Wealthy City Novels & Stories

"N-No… Please, no… I can't fit in anything anymore…" I can only arch my hips up in the air on the hospital bed. My doctor is currently performing a check-up on me to find out the reason behind my intense lust. But he seems to be toying with my body. His palm keeps kneading my perky buttocks, and he even inserts a finger into my slit. The more I beg him to stop, the more excited he becomes. Unable to take it anymore, I turn back to look at him. Wait, that's not my doctor! Isn't that Eric Buckley, my college professor? The next thing I know, he thrusts into me heavily.

My best friend, Yvonne Greene, has a very masculine boyfriend named Clyde Carroll. So much so that I can see his huge bulge through his trousers. One night, when I am trying to relieve myself while fantasizing about him, Yvonne suddenly comes over with tears running down her cheeks. "Michelle, please help my fiancé out. He seems to have undergone another growth spurt down there. I can't withstand his tormenting anymore." Upon hearing that, I instantly get wet. Clyde is already huge to begin with. What kind of inhuman size has he grown into after getting even bigger? I purposely dress myself in a very low-cut top and a micro skirt with crotchless tights before showing up at Clyde's place. "I heard you're very robust. Let me take a look and see how big you are."

"I'm sorry, Harold! I won't come to the bar ever again… Ah, you can't touch me there…" A drunk, beautiful woman clad in a pair of black stockings can be seen at the entrance of a bar at midnight. Since she's lying on the sidewalk, her white panties are all exposed. Elated, I stick my hand beneath her skirt. Little do I know that the woman, Crystal Conley, has mistaken me for her sugar daddy, Harold Townsend, and thinks that I'm here to teach her a lesson. She's so petrified that she dares not move a muscle. I use the opportunity to part her legs and pin her down hungrily. Poor Crystal shrieks in fright, "How could you punish me like this, Harold?"

Albert Roosevelt was the crush I was never meant to have. Like an idiot, I believed loving someone meant giving them everything, even if they didn't care about you. So, I trailed after him like a desperate puppy, bending over backward to meet his every whim. When he couldn't afford tuition, I begged Dad to fund him, sending him to the best schools. When his worn-out clothes made him a laughingstock, I pitied him and showered him with designer labels. And what did he do? He used what I gave him to chase after a gold-digging campus belle. To keep up appearances, he blew through money like it grew on trees. He even spread rumors that he was the real heir to the Roosevelts. To him, I was just an ATM. "Your family's loaded. It's not like you'll miss a few hundred grand. If you're gonna be stingy, maybe you should stop following me around," he said when his wallet ran dry. And like a fool, I believed that if I kept paying, someday, he'd love me back. After graduation, I funded his startup. The second it took off, he married the campus belle. He had the nerve to claim he earned everything through nothing but hard work. So, I crashed his wedding, and he buried a knife in my chest. "Only when you're dead, Eve Roosevelt. Only then will my pathetic past stay buried." When I opened my eyes again, I was face-to-face with a scowling Albert. "You can't scrape together a few hundred thousand dollars? It's Bianca's birthday. Are you trying to humiliate me?" I looked around the room and rolled my eyes. "Sure, I'll pay. But first? Kneel. You look pretty enough. Consider it charity, peasant."

"Don't keep prodding me with your rod, Chase. It's itchy…" In a northeastern village, I am in bed with my wife and the rest of her family. My wife, Dakota Allen, and her younger sister, Yvette Allen, sleep on each of my sides. Yvette sleeps with her back to me, and her backside presses against the front of my body. Her body has just developed into maturity, so her round buttocks are firm and supple. They set ablaze the primal heat that stirs within me. Unbelievably, she seems to have started enjoying my prodding. Dakota is sleeping just behind me. I cannot hold it in much longer…

After the plane crash, my body was never recovered. My soul drifted back to the home I hadn't stepped foot in for five years. They didn't know I was dead. They were still waiting for me to come home for Christmas. When my mom got the call from the airline, she froze for a long time, completely at a loss, before breaking down in tears. I followed them as they went to the memorial crash site. That was when I noticed something strange—I could see their levels of regret hovering above their heads. My brother's regret level read: 40%. My father's showed: 60%. Even my sister-in-law had 30% over her head. But my mother's regret level? It flashed a cold, unchanging 0%.

Recently, whenever I get physically intimate with my wife, Alara Golding, I can never get it up no matter how hard I try. Alara recommends me to get a massage at a men's wellness center in order to regain my ability to do so. Unexpectedly, when I visit the wellness center, I find out that my cousin-in-law, Hannah Rivers, is actually working as a masseuse there. What I don't expect even more is that the way she massages me is seemingly going down the erotic route…

I loved Clara deeply. When she was in danger, I didn't hesitate to save her, even at the cost of my own life. The incident left both my legs broken and confined me to a wheelchair, but she promised we'd marry once she passed her medical boards. To help her focus on her studies, I worked tirelessly, wheeling myself around day and night to make ends meet. But behind my back, she rekindled her relationship with Caleb Carter, her childhood sweetheart. One day, I found her in his arms, laughing and happy. I confronted her, demanding to know why she'd betrayed me. She responded by shoving me to the ground, treating me like I was worthless. Then she pulled a scalpel from her medical bag, her hands steady as she held it over my chest. "Caleb needs a heart transplant to live," she said. "Please, help me one last time."

"Don't pull it off… We're on the street. It's so embarrassing…" Outside a bar late at night, my boyfriend and I were drunk, slumped awkwardly on the curb by the roadside. What I never expected was that he would climb on top of me right there in public and start tugging at my underwear. I was wearing a short skirt, with only a thin layer of fabric underneath. If he pulled it off, wouldn't everything be exposed for people to see? I was just about to refuse, but when I turned my head, I realized— This wasn't my boyfriend at all.

I asked my husband for a divorce during the most difficult year of his life. Everyone condemned me, calling me heartless, but I still forced him to sign the divorce papers. Later, he overcame his struggles and rose to become a powerful CEO. I avoided him for two years, believing I’d never cross paths with him again—until he caught me at my most wretched. His eyes brimmed with hatred as he stared at me. In front of everyone, he humiliated me and relentlessly forced me to down a bottle of vodka. I vomited uncontrollably, blood gushing from my mouth in thick streams. He mocked me, telling me it was the retribution I deserved for betraying him. I didn’t argue. I let him torment me. After all, I was already dying. If that made him content, so be it.