Dramatic Stories Novels & Stories

AMARACHI (Amarachi Edwards) "This is the fifth school you're rejecting today." my mum said. She looked really frustrated and stressed. My mum is a single parent. My Dad died when I was still a little child. We just recently relocated from our former house so I had to change school.

Zac smiled Days went by and Caroline started to make breakfasts almost every day. She made a very loving imagine in front of my father but whenever he would go to his work, Caroline misbehaved with us. I often got into arguments with her as I couldn’t tolerate her behavior. She hated us all. But most importantly, Zac. She knew our father loved Zac more than anyone and He fought with her because of Zac on the first day of their wedding. One day Caroline locked up Zac in the store room for half of the day just because he asked her to help him out with his homework. She opened him up before everyone was about to get home and scared Zac that if he told this to anyone then she would lock him agai

His hands venture over her curved body, exploring. They pull apart and open their eyes. They stare at each other, deep into each other's eyes. Hussaini's full of wonder and love, Nafisa's full of curiosity and passion. No words are spoken but a story worthy of them is communicated. He leans in a softly kisses up and down her neck. She lets out little whimpers of anticipation. He works his way back to her tender, smooth lips. As they kiss she rolls him over and lies on top of his strong, muscular body.

The above sentences are the thoughts of the author about what he thinks, but it is my duty to tell all the things he has in his mind. The space science and the beginning of the human era, why I always talk about the past, why I'm interested in the dead stories, why I tell a tale of another time, why I don't like the present and, also why I'm not narrating about those dumbasses who were about to close the mysterious case of random killing by an unidentified criminal (creature)? You might have so many questions and confusions about the fact that I puzzle a simple story in what we call a Riddle…? But you can still believe in me that I'll give you a gift tomorrow.

Hi, I will not say much. This is an erotic story that contains a mom/aunt/son. As you know, I write about Aunt/Mom’s stories. Please support me by reading my other stories, too. Also, you can support me on my P*****n: p*****n.com/laxu00 Story starts

'The life lessons that we hold most dear have come from dance. Dance is storytelling and language; it is a means of expressing emotions both powerful and beautiful. Dance is art, Paint your dream and follow it. Dance with your heart, and your feet will follow.' "Nora." He called out softly and fainted, in their haste to get him inside, no one saw the small smile plastered on his face. His plans are going perfectly well. *** Casala: "A love greater than mine you say?" Lora demanded in shock as she removed her eyes from her phone.

“You scared the poor boy, dude.” That was the first response he got from Damien Lau after he finished telling the whole story. The doctor visited him today, and he served some mineral waters to him. He was just a bachelor who didn’t really care about food at home and only had mineral waters with him. Despite being a bad host, the painter still dared to pour his heart out by telling the story that bothered him since yesterday. Yeah, he had told his friend about his ‘experience’ with his student yesterday.

A firece gust of wind during a Gale boee 45-year-old Vittorio Louise's car into a river near Naples, Italy, in 1983. He managed to break a window, climb out and swim to shore, where a tree blew over and killed him. I don't own any of this stories. I found them in some creepy books. I'm thinking of writing my own scary stories, but not anytime soon. You can send me your short stories for a feature if you feel like it. Thanks for reading. Enjoy!

Cum leaked down my legs as we snuck back out, me pretending nothing happened while sitting through the rest of the movie, their seed mixing inside me. But it wasn’t just quickies. They loved drawing it out, teasing me until I begged. A week later, they planned a “movie night” in the basement. Our parents were upstairs, oblivious. They tied my wrists to the armrests of the old couch with their belts, blindfolding me with a scarf. “Trust us, Em,” Jake said, his voice dark and promising.

“I have my moments.” We talk about everything except football—travel horror stories, worst interviews we’ve done (theirs are better than mine), the general absurdity of adult life. Harper tells a story about accidentally interviewing the wrong athlete at the Olympics—fifteen minutes in before anyone realized. Sloane talks about the time she got stuck in an airport for three days covering a story that fell through. I tell them about the teammate who thought “per diem” was a type of pasta. It’s easy. Natural. The kind of conversation that makes hours feel like minutes.