Scumbag System

His urge to sleep with any beauty he laid his eyes on, never stops. He loves women's body. He loves to explore and the reactions his pleasuring brings from them, makes him feel whole. He's a Playboy, a jerk, the worse boyfriend ever. He knew all this himself, but couldn't stop. ****** "The last thing I remembered was being stabbed in the stomach by my girlfriend, but now where am I? Why am I inside the body of a baby? What language are they speaking? "Congratulations host, you're chosen by the pain and pleasure system. I'm happy to embark on this journey with you" "Okay, now what is that voice in my head?" ****** His wish came to pass, because now he got a system who will make all his wish to experience pleasuring, come to pass. His wish to play around, but this comes with punishments after each failure. That's where the 'pain' comes in. It comes with adventure and involves completing seduction mission. Would he be up to this task? Would he realized it was more of being punished than how he finds it as sexual paradise? ***** Explore this crazy idea with me if the story is up to your taste. **** Join Author discord server: https://discord.gg/Q7tY3F8

After I got pregnant, my husband started driving for Uber after work to help with household expenses. He wouldn't return home until the early hours of the morning. Then, on Valentine's Day, I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my belly. I called an ambulance to take me to the hospital. When I arrived, I saw my husband entangled with another woman. Both of them were being wheeled into the emergency room. "Tsk, these two really have no shame, going at it right out in public," someone muttered. "They probably wrecked the car in the process, don't you think?" another chimed in. "What's even worse," a voice added with a hint of horror, "is that guy has a wife!" The bystanders gasped in unison. "His wife must be devastated." Whether his wife is devastated or not, I don't know. But one thing is certain—he'll be going straight to hell for this!

I'm severely allergic to many things, so my husband buys a separate villa for me. It's supposed to be sort of a nursing home. When my future daughter-in-law learns about this, she thinks my son is cheating on her. She breaks my bones to vent her anger. When she finds out I'm her future mother-in-law, she caresses her belly and looks at me smugly. "I'm already pregnant with Shawn's child. Think about whether you want this child to make it into this world." What she doesn't know is that the Ziegler family's fortune belongs to me and that Shawn Ziegler is only my adoptive son.

My mother claims my husband has cheated on me and pushes me to get a divorce. I want to collect evidence before proceeding with anything—if it's true, I have to uphold my rights. Yet she causes a scene at an art exhibition I've worked on for three years, humiliating me in public and making me sound like a gold digger. "How are you any different from a prostitute when you're holding this dumb exhibition with a man's money? I didn't raise you to be a gold digger! How can you be so revolting?" She slashes the million-dollar paintings in the exhibition, claiming that she's doing this for my good. She wants me to see the error of my ways and return to the right path. Meanwhile, I clutch my bloody hand, which she slashed with her blade. I say, "You say you want me to return to the right path, but is that what it really is? You want me to divorce my legally wedded husband, who's a CEO, without a penny to my name. "Then, you want me to marry a 45-year-old cheap man who has a child and no money? He even wants me to support him!"

When the earthquake struck, Pierse Jones instinctively shielded me with his body, taking the full brunt of the impact and suffering multiple fractures. In the hospital room, the girl in the next bed looked at me with envy and said, “Your husband didn’t even care about his own life to save you. He really loves you.” I forced a smile. “Yeah.” But just last night, after I had fallen asleep, he slipped into the bathroom, his voice soft and soothing as he spoke to someone else—his little mistress, “I’m fine, don’t cry. Be good.” “As long as I think of you, I’m not afraid of anything.” Pierse and I grew up together, from childhood sweethearts to each other’s first love. We had been together for ten years, admired by everyone as the perfect couple. No one knew he had a mistress on the side, a girl who looked just like me when I was eighteen.

Calvin and I had been married for seven years. While packing up some clothes, I found a cheap lighter in the pocket of his jacket. Everything he wore, from the inside out, had been carefully chosen by me to highlight his refined taste and status. However, in that girl’s Twitter photos, he looked like a college boy, dressed in cheap clothes and wearing a digital watch that cost only a few dollars while kissing her. Using a throwaway account, I casually liked the post and commented, "A perfect match." Then, I turned to Calvin and said, "How did I never realize you had such a thing for bargains?"

A week before summer break, my boyfriend’s childhood sweetheart threw a fit, insisting on going to Tanond to watch a strip show. She even convinced our entire class to go with them. I kept warning them that it was not safe, that it could be some kind of new scam, and begged them not to go. When they refused to listen, I secretly reported it to the police. On the day of their departure, the police stopped them right at customs. A few days later, a male stripper suddenly went viral overnight. When she found out about it, she got so furious her eyes turned red. “It’s all Zoey’s fault! If it weren’t for her, we could’ve seen an international superstar's strip show!” On the first day we went back to school, they drugged me and made ten men teach me how to dance. “Didn’t you stop us from watching a strip show? Then you can perform one for us yourself.” The next day, my photos of strip show were all over social media. After that, I jumped off a building out of despair. When I opened my eyes again, it was once again the day his little sweetheart demanded that trip to Tanond.

My dad was a zombie. My mom? Even scarier. She was an uber-powerful mutant. At the crack of dawn, she was already yelling, "Derick Olson! Don't make me come over there! What kind of zombie are you? Glued to your headphones all day—are those audiobooks really that captivating?" I rolled over in bed and promptly fell right off. Scrambling to my feet, I started tidying up my room in a flash, terrified she might actually make good on her threat. "Look at Mr. Hoffman next door," she hollered. "He roams the streets day and night, probably gobbled up more brains than you've read books!"

Zehn Jahre nach unserer Hochzeit postete meine ehemalige beste Freundin ein Foto. Ihre Tochter, mein Sohn, und mein Mann, der beide Kinder im Arm hielt. Alle vier schlangen eng um, mit der Bildunterschrift: „Wie kann man da nicht von einer kompletten Familie sprechen?“ Ich kommentierte darunter: Wie bitter. Im nächsten Moment löschte sie mich. Am nächsten Tag kam mein Mann nach Hause und fragte mich: „Sophie geht es endlich etwas besser, warum musst du sie schon wieder provozieren?“ Mein Sohn schubste mich und warf mir vor: „Das ist alles deine Schuld, jetzt weint die süße Kleine schon wieder.“ Ich knallte ihnen die Scheidungspapiere vor die Nase: „Ja, ich bin schuld. Deshalb gehe ich. Dann könnt ihr eure glückliche vierköpfige Familie sein.“

My husband's ex-girlfriend left behind a cat that could nurse my daughter like a woman. I turned on my camera and livestreamed this horrifying scene. The stream instantly went viral, and people approached me offering high prices for the cat. When I agreed to sell it, my husband went crazy, clutching the cat and screaming that it could not be sold. Even my sister-in-law, who had always doted on me, furiously yelled at me for being brainless. In my previous life, I accidentally discovered the cat in our house nursing my daughter. I was terrified when I saw my daughter's satisfied expression! What made me feel even more horrified was that the cat's chest area had no fur at all. It was smooth and delicate, like a nursing woman's. Moreover, this cat usually either bared its teeth at me or scratched me with its claws. Every night, it slept in my husband's arms. Thinking of all this made my skin crawl, and I immediately decided to throw the cat out. Unexpectedly, my usually gentle and refined husband became incredibly frenzied. "I raised this cat with my own hands. It's no different from my child! If you dare throw away my cat, then we're getting divorced!" My sister-in-law also urged me to keep the cat. She even gave me sleeping pills, claiming I had been under too much stress lately. That night, my daughter died in my arms, and I also died in bed from excessive grief. Only after my death did I learn that the cat was my husband's ex, and my daughter was the medium for her life exchange. Their true purpose was to steal my body. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day I was just discharged from the hospital.