Girly Stuff Novels & Stories

G-strings that offer plenty of titillation and no support. The pile is huge. Lace, satin, whispers of fabric that seems like the wind could tear them to shreds. “Lovely. That will be for everyday wear. Mr. Grimaldi will be pleased with the initial selection. Now that we have your sizes pinned down, he can order anything else that strikes his fancy.” Fury is making me see red. If that bastard thinks I’m going to play Underwear Barbie for him and dress up in his selection of frothy intimate wear, he’s going to be extremely disappointed.

Gunner. I was standing by the entrance to the bathrooms waiting for Zee and Nat when I noticed them. Three girls, about my age maybe a year or two younger. All wearing, or not wearing, tiny little clothes. Short skirts and tight little tops showing every bit of skin they could, I can't believe I use to like that sort of crap. Now that I have Zee, I see things a lot differently. A girl flirting with me I use to find cute, is now just annoying. Suggestive remarks from random girls were once an ego boost, now they are just gross. Girls dressed in barely any cloths I thought was sexy, now it’s just disgusting. But if Zee did any of that stuff, I would love it, it would drive me crazy with lust.

"You started complaining the moment you saw the sign." "...Fair." She grins victoriously before practically dragging me toward the entrance. The moment we walk inside... I nearly turn around. Pink. Everywhere. Soft pink. Bright pink. Pastel pink. Flowers. Ruffles. Bows. Tiny stuffed animals. Everything feels... Overwhelming. I have never considered myself a particularly girly person. Growing up in the pack, practicality always came first. Workout clothes. Running shorts. Sweatpants. Loose shirts.

he hissed, grabbing her by the waist and hoisting her onto the edge of the table. "I’m sorry, Sir! I tried to hold it, but when you said that word—" "Shut up," he commanded, his hands moving to her blouse, unbuttoning it quickly. Her breasts spilled out, engorged and glistening with a film of white milky fluid. They were so full the skin was slightly red. "Look at this," Gilbert groaned, his face inches from hers. "You’re a filthy little milk producing slut, aren't you? Just producing and producing while I’m trying to close a deal."

Something is definitely wrong with me. I glanced at his wrist but he hid it quickly. I swear I saw the hint of blood but I shook it off. I never fix my nails, I only paint them black. "Ginger, I don't want your money back alright, I just thought I could compliment you for the song." I told him calmly and he nodded and looked away. He looked so thin and really cute.

There is no shame in this. This particular victim was a girl that he saw shopping at a charmingly modest used bookstore that also doubled as a bakery, and she had exquisite calves. They reminded our killer of his days in junior high, where the girls had trim little calves that lengthened each time they had a growth spurt, and he would stretch his gangly legs out under their chairs so he could be as close to them as possible.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Oppan Gangnam style Eh Sexy Lady Oppan Gangnam style Eh Sexy Lady Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Swinging our bodies to the peppy tune, we glided through the army of witches that came out from both ends and in no time, all of those bitches were stuck to the deadly Super Glue and melting their way to noiseless but painful death. Nyssa’s special glue worked wonders on these evil Power Puff Girls. But wait a sec. Weren’t they every girl’s favourite cartoon characters ? Ughh. Never mind.

she snapped, “I need to get back the shop before the boss has my head. Is this about the Bloody Barbies again?” Bloody Barbie was the nickname Maria gave to the murders ever since she’d gotten involved as a suspect. It was an apt name. Each crime scene that had been investigated was painted red with each victim’s blood, and in each one there would be a bloody doll left behind (though, not exactly a Barbie), no less than three feet away from the body.

I can take revenge on what he did on my mama and sister. I followed in his footsteps. His ass is still twitching, which warms my head. He look like a duck when he walks. Six doors immediately opened up to us. They come in different colors. Black color door for wigs and mirrors, blue color door for dresses and blazers, red color door for different types of liptint and lipstick, brown color door for boots and different types of shoes, pink door for make-ups and gray for weapons such as guns and knives. Almost all of that I get into. Every time I jumped, I often took a gun and a knife. Once I entered my target company and got the important documents, I aimed the bullet directly at their forehea

I'm not attached to any of them. "The thing is," she continues, "the dynamic of a groupie fascinates me. So I've done a lot of reading about them. And it's so funny the things you can find on the internet. Tell me…which is your favorite activity…blow job races, sex trains or circle jerks?" I know my face is flaming red now. I am not ashamed of any of those things in context. But out here in the open, in front of people who don't know me from the next guy, it makes me feel really small.