Filthy Novels & Stories

She put on the terry bathrobe she kept aside earlier, while furiously muttering to herself. What the f*ck?! Freely offered? Filthy and cheap person?! Of all the nasty, derogatory names he could choose to call her, he chose those ones? She, Angelina, filthy and cheap?! Hmm! She'll show him the real meaning of being 'filthy and cheap'!

“What—” “It’s for your pûssy, my little whôre.” The said pûssy pulsed in response. God. It was humiliating and I felt embarrassed to respond to his filthy words in such a way. I could feel a trickle of wetness leaking out of me. “I will wait to fill your pûssy until you’re ready, meanwhile this will do.”

It was insanely disgusting to think, that my toxic nature would actually want that same food which they provided me. Was I really that helpless? Before I could contemplate on my decisions further, I reverted my head back in position and started to walk down the bumpy lane, which was adorned with further crisp, thorny vines. The memories once again hitting me in the face. My shoulders slump down in defeat, as I made my way. The stink around this area was dense and heavy, probably because wild blood sucking rogues resided in this area. For some reason, Julie's words brought a series of warning bells within my head.

“Keep your filthy hands off me.” “Filthy?” Jenna looked offended before grabbing his chin, assuring the men holding him wouldn’t let go, and moved her face close to his. “There was a time when you couldn’t get enough of these same filthy hands, Ronin. Didn’t expect you to forget it that soon.” For a second, hurt flashed in her eyes. But he figured that might have been his imagination. There was no way someone like her would regret their actions. James and Jenna seemed like those who reveled in it.

Cain took the glass from my hands and placed it down next to me on the countertop, seeking my full attention. "The part about where I said I'd killed every woman whom I've ever slept with," he said. "So you didn't kill them?" I asked. He took a deep breath, obviously trying to figure out how to explain himself. "I did," he admitted. My eyebrows furrowed. "Wait," I said, holding a hand up. "What exactly are you trying to clarify? It just seems like you're reiterating what you've already said." "Remember how I told you that Vampirism is a communicable disease? That it enters the body like a virus through an open wound?" He asked.

I was shaking all over now, sweat slicking my lower back and making my shirt stick to me, my thighs trembling hard under his strong grip. Every tiny vibration pushed me right to the edge and held me there, desperate and pulsing and so close I could taste it. My mind would not stop spinning on how filthy this whole thing was. His name permanently inked on my inner thigh, so close to my pussy that anyone who ever ate me out or fucked me would see it. And I loved it. I loved how possessive it felt, how dirty it made me feel. “Last letter,” he murmured, leaning in even closer so his warm breath blew right across my glistening, swollen folds.

If there is another life, I wish I could be born into an ordinary family, and that I could meet you again with a clean slate. I stood there for a long time after finishing the letter. Then, I walked to the window and watched the snow drift down outside. There was no anger, no grief, not even a ripple of emotion. Only an immense, boundless emptiness. So this was the truth. What had fueled all that evil was not some twisted love, but another warped and pitiful soul. I tossed the letter and the brown envelope into the fireplace together. Orange flames swallowed the words in seconds, turning them into ash.

He curled his fingers, scissoring them apart, targeting that spongey spot inside me with clinical, ruthless precision. The noise was obscene - wet, messy, lewd. Echoing off the tile like a soundtrack to my undoing. "You feel that, you dirty little cumdump?" he rasped, breath hot against my neck. His fingers pumped into me like pistons, unrelenting. "This slick, icy shit in your hot little pussy? It's a cheap imitation of your own mess. But look how you take it. Look how your cunt grips my fingers, even when it's just soap. Your body doesn't care what fills it, does it? It just needs to be filled. Pathetic."

"You like taking me here? Where could anyone hear?" I couldn't answer, couldn't do anything but nod frantically against his palm, my eyes squeezed shut as I rode out the overwhelming sensation. The humiliation of the position, bent over in a dirty bathroom stall, pants around my ankles, being taken so roughly, should have horrified me. Instead, it was pushing me closer to the edge, the illicit nature of the act acting like a drug. "Good," he grunted, satisfied by my submission. "Then take it."

The warm, sticky fluid felt filthy and delicious as it slowly dripped down the curve of my ass and onto the floor. My heavy tits rose and fell with every ragged breath. They were already streaked with drying semen from earlier loads, my hard nipples glistening under the low living room lights. My face was a complete disaster — mascara running in thick black rivers down my cheeks, lips swollen and shiny with spit and cum, hair plastered wildly to my sweaty forehead and neck. I looked exactly like what I had become tonight: Liam’s once-sweet girlfriend turned into a filthy, shared gangbang princess.