Romans & histoires Imagines

Amanda feels very tired already. It has been a month now since her mother was admitted to the hospital. And she needs to juggle three jobs to be able to meet all the needs they needed and pay bills at the same time. But inspite of her struggles,the cash still doesn't add up to the bills that needed to be payed.

Juana climbed into bed feeling very sad. Tears welled up in her eyes. Could any good news come about her mom? She was as good as dead. But if she wanted to hear her voice, she always did hear it. She only had to close her eyes and imagine her still alive and around, calling her to come help in the kitchen. As soon as she opened her eyes, her voice was gone.

I ask, my tone soft. “There’s a voice in my head, pà.” He cries, his voice shaking with sorrow and fear. “It sings deadly songs to me, always pushing me into a state of numbness. And then I start to imagine things, dirty things.” I nod my head in understanding, because I truly understand the feeling—I understand his situation perfectly. I myself struggled with such imaginations for years. “Dirty imaginations like watching life leave a person’s eyes and being responsible for it?” I question. “And you’ve become so obsessed with the idea of being capable of causing so much damage to a person? You obsess over the look on a person’s face when you hunt them down and take life from them?”

With each step they take, they draw closer to the heart of the mystery, and the line that separates reality from fantasy becomes ever thinner. The visions persist, their spell unbroken a tapestry of enchantment woven into the new character's consciousness. Intrigue dances like firelight in their eyes, igniting a thirst for understanding that cannot be quenched. Their thoughts are consumed by the images that have taken root, a symphony of colors and shapes that defy logic. The call of curiosity is too strong to resist, and they find themselves drawn into a quest that transcends the boundaries of their everyday life.

Noah Ellis had a theory about Mason Reed. The theory was this: Mason was the most self-aware person Noah had ever met who worked the hardest to pretend he wasn't. Everything Mason did, the jokes, the charm, the easy confidence that filled whatever room he walked into, was deliberate. Not fake, Noah had never thought it was fake, but deliberate, the way an architect is deliberate, building something functional and beautiful that also happened to hide its own foundations. Most people never looked for the foundations.

“Do you have a dog? Is that what it normally does?” “No, my ma won’t let me. I just know how dogs would behave in the same situation.” “Amazing. You are like an outsider to your own body. You are able to project yourself out of yourself and into the self of other beings.” “Duh. There’s a word for it,” Kate said. “Imagination.” “Please use some more of this ‘imagination’. I would like to see the world straight through human eyes. Please lend your eyes to me.” “I don’t think I’m the right person…”

Or was it because he was imagining himself pounding into her quim just now, even though he didn't dare moan out her name? And her upper body had nothing covering it. Her exposed breasts looked even better than he'd imagined, her nipples begged for attention, to be pinched, licked, kneaded, sucked... And her lips right now, how tasty they looked... How would it feel like to have her soft lips stretch and wrap perfectly around his cock...? 'No!' he thought, quickly dismissing such thoughts, feeling ashamed of himself. How dare he ogle at his stepdaughter's nudity? He averted his gaze. "Go away. Stop whatever you're doing." He said through gritted teeth.

was saved on my phone. Ohh how I miss that lady but why was she calling me,she only did when she had the latest gist in town or she is sleeping with another man she thinks she's in love with. I was still feeling so sleepy, I wanted to allow the visions of the night to give way to the day, to move from that which I create on a whim to things more fixed and real.

I threw a handful of grass, that I had plucked and wanted to yell out in exasperation. “Maybe try getting really mad and think about fire.” Alexia suggested. I guess it wouldn’t be that hard, I was already past mad. So, I tried focusing on a spot of grass just in front of me and I imagined the flames in my head. I imagined them forming slowly, then getting bigger and the soft orange glow of the flames, licking the blades of grass and catching them ablaze. I imagined the flames being hot and burning the grass until it spread to another patch of grass as it disintegrated the parts of the grass it touched.

Mirrors cover one side of the room, reflecting the equipment and gadgets. My pussy clenches, a sharp ache blooming between my thighs. I'd never been touched -I'm a virgin, never been used-but God, I want to be. I want to know what it feels like to be bent over that bench, my ass bare, my wrists bound, his hand coming down on my skin. I swallow, stepping further inside. My fingers trail over a spreader bar, the metal cool against my skin. I imagine it locked around my ankles, forcing me open, exposing me, and my nipples tighten, pressing against the fabric of my lace bra.