—he'll be going straight to hell for this!

As the news broadcast reported a random serial killing near my residential complex, I knew—I had been reborn once again. In my first life, my husband insisted on going out in the middle of a snowstorm to buy weapons for self-defense. I locked every door and window, waiting at home, anxiety clawing at my chest. I never imagined the killer could pick locks. Before I could even react, a blade plunged into me, and I died on the couch. In my second life, I didn't hesitate. I hid in a concealed storage room, holding my breath. But the door was still pulled open. A man wearing a rabbit mask stared straight at me. "Found you," he said. In my third life, I ran to the police station. I rushed inside and told the officer on duty that the killings weren't random—that the murderer was coming for me. They looked at me like I'd lost my mind. Then my husband arrived in a hurry and took me away. But the moment we reached our front door, a heavy hammer smashed into the back of my head. Through the blinding pain, I forced my eyes open, but I never saw who killed me. Now, staring at the grave expression on the news anchor's face, agony surged through every inch of my body. Rebirth isn't a reset. The damage accumulates—and sooner or later, it will torture me to death. Without hesitation, I walked into the kitchen and set a pot of oil to heat. And I waited… for the moment the lock began to turn.

One of my classmates, Liam, called me one day. His mom was planning to get a divorce, and he wanted me to talk to her.   The first time I saw Liam’s mom, I was captivated by her unique charm as a mature woman. From then on, I couldn’t stop thinking about her.   One day, I decided to invite Liam for a hike. He wasn’t home, but there were faint moans coming from inside the room. I pushed the door open to find Claire lying on a red blanket. Her legs were entwined, and she moved in a way that was impossible to ignore.   Who knew Liam’s mom would be so good at it? Quietly, I moved further into the room. Without a word, she walked over and shut the bedroom door behind me. 

"Mmm… No… You can't touch this part…" In the car dealership, my client drives around in his new car with his right hand resting on my thick and supple thigh. Slowly, he begins hiking my miniskirt upward. I'm a beautiful saleswoman working in the shop. Now I'm wearing a pair of crotchless black stockings and a short pencil skirt. The catch is, I'm going commando beneath my skirt. Truthfully speaking, I'm already flooding down there thanks to the client's touch…

"Stop… please stop… There are too many of you. You'll break me." On the bus back to the village, three rugged men from my hometown spread my legs apart and tore a hole right through the middle of my stockings. Steve Axwell, who lived opposite, said lecherously. "Kendall, I've watched you grow up. Let me check if you've started growing hair down there yet." Under the gaze of those big, strong men, I felt a mix of ache and itch. I couldn't stop myself from getting wet. "You're this soaked, and you've never been with a man? Don't worry—today, we're going to satisfy you real good."

I lost my eyesight thanks to a sudden car crash. In order to fund my treatment, I took up the position of a blind spectator, as per my friend's recommendation. The job scope was… challenging to put into words, to say the least. To make things worse, one of the clients was my boyfriend.

Due to my heightened sensitivity, even the slightest touch causes an uncontrollable reaction. My husband, concerned, sends me to the hospital for treatment. As I lie on the operating table, the attending doctor unexpectedly triggers a wave of intense response from me—right in front of my husband.