Guilty Wives Novels & Stories

When I was seven, my constant vomiting got so bad that my mother took me to court and accused me of being born dangerous. If the charge stuck, I would be stripped of my family ties and sent straight to prison. Everyone said my mother was overreacting. "He's just a kid. Kids get sick. As his mother, you should be more understanding." But the moment the evidence was shown, the room went dead quiet. My mother had drunk herself into a stomach bleed just to land a contract, and the second she got home, I threw up all over it. The deal was voided, and she lost her job on the spot. On my sister, Ophelia Sowle's, birthday, I threw up all over her cake right in front of all her classmates. After that, she was shunned by everyone at school. She spiraled into depression and even slashed her wrists. It didn't matter where I was, at the dinner table or under the covers. I could start vomiting at any moment. My mother and Ophelia had to clean me up more than 30 times a day. It wore them down to the breaking point. What infuriated them the most was that every time I finished throwing up, I would look at them and laugh, as if I was mocking them. The judge brought the gavel down and declared me guilty of being born bad. Ophelia's eyes turned red as she cried, saying she couldn't bear to lose me. I didn't cry or fight it. I accepted the verdict. But I requested that the judge watch my memories first. The judge looked stunned. "Memory extraction means drilling into your brain. The pain is unbearable. Are you sure?" I nodded without hesitation. But Ophelia suddenly panicked. "I don't agree!"

"Bend on your knees and spread those legs, babygirl! I want to see all of you." Isabella aka Bella, an 18-year-old girl who just completed high school and is currently waiting to join college. She moved to California to live with her mother and her newly wedded husband. She felt an immediate sexual tension with her step-dad, Oliver Taylor. Bella soon found herself going through various, irresistible sexual escapades with this charming, seductive fellow in the absence of her mom. She knows it is a sin to think such things about an older man, specifically her mother’s partner. He's clearly off limits but she can't help it. But what happens when he comes forward about also feeling this way for her? Oliver Taylor is a wealthy 30 year old businessman, freshly married to a 37 year old woman, Saanchi. When he met his wife's daughter, he immediately fancied her. He also had secret fantasies about her that he felt extremely guilty about. He wanted to fuck her till she couldn’t walk, treat her like princess, love her like she’s the only girl in the world but she was his stepdaughter. He was known as the devil of the business world and they surely didn't call him the devil for nothing. What started out as a simple and confusing attraction turned into something more, way more than they wanted. A taboo romance between two people. This could be the best thing that ever happened or the worse. Would Bella ruin her relationship with her mother for her forbidden love? But what would happen when the attraction was mutual? What would be the fate or outcome of such an act and would her mom ever get to know the atrocity going on right under her nose?

**WARNING: VERY EXPLICIT 21+** + + My name doesn't matter. My filthy urges do. I came home from work. The bedroom door was half open. My husband was there, pounding into some woman on our bed, his cock slamming in and out, deep and rough. I should have screamed. Instead my pussy clenched hard. I stood frozen, watching every thrust. My hand slipped under my skirt on its own. Fingers circled my clit as he fucked her right in front of me. He glanced over. “You like watching my cock stretch her?” I rubbed faster. “Don’t stop,” I whispered. Then I came shaking, eyes locked on him pounding her. *** 69 Dripping Fantasies is sixty-nine raw taboo stories. Wives catching husbands cheating and getting soaked instead of angry. Step-family secrets whispered in quiet. Glory holes that fill fast. Honeymoon wife swaps sparked by one dumb dare. Older rich men taking total control. Professors crossing every forbidden line. Husband’s best friends sneaking in. Strangers who follow, then fuck hard. Group nights in dark clubs. Cucks cleaning up every last drop. *** I’m on my knees. One thick cock buried deep in my throat, making me gag. The woman behind me squeezes my tits until it hurts so good. Her tongue between my ass, teasing, no cock has filled my pussy or ass yet. But I’m trembling, dripping, seconds from squirting everywhere. Two massive black cocks wait their turn, and her presence makes it filthier… hotter. I never knew I craved this so badly. *** No soft romance. Just dirty yeses where no should be. Sixty-nine stories. Sixty-nine surrenders. Read if you’re brave. These pages might leave you wet, jealous, horny… or secretly think of your own filthy fantasies when nobody’s watching. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Mom always says that depression is nothing more than an illness born of idleness. People who are truly busy studying don't have time to be depressed. So, during my senior year of high school, I lie awake through countless nights, my hair falling out in clumps as I tremble over endless mock papers. Mom only slides another mock exam booklet in front of me. "Finish this booklet, and you won't have time to wallow in self-pity." At family gatherings, my relatives notice that I keep my head down and barely speak. They ask Mom, "Why has she gotten so quiet?" Mom's face darkens at once. "It's because she's guilty about something, duh. Go on. Tell everyone what you've done wrong this time." Later, even my homeroom teacher calls to say I don't seem like myself anymore. The moment Mom hangs up, she rounds on me. "So, now, you've started tattling to your teacher?" It isn't until I collapse before a mock exam that she finally listens to the doctor's advice and brings home a tiny orange tabby. Through the darkest days of my life, that cat becomes my only reason to keep going. Eventually, I make it into college. When I come home for the Independence Day holiday, I step through the door and call out instinctively for him. "Tangy?" No answering meow. Even the cat bed on the balcony is gone. "Stop calling," Mom said flatly. "I dumped him back where I found him the day you left." I stand there, frozen for several seconds before turning and darting outside, only to realize I have no idea where to go. The sounds around me become muffled, as though separated by a pane of glass, drifting farther and farther away. At that moment, my last connection to the world quietly snaps.

Five years ago, my then girlfriend betrayed me for Ethan Reid. Together, they staged a car accident that killed both my parents. Then they hired someone to assault and murder my younger sister, who wasn't even sixteen, and framed me for it. I was thrown in prison where I suffered every day. It was Serena Cole who risked everything to become my defense attorney. She cleared my name and courted me with everything she had. She told me I was all she could see, that I was her whole world. When I finally gave her my whole heart, I looked down from upstairs and saw her kissing Ethan like she couldn't get enough of him, days before our wedding. Right there in our wedding car, they crossed every line. "Bold move, bride. Not worried the groom might see?" Ethan whispered. "His legs are crippled because of you. You know better than anyone whether he can even make it downstairs," Serena replied. "What's this, feeling guilty now? Every dirty thing I ever did to him, you were the one who planned it. You want me to tell him that?" "If you say a word, I swear I'll take you down with me," came her ragged response. Ethan bit her ear roughly, driving her over the edge. "Sure, sure. I know you love him so much. So doesn't this make it even more exciting? Say it. Who's your daddy?" She broke apart beneath him, saying his name over and over, breathless and undone. The tears hit me before I could stop them. She had known. All along, she had known everything that happened to me. And not only that, she had helped plan it.

After a car accident left me with amnesia, a woman claiming to be my girlfriend proposed to me in the most heartfelt way. Everyone around me said I'd been waiting for this moment for seven whole years and urged me to just say yes. In my past life, I nodded along without thinking twice. Her childhood best friend, who turned out to be the long-lost biological son of my parents, ended up going with them to Neller City—and completely leapfrogged into a whole new social class. As for me, I followed Estelle Camden back to her hometown and became just some ordinary guy from the countryside. Cooking, doing laundry, taking care of her bedridden father—I did it all, for thirty years straight. But Estelle left to find work in the city just a year after we got married, and she'd only come back once every few years. The money she sent was barely enough to keep a beggar going. It wasn't until I lay wasted away on my deathbed, barely clinging to life, that I finally saw the truth in her cold, calculating eyes. She let out a sigh of relief and confessed, "The couple who came looking for their child back then—they were your real parents. They're worth hundreds of millions. But you? You're so ordinary—what right did you have to that kind of life? So I gave the DNA test to Derek instead. "Derek is handsome and clever. He deserves the good life way more than you do." When she saw the rage burning in my eyes, she just gave a careless little smile. "You know, sometimes I actually felt guilty looking at you. But now, you're finally about to die—so I guess that's one less thing weighing on my conscience." Right after she said that, I coughed up a mouthful of blood and died, seething with regret. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in that hospital bed—and Estelle was asking me to marry her.

The notorious Alpha of the Black Wolf pack, Kellen Blackwood, is feared throughout the entire pack for his violent temper. Yet, everyone knows he adores his mate, Lilith Hayes. I am only an Omega, the lowest rank among werewolves, and I haven't awakened my wolf by the age of 18. Even though I became a laughingstock in the Black Wolf pack, Kellen still treats me as the love of his life. He always says I am as pure as moonlight, and he's willing to bow his head and surrender his pride for me. I believe him. Despite my family's objections, I become his mate. For five years, we have been together. He cherishes me like a priceless treasure. The Alpha Kellen, who shows no mercy outside, cooks meals for me and takes care of our home with his own hands. The fearsome leader, who never bows to anyone, gently lowers his head and shows deference to me. When my brother, Rex Hayes, breaks werewolf law, Kellen is the one who accompanies me to find someone who will testify for him. But on the day of the trial, the only person who can prove Rex's innocence, Ella Foster, is nowhere to be found. Rex is convicted of assault instead of being cleared for self-defense. The moment Rex is found guilty, Kellen is the first to stand and applaud in agreement. I lose control and run to confront Ella, demanding to know why she turned her back on us at the last moment. Ella clutches her stomach, tears rolling down her face, her voice trembling as she says, "Rex really is at fault. I can't just stand by and let my father be blamed for something he didn't do!" I stand there in shock, and then Kellen appears behind me. "Lilith, Ella is pregnant with my pup. I can't let anything happen to the pup she's carrying. Rex's punishment is exile to the Frozen Wastes. Compared to everything Ella has lost, that's already merciful."

Seven years ago, it was love at first sight when I met Lucas Yates, who was still a nameless thug at the time. For him, I chose to leave my wealthy family. After seven years of dating, he throws me a grand wedding the day he finally becomes the head of Devil's Advocate, a mafia organization. On the day of our wedding, his childhood friend, Yelena Jackman, crashes the venue. She confesses her love for Lucas, but he rejects her without any hesitation, vowing he will only ever love me in this life. Just as we're exchanging rings, Lucas' enemies show up to cause trouble. When he sees the gun pointing at me, he lunges forward to protect me without a second thought. Yelena, who should have run, takes three bullets while protecting Lucas and falls into a coma due to severe blood loss. Overwhelmed by guilt, Lucas sends her to the best hospital in the world. I have the same blood type as Yelena, so in the attempt to save her life, I donate so much blood that I go into shock. Guilt leaves me with sleepless nights. Every day, I pray she'll wake up. I'm even willing to look after her for the rest of my life if I have to. Lucas keeps comforting me, saying that I don't need to feel so guilty, as Yelena did all of it of her own volition. He says he'll take up the responsibility of making it up to her. I'm extremely grateful to Yelena for saving Lucas and allowing me to have such a wonderful husband. However, on the day of our third wedding anniversary, I receive a mysterious message. "Lucille, you shameless homewrecker! I'm his lawfully wedded wife! If you know what's good for you, you'd better scram and go as far away as you can. If you don't believe me, you can always head to City Hall to see just who is registered as Lucas' lawful wife!"

When I'm seven years old, my dad turns me in to the Court Judgment of the Born Wicked because of my tendency to vomit. If I'm found guilty, my blood ties with my dad will be forcibly severed. Then, I'll be sent to prison. Everyone claims that Dad is just making a fuss over nothing. "Your daughter is still so young, so it's natural for her to fall ill. As a father, you should be more considerate toward her." But when the evidence is shown, everyone clamps up immediately. There was once when Dad drank so much to the point he suffered from gastric bleeding. The business contract that he managed to convince his client to sign was all soiled because I vomited on him as soon as he got home. Thanks to me, the contract was voided. Dad got fired on the spot. During Bryce Fuller, my older brother's birthday, I vomited onto his birthday cake in front of his classmates. Because of that, Bryce was isolated by all of his classmates. He became so depressed that he tried to slit his wrist in an attempt to take his own life. I'll keep vomiting everywhere, be it at the dining table or on my bed. Dad and Bryce have to clean me up more than 30 times every day. They suffer greatly because of me. What angers everyone the most is that after I'm done vomiting, I'll laugh at everyone in a provocative manner. The judge gives his verdict instantly, claiming that I'm wicked by nature. Bryce's eyes redden immediately. As he cries, he tells me that he can't bear to see me leaving him. I never shed any tears, nor do I throw a tantrum. Instead, I accept the judge's verdict calmly, but with a prerequisite condition that the judge finishes watching my memories. The judge is shocked, to say the least. "We'll have to crack your skull open in order to extract your memories. You'll be in a world of pain. Are you sure about that?" I nod in determination. But Bryce, on the other hand, looks alarmed. "I won't agree to that!"

He almost never texts me first, and in person he barely says a word. In three years together, he's never remembered a single anniversary, and he's never once suggested we celebrate a holiday. But the second I message him first, he lights up, all "baby" this and "baby" that, fussing over me, coaxing me to sleep. Sometimes I'd get this strange feeling that there were two different Noahs. His explanation was that he was just bad with words face-to-face, and that texting or voice notes felt like less pressure. I kept telling myself that being together meant meeting each other halfway. He was quiet and reserved, so I'd be the one to reach out. He forgot anniversaries, so I booked the restaurant and reminded him to keep the night free. He had no time to schedule our engagement shoot, so I handled the whole thing with the studio myself. He was too busy with work to help us move, so I packed everything alone, booked the movers, and got it all done. When I was so worn out I was about to break, I'd send him a voice note, and he'd say, "I'm so sorry, baby. The lab was insane today. I couldn't be there for you, and it kills me to watch you run yourself into the ground." Hearing how guilty he sounded, all my hurt just melted away. And that's how I carried three years of this relationship on my own, running on the flawless tenderness he only ever gave me online. Until today, when I found a program on his laptop called Boyfriend Assistant. It analyzed every message I sent and generated the perfect reply, the perfect response, every single time. Cold snap? It sent: Bundle up, baby. Time of the month? It pinged an API and auto-ordered hot chocolate to my door. All those late nights he spent "working," the gentle voice notes that lulled me to sleep, every one of them was synthesized in Noah's voice. For three years, the person who'd been there for me, day and night, was never Noah at all. For three years, I'd been performing a one-woman show.