Used Profanity Novels & Stories

I'm so fucked. *****************************************

Having grown up in a different kind of household, he probably couldn't fathom my situation. "Oh, come on! as if I don’t know how open-minded your household is. Nobody really cares who comes and goes from your place; it’s like a fre---," he started to say, halting himself just before he used profanity. I gasped at his words, feeling deeply offended, and ensured my displeasure was evident on my face. It was clear he didn't care about my reaction. "Now get back to running," he ordered, seemingly unconcerned about the impact his words had on me. I was certain he had overheard something, but he was unwilling to acknowledge it.

Fuck it, everyone curses once in a while. "Arabella. Repeat what you just said-" Father's mad voice shook the walls before I cut him off. "I'm, not, fucking, perfect." I voiced out every word while staring at him angrily. Even though my heart was currently pummeling and was in desperate need of ease, I stood my ground. I watch his hand turn to a tight fist on the table. "Arabella!" Mother gasped in shock. She didn't expect me to repeat the profanity, they both didn't.

I want to hold back the orgasm threatening to tear through me at his words. So, dirty words like this can make me cum? I’m such a naughty girl! I swallow, marveling at the ink that stain his skin. Names written in an ancient language. What are those? Professor Logan saunters into my space and I gasp when he takes the packet of condom from my hand. He inspects it with contempt in his expression. Hell, he's so handsome. It hurts to look at him. No one has the right to look this handsome and hot.

What am I even trying to say with this? The thought made my chest tighten. Professor Langley would have sighed, circled the page with red ink, and scrawled “Lacks emotional depth" in the margins. Again. I exhaled, rubbing my temples. Maybe I should just "Interesting technique are you Struggling?" The voice, deep and smooth as aged whiskey, came from just behind me. I startled, nearly knocking over my jar of brushes. Jerome Laurent stood close enough that I could see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes.

"Professor, please" "Shut your mouth." Three veined fingers forced into my mouth, stretching my lips wide. "Get out of here." "Like you mean it." I obeyed without thinking, swirling my tongue around his fingers, tasting salt and smoke, drool running down my chin as he pushed them deeper, making me gag a little. The crowd murmured, excited, some openly stroking themselves. I felt humiliation and arousal collide inside me.

Secret photos that never surfaced. Poor bastard ran from that situation like the building was on fire and has been acting weird ever since. If you ask me, the girl got under his skin. Badly. “I’m whipped,” he blurts suddenly, waving the bottle around like it is part of a cover-up. “I’m fudging … fulk … ug … fucking fucked, dude!” At least he’s trying not to swear. We’re all struggling with that these days. The women in our lives have turned profanity into a punishable offense. They even gave the kids little swear jars to carry around.

Im in my room- in mid air almost touching the ceiling- kicking and punching with my eyes closed,cursing a mean streak of fruit profanity. I suffer from what my best friend Keanu (insert eye roll here.His parents are Huge fans of 'The Matrix' and 'John Wick') calls Chronic Pathological Potty Mouth.According to him I can't say two sentences without using profanity.I ofcourse deny such a malicious (and very true) claim to which he challenged me to prove him wrong by going a day without swearing.And thus the fruity expletives were born.I began to substitute curse words for fruit names and despite making me sound completely insane,it actually worked.Its been a week since the dare and I can't seem

he said. “Because it’s a research.” A fucky research. My mood change because of the girl, Alta is talking about a while ago. “What did you say?” Mr. asked. Karungkong. Is it really deaf too? I just ignored him again. “Who has a fucky question?” I smiled at the question to the classmates. This one just laughed. They know I like to say “fucky” in anything I say. I’m used to kidding. This professor of mine is the only one who really has a problem. It’s not as good as jowa, it’s a bit old so maybe that’s it.

*We could talk after class? Was that a question, a request, or a demand? Either way, I wasn't up for that. I crumpled up the paper, fixing my gaze back on the professor. He slid another down my shoulder. *I promise I don't bite* Nah, you just fuck and dump. Geez. Mum's gonna kill me if she knows I say nasty words like fuck. I crumpled it up again. I felt him sliding down another and I just couldn't take it anymore.