Public Pervert Lyrics Novels & Stories

"Bianca, be a good girl and spread those legs of yours. Tonight, you belong to us." During the holidays, my husband, Ernest Bowman, has lost a card game against his three childhood friends, so he decides to pay off the debt by offering me to the men. The village men have never seen a city woman as dainty and delicate as me. That's why they get turned on right away. I struggle against them violently, but I can't stop them from spreading my legs forcibly. Thanks to the strong sensations overwhelming me, I can't help but get aroused by their actions, causing my panties to get soaked. "Settle down! Slutty women like you are meant to pleasure us!" After that, someone tears my soaked panties into shreds.

The moment I was born, my mother implanted a chip in my brain and began shaping me into her idea of a perfect daughter. She blocked my sense of hunger so I would only have simple meals daily to maintain the "ideal" figure. She erased my ability to feel pain so she could inject me with endless chemicals to keep my skin smooth and flawless. She tampered with my senses, deleting every trace of negative emotion from my mind, all so I could remain eternally innocent. I couldn't tell right from wrong. I didn't know sadness or anger. I only knew how to smile. When the neighbor's dog died, I smiled and was scolded harshly for being heartless. When my classmates bullied me, I smiled and became the class freak. When my grandfather passed away, I smiled again, and my relatives cursed me for being soulless. Eventually, my father couldn't take it anymore. He left us. Mom, however, didn't seem to care. "They don't understand," she told me. "Everything I've done is for your own good. One day, you'll thank me." … On my 18th birthday, she planned a grand live broadcast, ready to show the world her perfect creation. She never knew that the day before her grand broadcast, I had already lost myself completely. By then, I was no longer human. I had become a machine.

I'd been home for half a month, but I still couldn't shake the feeling that Mom wasn't quite herself anymore. She looked and sounded like she always had, but something felt different. Then, one day, I got a message from her that sent a chill down my spine. "Lily, hide! There's a ghost in the house!" At first, I thought she was pulling a prank on me—or maybe her account got hacked. Then, there was a knock on my bedroom door. Mom, who had just finished cooking, called out to tell me the meal was ready. I was still hesitating when another message popped up. It was a voice message. "Trust me, Lily. I'm your real mom! The one out there is a ghost! Run!" It sounded just like Mom's voice from outside. My mind was racing in panic. Not hearing me respond, Mom giggled from the other side of the door and said, "I'm coming in."

After I join a new company, I keep running into problems—not from people, but from the company's equipment. The fingerprint scanner fails to recognize me every single time, and I have to submit a manual attendance appeal almost daily. When I ask the admin to change the device, they respond with thinly veiled sarcasm. "Everyone else clocks in just fine. Why are you the only one with so many issues?" The air vent above my desk blasts cold air directly at me. My hands and feet are freezing every day. I ask to switch seats. My manager looks at me like I am making things up. "Everyone else sits there without a problem. How come the AC only blows cold air when you sit there?" One strange incident after another makes it impossible for me to function at work. When I get home, I complain to my boyfriend and say I want to quit. He shuts down the thought immediately. "You're making almost 60 thousand dollars a year before benefits, with weekends off and paid leave. Where are you going to find a job like that?" I think about it and realize he isn't wrong. Just as I decide to stick it out, the company elevator malfunctions. I fall from the 33rd floor and die. In my final moments, I can't understand it—why does every piece of equipment in the company seem to target me alone? All the devices are newly installed. All my coworkers are people I have just met. I have no grudges with anyone. There's no reason for someone to sabotage me from behind the scenes. When I open my eyes again, I am back at the company. It's my very first day on the job.

When Frank Zelhar, my best friend’s father, taught me how to drive, he told me to sit in his lap while he instructed me. Since the road was bumpy, I kept jolting on his body, and I could sense a hot, hard thing behind me. As I moved, it poked against me. He touched me on the pretext of helping me hone my willpower. When he touched my most intimate parts, I could feel a wetness coming from within me, and I knew that things were about to get out of control.

"Don't move!" Coming home late from work, I was sneaking a shower in the shared bathroom of my rental when a warm body suddenly pressed up against me. His rough palm clamped over my mouth, pinning me against the cold tile. He held me there against the damp wall, his skin burning hot against my back as he let out a low, gravelly threat. "My guys are right outside. Just try and scream." Instead of panicking, I leaned back into him, shifting slightly. I tilted my head back and breathed softly into his ear. “So… you want everyone hear? I don't mind… we can give it a try.”

This is the biography of a 21-year-old young woman, Victoria Carlson. To her, her stepfather's massive manhood is her best coming-of-age present. "Vicky, Daddy just wants to give you a surprise," my stepfather, Charlie Kramer, says as he rips my dress off me roughly.

After my sister, Mona Ramsey, and I graduated from college, our family went bankrupt. Our father gave us two options: One was to marry into the Whites through an alliance. The other was to take over the company and clean up the mess. In my previous life, Mona wanted the rich socialite lifestyle and chose to marry into the Whites. She ended up being brutally tortured by her husband, leaving her disfigured and disabled. I, on the other hand, relied on my talent for business to bring the company back from the brink. For a while, I was riding high and had everything going for me. Mona grew insanely jealous of me. At the company's IPO launch event, she stormed into the venue carrying gasoline and set me on fire. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment when our father gave us the choice. This time, Mona rushed to stand in front of me. "Dad, let Laura marry into the Whites," she said. "She's been spoiled since she was little. She can't handle a hard life. I'll stay with you and face everything that's coming." I couldn't help laughing. Oh, my silly little sister! Staying would be far more miserable than marrying into the Whites.

My husband doesn't touch me on our wedding night. He claims he's too tired and asks me to wait. Then, he sneaks into the basement in the wee hours of each night. Whenever he returns, he needs to shower to wash away an indescribable smell. I ask him what he does down there, and he tells me he works out. Why would anyone work out in the middle of the night? I can't take it anymore. One night, I decide to sneak into the basement to see what's going on down there. He chases after me and grabs my pajamas, roaring, "Come back up here! I'll divorce you if you step foot down there!"

On the bed in a train's compartment, I find myself getting pinned beneath my best friend's boyfriend, Gaston Walters. Our bodies are firmly glued to each other. I don't have any strength left in me, so I can only let Gaston do whatever he wants to me. Soon, I feel him turning me on. My husband, Stevie Murray's loud snores drift from the bunk bed above our heads. That's when Gaston slowly slides his hand beneath my blanket before hiking my nightgown upward. "Wow, you're so wet…"