Girly Stuff Novels & Stories

She had missed her fashion side so much. A lady who looked like she was in her twenties walked towards them, her hair dyed green, orange, and red. The whole place was busy; on one side was a tattoo artist, on the other was a hair stylist, and then there was the nails section and the Barber section, too. The Girlies. That was the name of the building. The ones barbing their hair were females. It felt dreamy—a safe space. “Over here, Ms.” She gestured towards the two black seats in front of the gigantic mirror.

Specific days are specific themes: Monday: Lacy Red Tuesday: Sexy Blue Wednesday: Goth Black Thursday: Animal Print Friday: Sparkle and Glitter Saturday: Thongs and Bongs (basically things only unless the lady is uncomfortable) Sunday: Sunday’s Best (unless lady is uncomfortable) I sighed with a bit of relief knowing that if I was uncomfortable with going topless or even naked, I had an option to not to. I was measured and fitted for my outfits I’d be wearing here. “Do you own a house or anything?” Ginger asked seriously.

Gianna exclaimed when they poured out the contents in the shopping bags. There were girly stuffs in there for her such as panties, pads, bras, girl's wears and hair treatments. Layla also got her own package too but somehow she was tensed up with the feeling that something was not right. "Oh my God. I can't go back to being a girl. Who the hell does he think he is? Because he got us a house?" Gianna asked, really pissed off. Layla was silent. She was feeling wield. "Layla? Are you okay? Check out what they got for you."

ᯓ★ Frustrated with her current situation, Ginger went to a bar to grab some alcohol in hopes that it would help her forget her frustrations for a while and just have fun. Even though she was not going to work, she still kept her real identity hidden by wearing her wig and contact lenses. And for tonight’s outfit, she wore an off-shoulder short tight black dress, showing her curves in the right places and some cleavage as well. The length of her skirt was above her knee, showing her flawless legs and thighs. She let her wavy hair fall up to her shoulders and wore her favorite earrings.

46. I like to dominate cute goth girls like you. I like to treat entertainers like the sluts and whores I’m paying you to be. I want to make you gag on my cock and stretch you with toys until your pussy is used up and dripping, juicy. I want anal play, deep and hard, and I want to slap your ass while I’m doing it. Another thing, high on my list, is that I want to punish those lovely big tits of yours. And all the while, I want you to be a good little girl and call me Sir.

had arrived and was ready to “give us all some important lessons.” Megan looked at me with horror in her eyes. “Don’t look at me,” I whispered. “I did not plan this part of the party. Granny Apple must have done this on her own.” Soon, we were surrounded by blow-up dolls —did you know they made male blow-up dolls???— cock rings; vibrators; candied underwear; handcuffs; and a variety of other random toys. Synthia treated us to multiple demonstrations, using the dolls and Granny Apple as models where necessary. Granny Apple asked a ton of questions…. as did my mother, who must have been on her fifth cocktail since I arrived.

At our class reunion, my so-called best friend, Shannon Drew, pulled out a box stuffed with folded notes. A line was taped across the top— [Draw one of Mia Martinez's hopeless-romantic quotes.] The room burst out laughing. Someone pulled a love letter I'd written to Damien Byford senior year. "Damien smiled at me today. I want to give him all my tomorrows, too." Someone else grabbed one from college. "It's okay if he doesn't text back. He'll think of me when he's not busy." Damien had never replied to a single letter. I'd always figured he'd tossed them years ago. Then Shannon drew letter No. 99. Leaning against Damien, she laughed as she read, "If you ever decide you don't want m

Jackie said and pulled back the covers on the bed. “What about this one?” Gabriella said as she held up a short, red satin nightie. “That’s nice, but I think we should pack this one,” Jodi said and held up a purple and black bustier. “We’ll throw in a couple of thigh highs and garters. He’ll love that.” “The bustier is part of my wardrobe for special orgy nights,” Jackie said. “Sometimes, I think you have a split personality disorder,” Jodi said. “Jackie Garvey, the professional intellectual, and Jackie Garvey, the Madam of the Orgy Bar are one in the same. It’s time for you to accept that.”

She's wearing a short black strapless dress. We reach a plain black door and the man unlocks it with a swipe of his card. I notice that there are other doors along the corridor. The room is bright, sanguine red. The plush carpet is black, and so are the sofas. They're adorned with small square pillows that match the walls. There's a glass center table and a clear cabinet displaying a variety of crystal bottles containing amber liquids. In front of us, there's a glass wall. I near it and see the party beneath. Numerous people, dancing. They move like they're in sync. It's electrifying just watching them.

They pelted me with their bras. For my insistence on gender equality, I got to watch breasts bounce all over the place. Do Upper Crust babes want to be ogled like sex objects? Of course not - that's vulgar, demeaning and opposed to every fiber of their beliefs in female empowerment. So, every wiggle, jiggle, and 'subconscious' tweaking of their nipples was absolutely unintentional.