French Short Stories Novels & Stories

Until now, strange short stories had only very short stories. But from volume two I intend to add stories that have 10 to 20 captains as well. These stories are not so long nor have so much visibility as a separated book. For this reason, I decided to move all then into strange short stories, that is already a storybook of different themes.

Thоse were just superstitiоus fairy tales, ghоst stоries fоr yоung сhildren. The damp fabriс оf the thin nightgоwn, whiсh reaсhed dоwn tо the ankles, stuсk tо her bоdy, thus underlining the соntrast between her flat stоmaсh and slender legs соmpared tо the lusсiоus female сurves in exaсtly the right plaсes. Her nipples stооd up in the сооl and squeezed themselves сlearly under the fine shirt.

It was 11pm at night when Nikhil Khanna drove off in his car to the hotel Grad Shine. On his way , he stopped his car and when he was parking it in the parking lot , he noticed a beautiful girl wearing a red coloured lacy short frock with her cleavage popping out .Along with it she was wearing black jacket and black coloured female boots with high heels.

My shorts are almost like panties, there is no need to take it off, so I spread my legs on the bed and I watch as he watches me. The room feels hotter than summer and is thick with lust, the tension is so palpable that I know I would taste it if I stick out my tongue. Slowly I move the stretchy short fabric to the side and bare my cunt to the air and for both of us, Rocky's breath audibly stutters as he watches me touch myself slightly.

And definitely not a romance. Wedging the book back between its friends, she stood. Stopped. Rose on tiptoe and reached, bringing down a larger book. This one bound in creased red leather. Beneath the dust the title was French. The words—and, with zero illustrations, it was nothing but words—all French. Her French sucked. She skimmed the story about a woman in a city—Paris?—trusting a man, a kind stranger. Following him? Elle le suivit. She—elle—followed—suivit—him—le.

she whimpered, leaning forward to capture my lips in a deep, tongue-twisting French kiss. As our tongues entwined, Lillian guided my nine-inch cock to the entrance of her soaking wet pussy. She lowered herself slowly, her eyes locked onto mine, savoring the moment my head breached her tight walls. I groaned loudly as I felt her heat envelop me, the tightness of her grip reminding me why she was the only woman who could truly handle me. "Put it all in, Edwin," she breathed, her voice trembling. "Fill me up before we give some of it to her."

Lily I laughed, my body shaking uncontrollably. Chris was telling me stories about all the women he had been with when he was in France, and damn. French women were a different breed of women. One had tried to pin a 10 month old baby on him as the father when they had met only four months ago, and the other had killed his hamster and left it as a present at his door step Of course, every single one had been kinda justified, but it was still funny

I walked close to the shelf, reaching my hand up to grab the packet but my hand didn't reach it. "Fuck being short!" I grunted getting on my tippy toes but my hand didn't even graze the packet. I guess I will have to jump, I jumped up and this time my hand grazed the packet but it only pushed it more away from me. Just as I was about to give you and just settle for the ice cream alone, a rigid warm body pressed me into the counter. I closed my eyes as I could literally feel every hard abs of his on my back.

She hated that her body still remembered him. He walked closer until she was staring into his clear, brown eyes. “Answer me, Jules. Was the sex that bad?” “N-no,” she stammered, now looking everywhere but at him. “Then why do you run from me?” “I'm not running.” He raised a full eyebrow effortlessly. “Really?” She turned to face him now, expression blank, but heart racing fast. “ It was just one night.” “Then why are you avoiding me, I ask again? Adults enjoy one night stands every time and they don't make things awkward between them.”

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.