Novel & Cerita Fyodor Dostoevsky Idiot

Listen up, everyone!" I yelled to gain everyone's attention "Your trainer Antony, is going to be gone for the foreseeable future. YOU lucky ladies have the pleasure to be trained by me. Antony is a nursery teacher compared to the hell you will soon be facing by me" I stated authoritatively. "Little girl I have morning shits bigger than you" yelled a testosterone-induced jokester from the back causing snickers to erupt throughout the crowd. "Then I'd suggest eating more greens and lessening up on protein and testosterone. You do know that shit causes your willy to shrink up and fall off right" I retorted. I watched the man turn purple with rage before charging towards the stage. Immediately

"I moaned, bringing my thighs wide, further. "Do you like it, Sienna?" I nodded like an idiot, forgetting the fact that he was my stepbrother. "I do like it, Soren." My breath caught in my chest as I felt warm juice spill through my punani, "I love it, Soren. Everything you do to me." ***** The confused, pleasure-hungry nerd who fell for her stepbrothers? That was me, Sienna Cruz. At first, I thought I'd be able to conquer the urge of wanting my stepbrothers but no, I fell more deeper—lost in the ocean of depravity and Sin. Simon is the calm one, we were close. He was soft hearted and I liked him. Whenever we talked, I would find myself staring at his bulge. His morning erecti

As I ran through the dense woods, I heard footsteps coming from behind. "Chase her!" "Don't let her escape!" A voice commanded, sending a surge of adrenaline through my veins. I ran with all my might, every fiber of my being focused on survival. Even as my knees were weak, I refused to stop. The injuries on my body throbbed with each step and tears welled up in my eyes from both physical and emotional pain. "Why's this happening to me?" I cried out in frustration. "Can't I just be a happy warewolf?" "You're quite the fast one," a man remarked, his grip on my chin rough. "Don't you look familiar?" he muttered, forcing me to meet his gaze. Unable to bear his scruti

There's an unspoken rule in my household—everyone has to engage in a drinking competition during the holidays. Whoever gets wasted first will have to pay off one year's worth of house and car mortgages for the other two siblings. In the first year, I collapsed after my first glass of alcohol. I had to pay the house mortgage for my oldest sister, Dahlia Zeller. In the second year, as soon as I picked up my glass, I fainted right away. Since then, I had to pay off Jasmine Zeller, my second sister's car loan. For the next 20 years, I've always been the loser. In the end, my wife, Jean McCarthy, is forced to jump off a building because of the huge debt I've racked up. The debtors keep dumpi

When I opened my eyes, I found myself supposedly transmigrated to some ancient era. Every morning, before light touched the sky, someone would yank me out of bed to haul trash, chop wood, and do whatever filthiest job needed doing. Somehow, I'd become the lowest-ranked servant in the entire estate. The estate lord's son would climb onto my back and ride me around the courtyard like some pet he was proud to show off. Anyone in the household could hit me, kick me, or shove me aside, and not a single soul would speak up. Five years passed like that, so awful that I almost lost my mind, as if I were living in hell. Then one day, a group of servants cornered me. They didn't bother hiding their

Peter Crowley finds out that it's been three days since I last lodged a purchase request from him. Thinking that I've finally learned how to become a good wife, he decides to text me as a form of reward. "I've already restored your adoptive mother's treatment privileges. You should be more docile from now on. Don't keep lying just to ask for more money from me. "I know that it's tough, being from the bottom rung of the society and all, but I'm not a gullible idiot, you know." What Peter doesn't know is that I've already finished drafting a divorce agreement by the time I receive his text. Before leaving the manor, the only thing I can take with me is the white T-shirt and the jeans I wor

Albert Roosevelt was the crush I was never meant to have. Like an idiot, I believed loving someone meant giving them everything, even if they didn't care about you. So, I trailed after him like a desperate puppy, bending over backward to meet his every whim. When he couldn't afford tuition, I begged Dad to fund him, sending him to the best schools. When his worn-out clothes made him a laughingstock, I pitied him and showered him with designer labels. And what did he do? He used what I gave him to chase after a gold-digging campus belle. To keep up appearances, he blew through money like it grew on trees. He even spread rumors that he was the real heir to the Roosevelts. To him, I was j

No one knew that I, the one they called the Angel-Faced Executioner, had been tangled up with the heir of the Grahams more times than I could count. In the latest model sports car, Doug Graham pressed a marriage certificate into my hand, his teeth grazing my lower lip as he murmured, "The Grahams have enemies on both sides of the law. I found a shield, a way to protect you." I was ecstatic and completely swept up in it, giving him whatever he wanted. I never imagined it was the beginning of a nightmare. Doug publicly announced his engagement to the Sowles heiress, making a show of it, and he clarified that I was nothing more than a low-level enforcer in front of everyone. But that nigh

Three years ago, my rich boyfriend, Steven Delaney, went into bankruptcy. He decided to break up with me so that he wouldn't drag me down. As I looked at his broken expression, I steeled my heart and ripped the overseas college application I had just received. "I'll stay with you. Together, we can rebuild your legacy." Everyone told me that I was nuts. Still, I decided to move into a damp basement room with Steven. After that, I took on a job out in the streets that allowed me to earn money the fastest, which was promoting beer to the customers. One day, when I'm delivering beer to the customers, one of them calls out to me. "Hey, this lady looks like you!" There are two screens being

To scrape together enough money for tickets home on New Year’s Eve, I took on a part-time job and accidentally entered a livestream where money was being thrown around. The boy on screen had fair skin and wore a high-end knit sweater, with a luxuriously decorated villa behind him. “It’s too boring being kept here. My sugar mommy gives me more money than I can spend. Let’s do some giveaways.” Excited, I grabbed several large cash drops in a row. The money for my girlfriend’s and my tickets was almost enough. Then the boy suddenly leaned close to the camera. “She keeps saying the tear mole under my eye looks like her boyfriend’s. What bad luck, sharing the same feature as some poor loser