Imagines Novels & Stories

Elizabeth's fingertips trace the contours of her body, igniting every nerve ending with delicate strokes. Immersed in her newfound liberation, Elizabeth surrenders to the intoxicating fantasies that dance within her mind. She allows her imagination to weave a tapestry of desire, envisioning the touch and presence of the one who ignited this newfound flame. Each touch, each whisper, becomes a vivid reality in her mind's eye.

Questioned Justin. “Yes, they can, and I am going to explain it to you if you would just shut up for a second. The demons like to invade a person and use them as a vessel while keeping that person trapped inside their own mind. I call the human a Puppet. When and if the demon does leave a human its not likely the human would be worth a crap.” “So, the demons use them like a marionette puppet? God that’s awful!” Justin said shaking his head at the thought of it.

"you should be looking down at my feet when you talk dirty rag!" "Excuse me,y..you mean,what?"I asked bemused. "yes that's what you are...a filthy rag!" "pardon.." "oh please don't pretend now"he cut in, raising his hand up to the air in disdain." you are unscrupulous,impure and disgusting. you go around with different men all the time to get a dollar note from their heavy pockets." "Why are you accusing me ....?I don't understand what you are talking about!"

That’s not enough to keep me from noticing that the center of my fantasies is wearing a suit of the same deep blue color as the one I just imagined. I immediately picture myself sitting on his lap. You have lost your damn mind, woman, I scold myself. My life may be in danger, and the best I can do is continue making up crazy thoughts about my boss? Thinking about what happened last night, I decide to talk to him. I smooth down imaginary wrinkles from my skirt before going to his office.

His prompts are like keys that unlock the doors to uncharted territories, inviting me to explore the vast landscapes of my imagination. In this realm of creativity and narrative, I am free to weave tales of heroes and villains, of love and loss, of triumph and despair. It is a place where the ordinary becomes extraordinary, where the mundane is transformed into something magical. With each stroke of my pen, I breathe life into characters who dance across the pages, their stories unfolding before my very eyes.

A smile breaks through my expression when I see the image of a large, veiny dick she once sent to me and asked me to imagine the dick belonged to one of my rejected mates. “Imagine what you're missing out on, Beth.” She’d attached the words to the image. To buttress her point, she sent me a picture of a woman sandwiched between two masculine figures, her head thrown back in ecstasy and her hair swirling around them. It's a beautifully sensual image. And she wrote, “This could be you, my dearest Nun.” I jerk my attention away when I realize I'm actually envisioning myself in the image, between four particular gorgeous Nobles… Who I should not be thinking about like this ever again.

Sia looked around the room curiously. It was so different from the white room she had been earlier. She was tempted to try her imagination in this room too. She imagined a calendar and a clock with full precision but nothing happened. She tried imagining hundreds of other things but nothing appeared on the wall.

It was the same old man's voice I had heard multiple times earlier inside his head. I turned and discovered a silhouette at a distance. "This place is the mental realm. A different dimension," said the old man. "A different dimension? What am I doing here?" I could not understand how I reached this weird place. What more I could not understand was why this old dude was not showing me his face. "You are not physically present here. I just brought your consciousness in this realm," the old man paused as he realized he made a mistake. "Ah, no. I moved this realm into your head, basically."

Clothing could hide the scars on my body but even makeup could only hide a percentage of damage sustained to my face. Imagination can be both a blessing and a curse, depending on the mindset of the beholder. It's limitless but also grueling and tiresome. The paranoia that manifests with an imaginative mind causes more harm than good. The unnecessary pain a person can cause themselves by altering the perception of flashback memories, makes things seem much more horrendous than in reality. I'm not saying that having an imagination is wrong. Not at all. We can all fantasize without becoming a fantasist. I had always been a practical thinker. I was a realist by nature. There wasn't much point in

At least he treats me like a human and not a leech. “ No, not at all. That was funny. I'm not offended at all.” She smiled and skipped, giggling. Is she crazy or something? Maybe... Just maybe she's got an MPD problem, multiple personality disorder. Alter ego madness, or there's an off switch at the back of her head. She turned off her uptight personality and swapped it with that of a regular bubbly teenager.