Fiction Stories の小説・ストーリー

The air in the library was thick with the scent of old books and the faint hum of fluorescent lights. Sadile Marconi, her fiery red hair cascading over her shoulders like a river of flames, sat at a secluded table, her green eyes darting between the pages of her textbook and the clock on the wall. The numbers seemed to mock her, ticking away the minutes until her next class, a class she was dangerously close to failing.

She brought both breasts back to my penis and wet them again, and brought them back to my mouth. The next moment, she straddled me again, and checked my bondage's for tightness. I could definitely not move my hands or my legs. "Do you know what I read recently?" "No, what?" "I read a story that you posted online. It was called 'I want you to feed me'." I stared blankly,I'd forgotten that she read my sex stories online, sometimes, especially this one. "Uhhh yes well..." "Do you remember writing the story, do you remember what it was about?" As she questioned me, she was humping her open pûssy over the head and shaft of my cock.

"There's a reason why it's called fiction." Felicity had been snooping around Willow's plate of food. "Do you want to try it?" she asked. "You don't mind?" "No, eat some," she said, pushing her plate forward. "You can have half of my burger. Kairav told me you were reading about myths and folklore in the library. Do you have any spooky stories to tell?"

Sarah had texted Daniel an hour earlier: “Pick up milk, bread, and whatever else we need. Ethan’s tagging along—he needs stuff for his new apartment.” That was the official story. The real story started three months ago in the guest bedroom after too much wine at Sarah’s birthday dinner. A late-night kitchen raid turned into hands under shirts, mouths crashing together in the dark pantry while Sarah slept upstairs. Since then it had been stolen moments—quick handjobs in the garage, blowjobs in Ethan’s car in the driveway, once even a frantic fuck on the laundry room floor while Sarah was at yoga. Never enough. Never safe. Always hungry.

She only believed it was mere superstition and the only thing killing people were either plagues from poor hygiene, an unknown disease or people themselves like thieves. This was the twenty first century and stuff like that surely couldn't exist. But many people believed it did. Her gramps and granduncle inclusive, who dedicated a good number of years of their lives, hunting down the rumoured night creatures. ‘Breaking news. The night creatures are at it again as two dead bodies were found in a lagoon in the early hours of this morning, badly injured with sharp claw like cuts. Locals say they saw the night creatures in a quick flash but ran for dear lives. There might be another attack this

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She tried washing it off, but it's still there. "Was he really a ghost?" She murmured while looking at herself. Hours passed and her aunt came back from her relatives carrying left overs, stories, and gossip just like any other middle-aged woman like her. Lisa didn't really mind, she could use something to entertain her other than her books or watching TV. "How was your first night alone? Were you scared? I could feel a cold presence sometimes." Bianca asked her while putting away the things she brought with her. Lisa smiled at her. "It's a little cold, but I slept just fine."

Alain blinked slowly as he tried to comprehend the series of explanations from his best friend. And, as soon as he understood it, his eyes immediately widened. “It is impossible!” Unconsciously, he screamed at the girl. “He can’t possibly try to flirt with me! We’re both men, so how could he be interested in me?” Suddenly, Brielle’s index finger rose right in front of his face. The slender finger swayed to the right and left rapidly. “Homosexuals are not uncommon in this era, Alain,” she said confidently. “Besides, there has never been any news about him dating any girl. He is a famous painter, but there’s no scandal about him for years. He may be gay, right?”

Instead of facing his own demon, Sabrina's father took his own life in front of his family, scarring his own daughter for life. Being a non-fiction novelist, most of my stories are about people’s experiences. I collect facts through research and interviews, then retell the stories through books. My stories, in turn, memorialize their contributions in life and highlight their suffering and pain. This way, they shall be remembered and hopefully, their story helps someone along the way, someone who currently faces these difficulties.

Don't get it wrong. Sometimes stereotypes were spot on correct and sometimes they weren't. This was again, another case in Brianna Samuels. She wasn't one of those bitches that everyone knew about because of stereotypes, that lived for gossip and brought people down just so they felt better about themselves. Okay, well Brianna did live for gossip, but mostly the harmless type of gossip and she definitely did not live to step on people. The type of gossip she lived for would basically be classified as petty theft in contrast to murder. Basically who dated who and who's hot and whatnot.