Haiku Stories Novels & Stories

My clit started pulsing in time with the sentences, and I shifted my weight, pressing my thighs together to ease the growing slickness. Kane leaned back, watching me. “Louder. And enunciate. That word is ‘heaved,’ not ‘heaved like a whore trying to rush through it.’” I glared up at him through my lashes. “Maybe if you weren’t staring at my tits the whole time I could concentrate better. You hard under that desk yet, or does making students read p**n just bore you?” His hand moved fast. The flat of his leather-bound notebook cracked lightly across my left ass cheek, not hard enough to really hurt but sharp enough to sting and make my head snap to the side.

I cut him off. "Then it's fine. Is there anything you wanna do? Do you have any homework?" "I do, but I didn't bring any of my stuff." In the end, we just decided to watch some movies. After our talk last night, I kinda felt awkward. We're closer now, right? I mean, he told me some stuff about himself, so wouldn't it be fair if I told him something about myself too? Still, I don't think it's really the right time. I need to find the perfect timing to tell him about my illness. It would be better if I were honest about only talking to him because he has colors.

Side by side, Christina and I strolled through the gallery, taking in the vibrant artwork. Christina's love and knack for art were off the charts. She had a way of uncovering the hidden tales in each piece from angles no one else seemed to see. "Erick, check out this painting." She gestured towards an oil painting named 'Nirvana', her eyes alight with excitement. "It's a phoenix rising from the ashes, feathers scorched but eyes blazing with hope and strength for what's ahead. It reminds me of you." Her words caught me off guard, and I turned to her.

Once bitten, twice shy, as they say. Two years later, I was pregnant again. Time seemed to have passed by so quickly. Sometimes Horace would ask me, "How many years do I have left?" See? He was sharp, too. Just because he didn't ask often didn't mean he couldn't sense something was off. When he asked, I'd answer, "Only tomorrow. You should hurry up. When you're gone, I'll use your money to fill the house with young men. You know I could do it, right?"

**** “Honey? I’m home my wife called cheerfully. Ava barely had time to scramble into her tank top and shorts before her mother walked into the living room with her sister (Ava’s aunt) in tow. I sat on the couch like nothing had happened, remote in hand. Ava was flushed and messy, but her mother was too excited to notice. “You two will never believe it! There’s a meteor shower tonight — they say there’ll be shooting stars! We should all go to the mountain viewpoint after dinner. It’ll be so romantic and magical. A wishing star night!” My wife was beaming. She loved this kind of sentimental shit. I forced a smile. “Sounds great, babe.” **** Later that evening, we were in the car. My wife and

He let out the friendliest of smiles, making Anderson very uncomfortable. Anderson stared back and forth between Suit and the scroll. His mind was racing. The contract sounded simple enough. Straightforward, but he did not understand. ‘What did he mean by survive the stories? Did he not say I was going to tell a story? What does survive the story mean?’ Question after question popped up into his head. He could not help himself. He had no idea exactly what it meant, but one thing was for certain; He would not move forward if he did nothing but constantly question the situation

it was an erotic story ,titled the hot kidnapper) I raise an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in my eyes. I push off from the desk and walk closer, my heels clicking on the floor. “A story, huh? You think you can just walk in here and write a tale for me? How about you show me what you’re made of first? Tell me, what’s your fantasy? What gets you going in the dark?” I lean in, my breath warm against your ear, my large breasts pressing against your arm. (Pushing the paper to you I ask you to read it aloud ,you cheeks turn a faint red as you try to explain you brought the wrong story,I press a finger to your lips shushing you and telling you to read, you read it all)

All I had to do was close my eyes, try to push the thoughts aside and wait for the next day. The continuous cry of the baby woke me up and I sat upright, cleaning my blurry eyes and trying to get a better view. “You are awake, Hope,” I said, carrying the baby and sticking my nipples into his mouth, the thought of the message from the anonymous still in my mind. I left earlier than the time given to a grocery shop near the cafe. The day moved slowly and the minutes dragged on, each one feeling like forever as I waited for the texter to show up.

This journey of writing has been a voyage of self-discovery, where I have learned as much about myself as I have about the craft of storytelling. I believe that stories are the threads that weave our shared human experience. They have the power to transcend cultural, geographical, and temporal boundaries, reminding us of our common humanity. Whether through the written word, oral tradition, or digital mediums, stories connect us, inspire us, and challenge us to grow. It is my hope that my words will find a resonance with readers, that they will evoke emotions, provoke thoughts, and spark conversations.

"I think all places have horror stories for kids, guys." Naoki chuckled. "Why don't we exchange them to pass the time?" "Sure," Jai smirked. He ransacked his brain to remember every single fairy tales he got from his previous life. The Grimms, the Andersens, and else he got from his Japanese friend. A big smile came to his face as he had decided on what to share. "I got some masterpieces to tell." "We can only squeeze in one story for each of us, Jai. Don't take my turn," Darrion protested, crossing his hands on his chest and lifting himself off the ground. The blonde floatee about a feet off the ground and stayed like that.