Ugly Cry Books Novels & Stories

I was just focused on the book I was reading, pretending not to hear them. “Hey ugly,” one of them called out. “Hope you are not planning to show up tonight.” I pushed back my glasses that were falling off my nose and continued reading. One of them walked to my desk, grabbed my book and dropped it to the floor. “You don't ignore beauty like us.” She said, titling her head smugly. She continued “have you gotten a prom date? Oops, I forgot. Nobody will want an ugly duckling like you to be their date.”

“This greedy little cunt is clenching so hard. Come for us, you dirty little squirter. Flood my face with that sweet pussy juice. Squirt all over me like the messy slut you are.” His filthy words were the final push I needed. My entire body seized up as I came hard, with my pussy clenching violently around his thrusting fingers. A heavy and uncontrollable squirt erupted from deep inside me, sending hot liquid shooting out in strong, pulsing jets that soaked Ryan’s beard, his chin, and his neck. It ran in rivers down my trembling thighs onto the couch cushions, making me cry out loudly around Alex’s cock, the sound muffled and obscene, my whole body shaking uncontrollably with the force of th

It is a short book and therefore it will not take much of your coins . I have another book "Ugly and insecure?' Signed , you can equally take a read about it. Thanks.

~Phoebe The image burned behind my eyelids, a jagged shard of memory. Lydia’s legs spread wide on a hard wooden bathroom, my uncle’s face buried between her thighs, her moans swallowed by the sterile silence of hymnals. Gerard’s fingers curled inside me, driving hard, striking that precise, electric spot again. I shattered. My orgasm wasn’t a wave; it was a fucking tsunami. My pussy clenched violently around his invading fingers, gushing in a hot, thick spray that soaked his hand and slicked his wrist. I screamed. A raw, animal sound that tore from my throat, as tears streamed down my face.

I unzipped it as I shoved the few bank notes I had stolen from the bald man and also the few bank notes that the plum till operator had given me as my change. My hand felt a hard thing as I grabbed it and pulled it out. It was my sketch book. I slowly ran my hands on it as burning feeling echoed in my chest. I slowly opened it. The complete sketch of Sorrow came to my view. I bite my lower lip to stop myself from crying.

Broken Open Aria I didn’t cry prettily. I want to be clear about that because I’ve read enough books to know that women in stories cry in ways that are somehow still attractive — single tears, trembling lips, quiet dignity. That is not what happened to me on Caden’s couch at eight thirty in the morning. What happened was ugly and loud and completely without warning, the kind of crying that starts somewhere in your chest before your brain has finished processing what triggered it and arrives on your face as a full collapse before you can decide whether to let it.

I knew I was ugly, but hearing my own sister say it still made me shake with pain. "You know what?" She leaned close to my ear. "You're not just ugly. You're stupid, too." I froze, confused by what she meant. "I'm so beautiful and well-behaved, so of course I should be the only princess. Seeing you with a face just like mine makes me sick every time. "When we were eight, I fell off that cliff on purpose. I knew you'd come save me. I calculated exactly where to position myself so you'd get that scar.

The bedroom was completely silent. Jade watched Dominic's face absorb this. She watched the controlled stillness. She watched something pass through his eyes that was older than this room and older than Celeste Harrow and older than the company and went all the way back to a fourteen-year-old boy watching his father's world come apart and deciding to build something indestructible in its place. "His father," Jade said to Priya, her voice even. "You are saying Gerald Crest profited directly from the leaked information."

Twenty-six, with a curvy body she usually hid under oversized sweaters, soft pale skin, and long auburn hair that fell in waves down her back, she lived alone in her grandmother’s old Victorian house on the outskirts of town. Tonight, bored and a little tipsy from red wine, she’d found the old leather-bound book. Ars Goetia scrawled on the cover in faded gold. Flipping through it for fun, she’d traced a strange sigil with her finger while muttering the Latin words under her breath, thinking it was all ridiculous nonsense. The candles flickered violently. The air grew thick, heavy with the scent of smoke and something darker, sulfur and sweet musk. A low chuckle echoed through the room.

I never meant to stay this late. The university library usually kicked everyone out by ten, but I’d sweet-talked Mr. Kane into letting me finish pulling books for my thesis. He was the quiet type, the one who barely looked up from his desk most days. Tall, dark hair always a little messy, glasses that made his green eyes sharper. I’d had a crush on him since freshman year. Pathetic, right? A twenty-one-year-old student crushing on the thirty-something librarian who probably saw me as just another noisy undergrad.