Scraps X Brightney Novels & Stories

Her mother turned to look at her and smiled. “How was your day?” She asked. Lillian shrugged. “It was okay, I guess. Mom, I wanted to ask you something.” “Yes?” “I have an annual project to work on, we all have to write a play and the best play will be the script for the annual play, we all are working in pairs. There’s this new guy, he's my partner and we need somewhere to work. Do you think it’s okay if we work here?” She asked. “Work anywhere you feel comfortable, Lillian. I’ll be glad to meet your new friend.” She kissed her forehead. Her mother seemed happy that she was making progress.

The grocery shopping. I sighed and pulled off my shirt, pausing as my scar caught my eye. I hated that scar, it only caused me pain. I scowled at it and quickly grabbed a clean shirt, clean jeans, and socks and underwear. I rushed into the shower and made it as quick as I could so I wouldn't be late for school. Pat was waiting for me downstairs in the kitchen. “I made you scrambled eggs. They aren't as good as yours but I wanted to make sure you had something to eat.” He gave me a good look. “Man you look beat. Can I get you anything else?”

Scarlett stopped at the curb, bouncing on the balls of her feet, poised as if to do something. "Are you okay?" Harper bent and scooped up garbage that had rolled out of the overturned receptacle. "I'm fine." Jessica threw her hands up. "A gold Buick just turned in front of me." "A gold Buick?" Scarlett echoed. "Like Sissy's?" "I don't know." Jessica sighed. Cole grabbed the hefty garbage can and hauled it upright with a clang. "I bet it was Sissy." Scarlett shook her head. "I didn't say that it was," Jessica said then glanced at him with interest. "Well, hello there, stranger."

~RAINBOW I was startled by the scream as I staggered back two steps. "It's a ghost! Jean! A ghost!" She screamed. This shattered my heart into two and what was left of it sank into the pit of my stomach. My soul burned at her reaction and it hurt that this was only happening because of my scars. The girl looked younger than Jean. We could have been around the same age bracket. She had blond curls that showed off her piercing blue eyes while clad in a pale blue dress.

Daphne said. “ Who says I'm not interested” Richard asked. “ I'm your sister, I know you don't like reading” Daphne said. “ Well I enjoyed reading Romeo and Juliet” Richard said. “ You did?” Daphne asked looking bewildered. “ I took Ann's advice and visited an eye doctor, so he recommended a pair of spectacles” he said smiling. “ I'm dismayed, however did we never think about doing that?” Daphne asked blinking.

That night I couldn't sleep. I turned and tossed on the bed. I felt terrible about fighting with my sister. At breakfast, it was kind of awkward. My only conclusion was that mum and dad heard our arguments. It hurts me to see them so sad and hurt like this. But mum and dad were trying to hide it which they are failing miserably, especially our mum Abigail. I couldn't stand the silence anymore, so I tried starting conservation. Mum, did you make breakfast yourself today . I begun, but she did not reply. She was playing with her pancakes. Which I know she prepared it herself.

and watch the flame eat the dark. Click. Click. Motherfucking click. Each spark is a plea that she won’t crawl into my bed tonight. –––––––– I stood in the doorway of the marble bathroom, lights strobing like a seizure— flickering, water dripping slow and deliberate. I slid a pair of Scissors out from my jacket like they were born there. “Good evening,” I whispered, tasting her name before I even knew it. The closer I got, the more she wore Elle’s ghost like a second skin, side profile carved straight from my nightmares, the only angle I still jerk off to.

A pair of silver embroidery scissors on the vanity. I move without thinking. The metal is cold against my palm as I pick it up, as I bring the sharp edge to my skin. The first slice is quick, practiced. A shallow line across my palm, deep enough to well up, but not deep enough to scar. I watch, detached, as blood pools, then drips—warm and red—onto the pristine white sheets. A stain. A lie. A perfect little crime. I let the pain settle, let the sting ground me.

Mia worked my cock with her mouth, covering my Johnson with her saliva. She showed Brooke and me how she loved giving sloppy head. My cock dripped with her spit. “Now put it back between her tits and fuck them like you fucked mine,” moaned Mia. One hand went straight to her cunt and the other to Brooke’s cunt. My cock returned to Brooke’s cleavage. The amount of spit that Mia had coated my boner with was amazing and a great lubricant for me to screw Brooke’s tits. Brooke had her fingers crossed as she held her breasts around my pumping cock. “Screw my tits. Force-feed your cock to my meaty tits. I pounded Brooke’s tits like a madman.