Funny Group Chat Photos Novels & Stories

I stared at the message for a long time before replying. Me: Sore. Jake: Good. You took us like a champ. We’re still talking about how tight you were. Another message came in from Tyler. Tyler: Send us a picture of your used holes. We want to see what we did to you. I hesitated… then I did it. I spread my legs, took a photo of my swollen, cum-leaking pussy and ass, and sent it to the group chat they had clearly made without me. The replies came fast.

The second the call ends, I flop onto my bed, groaning, phone still in hand. Without really thinking, I open my photo albums, and my thumb hovers over the folder labeled “BFF.” Millie and I fill the screen, both of us making silly faces, eyes squeezed shut and grins wide. I swipe through, finding more memories—us attempting that ridiculous red-carpet pose, trying to look like Audrey Hepburn but dissolving into laughter before the camera even clicked. Shot after shot of inside jokes, late nights, and dumb pranks we pulled on Juhyuk and Jugyoung.

I look like the discount version of myself. Perfect for tonight. My thumb hovers over the one chat icon that matters most. Bogotá & the Idiots. Their profile picture is pure nepotism energy: Isabella in red lipstick, Tessa with tear-streaked cheeks, Emmett behind them flipping off the camera. Accurate. My last message is still from yesterday. KR: [still alive. stop planning my funeral.] Their replies sit underneath it, lined up like a coordinated attack. ISABELLA: [YOU’RE INSANE]

My name is Mitchell Chandler, and my wife is Renata Pritchard. On our fifth wedding anniversary, Renata carefully puts together a grand fireworks display. It's for her first love, Samuel Harlow, who has just returned to the country. Under the fireworks, they embrace and kiss. It's a picture-perfect scene. Captured by a famous photographer, the moment makes its way to today's photography exhibition, taking home the gold award. In the audience, Renata's best friend, Vivian Rhodes, turns to me with a grin and asks, "The photo turned out amazing, didn't it? Samuel and Renata really look like a match made in heaven—unlike losers who have to live off their wives. Don't you think so?" I reply

"What's wrong? Keep it down. Instead of saying hi, you're screaming." "Duh!" Riana groaned from the other end. "Don't you know what they're gossiping about?" "What is it?" Olive leaned back in her chair. "What's going on?" "Check the group chat! Hurry!" Reluctantly, Olive finally paid attention to the flood of messages in the group chat. She skipped the previous chats; there were about a thousand messages, and the Gajah Mada group was always lively and bustling with various topics—rice prices, workplace gossip, the lucky few who managed to avoid the spicy food vendors, motorcycle prices, the recent increase in fuel prices affecting gas stations, Ferdy Samboo and his wife's theatrics, and, mo

I found the private group chat with the five of them and discovered it had been created on the very first day of school. I scrolled through all the chat records from beginning to end, growing more alarmed with every message. From day one, they had been collectively complaining about me, calling me a dumb trust fund kid and saying I was only buying them gifts to show off my wealth. They even said my mom dressed so elegantly that she must have been a homewrecker who climbed the social ladder. They even secretly took nude photographs of me in the shower, claiming a body that nice must be used to seduce older women.

“It’s time to get up.” Gustaf groans and flips around, hiding his face in the pillows. “Five more minutes...” I snort and am about to put down his phone, but something compels me to press on the messenger bubble. It leads to a group conversation called, “My slut of a wife—VIP subscribers chat,” and I can feel the oxygen leaving my lungs. What the fuck is this? As my eyes scan the contents of the chat, I finally realize what I am looking at.

"Look, you are a really good girl. I am pretty sure there is another man out there .... with really low standards, ugly with a capital U and shall love you !" “You - two - are - so - dead - now !” I gritted out before I furiously typed on my phone. “Oh fvck !” they jumped when their phones started ringing like crazy. “Haha. Take that losers,” I stuck out my tongue this time. “What did you do ? Why is Mom angry ?” they asked as they tried to read the sudden long string of mesZareks bursting on the group. “I might have sent some pics on the pack group,” I shrugged nonchalantly. “Enjoy now, dogs !” I sang out.

When I opened it, my chest loosened. Id forgotten whose idea it was between the two of them— although in hindsight it was most likely Juliennes— but they'd created a group chat for all three of us. ‘The Hustlers’ it was called. It was a strange, silly name, but it made ne smile, especially now. And it seemed that today it was quite active.

“Fantasies About Mr. Bruce?” Shanon looked at Sarah in amazement when Sarah showed her the terrifying contents of her group chat. There were several photos of Anthony from various angles when Anthony was teaching in class or when Anthony was walking in the campus hallway. Most of the group members commented on the photos with lewd things and emoticons that made Shanon chuckle in disgust. “Do you want to join the group too? I will tell the admin of this group to add you.” “No, thanks. I'm not interested,” Shanon took Sarah's cell phone away from her and walked away to Anthony's room.