Used Profanity Novels & Stories

My gaze landed on a new user added to the group chat. Unlike everyone else, the user had no username, with a hamster as a profile picture. I sneered. Very unprofessional. With the rage bubbling in me, I typed away on my keyboard. Spilling my thoughts about how unprofessional it was to not use an actual name and picture in an important work group. Satisfied, I exhaled and clicked the send arrow. But just then... Mr. Crawford's message popped up just as mine uploaded. His message tagged the strange user. [Welcome to the group chat, Mr. Davenport.]

I created a quick profile, put up a blurry photo that showed my body but not my face, and wrote a simple bio: “21, horny, need to be used tonight. No names. No drama. Just rough sex.” I hit post and waited, heart beating fast.

I couldn’t help the smug grin that tugged at the corner of my mouth as I leaned back in my chair, watching the spectacle unfold. The files on the table, spread out like evidence at a trial, were littered with damning articles, photos of Violet in compromising situations with older men, her name dragged through the mud. “She should be expelled for this,” the professor continued, practically frothing at the mouth. “Her behavior is an embarrassment to the school. Not only is she bringing shame to the medical department, but she's flaunting it like it's nothing.”

Callina says trying to help Mollis with the eggs, but she used too much force, making the egg break all over her hand. "Ahhh...fuck," Mollis says mad at what happened, she heard uncle Asher use that word when he got angry before. He also told her not to repeat it, that it's a curse word that good littles don't use, but she was really mad now. "Mollis!!" Jace yells, spiting his coffee, he just came down for a strong coffee, and no breakfast, not to hear his baby cursing. "Ahh..." Mollis screams again this time in fear trying to hide behind Callina.

Was I doing it wrong already? “Bite your lip like that,” he said, his voice… God, I don’t know how to describe it. Like he was trying to contain a volcanic passion. I stared at him. “Why not?” “Because it makes me want to come over there right now and fuck you.” Whoa. Normally I don’t like cursing. I don’t do it. Much. Being stuck in traffic is the only exception. (Don’t you judge me!) It was repeatedly rammed into my head growing up that the use of profanity is crude, unladylike, and a sure sign of lack of intelligence. Only those with the inability to express themselves resort to bad words, my mother must have told me a thousand times.

, I laugh at his face making a disgusting face looking at him from head to toe. “then you should probably know as far as you stay away from me and my fucking life it’s better for me and you too….. Father”, I mock him scoffing. “You and your graceful profanities, you haven’t changed at all right?”, he asks with distaste Judgementally. I smirk at him counter and tilt my head right and look at him amused. How could he be disgusted of me using profanities in my speech when he did the most disgusting task any father would have never done in his life.

He was deliberately trying to push my buttons. "Hey--" "Unprofessional," he interrupted, his voice dripping with disapproval. He'd been using that "unprofessional" line all morning, and it was starting to grate on my nerves. I was about to explode. "Sir, I understand English perfectly well, it's just that--"

2 XAVIER I thank whatever fucking god that all of these idiots are finally done with this class. I have taught English literature for three years now. Each year has been a different experience for me. The first year was by far the best. I was a new professor. Twenty three years old. I was so excited for my first real year teaching. I was excited to prove to the world that I didn't get the job just because my father is the dean. At the start of my first year of teaching, I was the shiny new toy. All of my students loved me, and seemed to love my teachings.

He fumed, completely abhorred and disgusted. His reaction only fuelled my craziness. “Oh, then you should have been there earlier, I was totally f***ed good, like the prostitute I am.” I seethed, bring my face closer to him as I lowered my voice. “You should have asked them if they enjoyed the show; hint, they did, and I would have gone for a second round if it weren’t for your meddling.

He waited for clarity. For guilt. For anything resembling relief. None came. Only more wanting. Her face drifted behind his eyelids—flushed, soft, lips parted. Her voice whispered his name, sweet and ruined. Her imaginary body leaned toward him again. His cock twitched weakly in his hand, not ready but not finished either. “Fuck,” he whispered, defeated. “What’s wrong with me?” He cleaned himself mechanically, shamefully aware that his desire hadn’t faded—it had sharpened. Focused. Deepened.