Romans & histoires Interactive Shrinking Stories

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I took a sip on the beer that Ethan brought, Shia sat beside him. “Are you still writing?” he asks, he tried to look at my laptop but I closed it immediately before he see what I’m doing. Even Shia looked at me. “No, I’m just doing my presentation,” I answer. Shia laughed a little, so I gave her a shut-up-look that made her cough to stop herself from laughing. “She won’t let herself have a boyfriend if she’s still writing,” Shia says while she’s shaking her head. “No wonder I couldn’t find your account that you used to use to post your pieces before,” Ethan says, I nodded and forced myself to smile.

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)

There was one solitary, big book on a low table between them. "The title of the tale is The Binding of Autumn," he began, his voice an entrancing whisper just in harmony with the shriek of the fire. “It's the tale of a harvest god who offers a mortal woman a choice: one night of absolute freedom for one year of unimaginable riches for her people." He didn't move as his eyes met hers. "The consent is the matter at hand. It must be freely bestowed, not coerced, and whispered three times into the skin of his throat." “Do you have any idea what sort of story you're going to be reading me tonight?”

suggest me, we should create a f******k group or are you going to accompany me on discord app? Because leaving notes in chapters only increases word count and in turn coins. And that only benefits me.

Sir Dan laughed out so loudly that heads started to turn to our direction. "My bad! I meant more mature men." my voice squeaked an octave higher as I was trying to justify my choice of word. "As the saying goes, age doesn't matter," I said further. "True. It's the size that matters and performance," Sir Dan added. "Sir Dan!" I gave him a meaningful look as his green mind was coming to the surface. "By the way, can I have your Instapix account, Des?" Mr. Dalton asked me. "Sure!" I passed him my phone to get my QR code scanned.

I wrote this down in my notepad . I quickly got up and turned my head hearing voices behind me . " Did you think you could run , I love to play hide and seek . Would you like to see what I do to them after finding them ? I punish them just like I'm about to do ." He spat out . Please leave me I'm begging you just kill me , death would be better than a life like this . " SHUT UP " He shouted . "Guys lock her up ." He said to his subordinate ." No, please leave me , don't do this , I'm begging you , leave me ! " I shouted with all my might but to blocked ears . I'll never be strong please leave me. I shouted as I exited the room . How I wish I could have amnesia. That way I would be able to e

“I never thought you could be this vicious, Coco! How could you be so cruel to a pregnant woman?! If anything happens to the baby, there’s no future for us.” As I watched him walk away, I murmured softly, “Our future was shattered long ago." When I cleaned up the broken glass on the floor, the wound on my foot had already stopped bleeding. However, the wound in my heart was still raw and torn open. The suffocating heaviness in my chest made me contact several shareholders of the company. When they heard I was selling my 30% stake, they all showed an interest. I told them to bid, and the highest bidder would win.

There would be nothing left but emptiness. After that, my father never showed up again. One day, Little Zoe came home carrying a letter and a cake. My mother showed me the letter. It contained the address of the house my father had promised, along with a bank card that had two hundred million dollars in it. We did not move there. We never touched a single cent of that money. The following winter, I saw news from Harbor City on television. Rowan Xanders, a prominent entrepreneur, had died at the age of twenty-nine from an old injury.