Drop The Soap Novels & Stories

When I went to pick Diana Grant up, she just tossed the car keys toward me. Dangling from the silver ring was a plush white bear pendant. I paused, knowing that she had never kept a keychain or a decorative charm on her keys. Once I slid into the driver's seat, the entire alignment felt off. The seat had clearly been adjusted. "Did you let someone else drive your car?" I asked, keeping my voice casual. Dazed from the alcohol, she offered a dismissive shrug. "Yeah. I lent it to an employee for a quick business trip." I didn't press further. The next morning, the chime of the doorbell broke the silence of the house. When I pulled the door open, a shy, clean-cut young guy was standing on the porch. He blinked, then forced a sheepish smile and handed over a cup of coffee. "Hi," he stammered. "I'm just here to drop off a fresh coffee for Ms. Grant." But my attention wasn't on the coffee. My gaze dropped to his left hand. Twirling lazily around his index finger was a set of keys, and swinging from the metal loop was the same white bear pendant. I took the coffee cup from his hand and quietly closed the door. In the room, Diana's phone lit up on the table. A new notification flashed across the lock screen. It was a message that read: [Diana, I just met your husband. He looks kind of scary. Coffee was delivered safely anyway. Try to drink less alcohol next time, okay?] I picked up the phone and pulled up the video camera. With the recording running, I held the coffee cup over the kitchen sink and slowly poured the warm liquid down the drain. Then I uploaded the recorded video to Diana's social media, broadcasting it to her entire social circle. The caption read: [Thanks for the concern, but she doesn't drink coffee.]

After I remarry my wife, Vivian Crowell, I decide to rent her out to other men. When her male best friend, Elliot Everhart, summons her away from me, I no longer kick up a fuss about it. Instead, I charge Vivian by the hour. The rent is 10 thousand dollars per hour during the day, whereas it'll be 20 thousand dollars per hour at night. If it's a holiday, all prices will be tripled. After running my new business for three months, I now have an additional 20 million dollars in my account. Although Vivian has promised to pick out my suit for the banquet with me, Elliot calls her and complains about how he's nicked his finger with a knife when he was cutting vegetables. I don't even bother raising my head as I hand my bank account number over to Vivian. One midnight, I suddenly suffer from a fever. When Vivian is driving me to the hospital, Elliot calls her and claims that he can't sleep due to discomfort caused by his intoxication. I merely pull out my umbrella fluently and tell Vivian to drop me off at the junction ahead. Upon noticing her hesitation, I just smile at her. "Don't forget to transfer the payment to me." On the day our son, Victor Carrington, is going for his regular follow-up appointment, Elliot calls Vivian once again. "Eleanor wants to go to the amusement park. It'll only be fun when we have a woman to accompany us there." After Vivian ends the call, she turns around and is about to crouch down to explain everything to Victor when she sees him mimicking my actions by sticking out his hand at her. "It's fine, Mommy. You can just pay us. But today's rate is the triple kind."

“Lick my cum, princess,” his deep, filthy voice growled as he fisted my hair. “Get on your knees and lick every drop from my dick like the greedy little cumslut you are.” I caught my lying ex balls-deep inside my best friend the same day I learned the brutal truth: I was never infertile. He was. For three years he let me destroy my body with injections and shame while hiding it like the pathetic coward he is. Heartbroken and raging, I drank until I couldn’t feel anything… then let a silver-haired, tattooed stranger ruin me in his hotel bed. He fucked me raw, choked me senseless, filled me with load after load, and made me scream “Daddy” while I came harder than I ever had in my life. The next morning, my cheating ex begged me to meet his stepfather — the same dominant bastard who had just owned every hole the night before. I walked in… and locked eyes with the man who had stretched me, used me, and pumped me full. Now he’s supposed to be my future stepfather-in-law. Instead, I’m sneaking away every chance I get to ride his thick cock like a dripping slut. Moaning and creaming all over him while my ex waits in the next room. Begging him to breed me deep. Choking on his cock until tears run down my face. Letting him bend me over and use me in the most depraved, filthy ways imaginable. I know how sick this is. I know he’s older, dangerous, and completely off-limits. But the more he corrupts me… the wetter, greedier, and more addicted my needy little cunt becomes. So tell me, Daddy… Can I ride you again?

“Kiss me.” The words tumbled out and Lex stepped back instantly. He turned away from her and Isis felt her pride being butchered. “Isis, I-” His voice travelled through the room. It was laced with uncertainty. His back was still to her. "I am sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I-uh. Good bye, Mr. Greyson.” Isis replied as she slid off the desk. She needed to leave, before her embarrassment killed her. Isis grabbed her bag and stalked off towards the door. A grip like iron encased her shoulder and she was spun around to face Mr. Greyson, he pushed her against the door and dropped her bag onto the floor. He pinned her body with his, a hand around her waist bringing her body against his and his other hand cupping her face. He ran his thumb along her lower lips and took satisfaction in her shuddering. He drew her hands up and anchored them above her head, pinning them to the door. His mouth slowly covered hers and moved teasingly. Isis gasped at the skillful movement of his lips against hers. He possessed her fully, slipping his tongue into her mouth. He tasted her, devoured her and nothing was sweeter for Lex. He fought to control his natural instincts firing to life and focused on giving her this but he was certain he would gain the most pain from it. He knew he would never forget this kiss, never meet its equal. He pulled away from her, their breath labored. He rested his forehead against hers and committed the moment to memory. He leaned off her, let her hands drop to her sides, he handed Isis her bag. "Good bye, Ms. Davenport.” He replied with some pain as he turned the door knob and allowed her to leave.

To scrape together enough money for tickets home on New Year’s Eve, I took on a part-time job and accidentally entered a livestream where money was being thrown around. The boy on screen had fair skin and wore a high-end knit sweater, with a luxuriously decorated villa behind him. “It’s too boring being kept here. My sugar mommy gives me more money than I can spend. Let’s do some giveaways.” Excited, I grabbed several large cash drops in a row. The money for my girlfriend’s and my tickets was almost enough. Then the boy suddenly leaned close to the camera. “She keeps saying the tear mole under my eye looks like her boyfriend’s. What bad luck, sharing the same feature as some poor loser.” My fingers trembled. I had a tear mole in the exact same spot. A comment floated by: [How could a sugar mommy’s boyfriend be poor?] The boy sneered, running a hand through his hair. “She’s just playing around. Told him she’s a million in debt, and he’s dumb enough to work and help her pay it off.” My heart went cold. My girlfriend was also supposedly a million in debt. “The funniest part is, she just spent three days with me. When she left, I asked if she still had the energy to go be with him. “She said as long as she tells him she’s going to wash dishes at a barbecue place, that idiot will feel bad and go deliver food to make some extra money overnight.” Another big cash drop came in. I had enough now. My phone rang. Wren’s voice sounded tired as she said, “Aran, the ticket money isn’t enough… I made a little over two hundred dollars washing dishes. I’ll head home now.”

Helen Sinclair walked out of a penthouse with nothing but a bag she'd packed four months before she needed it. No note. No explanation. Just a text — I can't do this anymore — and she left. She had married Alexander Sinclair because her father's company was drowning and the Sinclair name was the only life raft available. Nobody told her that. She figured it out herself, eighteen months too late, sitting on a cold bathroom floor with a positive pregnancy test while her husband's voice carried through the wall on another call that mattered more than she did. So she left. Three years later she is Helen Carter, living in Boston. Small apartment, a plant named Gerald, a job she earned herself. A quiet life entirely hers. She is also fourteen weeks pregnant with a child Alexander doesn't know exists. Then Julian Cross calls. He knows you're in Boston. He's coming himself. Alexander arrives with no team, no lawyers, no plan — which is so unlike him it frightens her. He says he just needed to see she was okay. She almost believes him. Then his eyes drop to her stomach and she watches him understand everything without a single word. What follows is a collision neither of them is prepared for. Alexander, who has never chased anything, now refuses to leave. Helen, who rebuilt herself from nothing, refuses to be pulled back. Julian Cross is realizing he has feelings for the woman his employer never deserved. And Nina Sinclair is about to blow everything open before Helen gets to decide anything herself. This is not a story about a woman who gets rescued. It's about one who makes the man who lost her prove he's worth finding again — on her terms, or not at all.

On the day we chose our college majors, the influencer who was the school's heartthrob held a livestream and announced that he had decided to lead the anti-rat-race movement and would choose to attend a vocational college. The whole class followed him. Seeing the rapidly increasing number of followers, he smiled smugly. "They can do these low-class jobs if they like. I'll change my choice back to Harvard University at the last minute." I tried to dissuade him, but this would cause network congestion. My girlfriend slapped me. "You nerd! Who are you to tell our idol, Zach Simpson, what to do?" In my previous life, I spent half an hour dissuading them, and only then did the students change their college choices. However, Zach failed to change his application due to network lag and was admitted to a vocational college instead. He could not bear the blow and jumped into the river to commit suicide. The students who had entered prestigious universities collectively vented their anger on me. At the class reunion, they poured 99 bottles of beer down my throat and locked me in the karaoke's freezer. "Who cares about the prestige of a prestigious university? You'll just be working for someone else after graduation anyway!" "Why did we follow Zach in the first place? Wasn't it to break this damn rule?" "Zach was leading us to realize our dreams! If you hadn't interfered, I would already have gone to a vocational college with him!" They spoke disdainfully of prestigious universities, yet not one of them chose to drop out. I froze to death in a dark, cold freezer, my eyes wide open. Years later, they became elites in their respective fields, while my parents could only weep looking at my portrait. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day Zach was livestreaming in the classroom. This time, I promised I would not interfere. Instead, I wished them a happy vocational college experience.

He was hired to guard the boss’s daughter. I’m that daughter… and I’m dying to fuck my own bodyguard. His thick cock slammed into me again and again, stretching me so deep I saw stars. I was bent over the marble counter in the safe house, dress shoved up to my waist, his huge hand fisted in my hair as he fucked me like he hated how much he needed me. “What do you think your dad would do if he catches us here?” Arnold growled against my ear, voice dark and filthy, never slowing his punishing rhythm. I chuckled through a broken moan, pushing back to take him harder. “I’m his one and only princess. He won’t do a thing to me. As for you… he’ll hang you alive and watch until the last drop of your blood dries.” I smirked, trying to mask how dizzy he made me. Then he whispered fearlessly, “I know the rules, but I don’t care.” ______ My name is Dorla De Luca. I’m twenty one. I was almost kidnapped, and my mafia father decided the only way to protect his only daughter was to assign his most trusted and most dangerous bodyguard to watch me 24/7. He never expected that bodyguard to be the man I’ve been secretly craving since I was eighteen. Arnold Black Russo is thirty two, cold, lethal, and bound by a blood oath to my father. Loving him is suicide. My father would put a bullet between his eyes without blinking. Yet every stolen touch, every forbidden night, only makes the fire burn hotter. He was hired to guard me. Instead, he’s ruining me. And I never want him to stop.

When I'm pulling an overnight shift at midnight, I receive a text from my boyfriend of five years, Robert Howell. "I've already ended the rental agreement on our previous apartment. I'm sending you our new address now." After glancing at the address, realization dawns on me immediately. "Is this because of Daisy again?" Daisy Baldwin is the so-called delicate yet strong-willed young woman, whom Robert has mentioned to me. This is our third time moving apartments in just half a year. We've moved from a high-end apartment located in the boisterous city all the way to a residential area in the rural slums. All this… just so Robert can get closer to Daisy. I must have exposed Robert's true intentions, for he sounds quite humiliated and furious. "Can you stop being so petty? Dee Dee was stalked after she got off her overtime shift! You're a woman as well; how is it that you don't have any trace of empathy for her?" As I look out the window and see the night sky, I feel a wave of exhaustion hitting me all of a sudden. Honestly, I don't remember how many times Robert and I have argued over Daisy. At first, I was enraged and aggrieved. Now, I'm just speechless. "I can't be bothered to waste my breath on you. I'm going to pick Dee Dee up from work now." Robert ends the call before I can respond. The thing is, Robert has never asked me if I wanted to move right from the start. He also never asks me if I need a ride home since it's already this late at night. That's why I drop my signature on the overseas assignment agreement that has been left on my desk for a week without consulting Robert at all.

️ 18+ ONLY. If you are under 18, close this now. This book contains extremely explicit sexual content, taboo stepfather/stepdaughter dynamics, power play, and graphic erotic scenes. Strictly 18+ only. Read at your own risk. “Don’t make a sound,” he growled against my ear, his hand sliding between my thighs. “Not one sound, or I stop and we both know you don’t want me to stop.” He was right. God help me, he was right. Caden Voss is my stepfather. Forty-two, ruthless, built like sin and cold as steel. The kind of man who makes grown men flinch and panties drop without trying. He married my mother. And he has his fingers buried inside me while my mother sleeps down the hall. I came back home at twenty-one thinking I could handle him. Thinking the attraction was just a stupid crush I’d grown out of. But nothing prepares you for Caden Voss up close his voice, his hands, the way his eyes strip you naked before he’s touched a single inch of you. He fought it. Weeks of cold silences and hard stares and pretending he didn’t watch my mouth when I talked. Then one night he stopped pretending. Now he has me bent over his desk every chance he gets, hand wrapped in my hair, whispering filthy things against my skin that make me forget my own name. He knows exactly how to make me beg. Exactly how to stretch me open and fill me so deep I’m sobbing into the pillow trying not to wake the whole house. It’s wrong. It’s filthy. It’s the most alive I’ve ever felt. And I don’t want him to stop. Not even a little.