Series Of Stories Novels & Stories

It was then he got caught by my Mom to be cheating on her. It was a big blow for my Mom because several times he had promised to end the relationship but only for her to find out after a few months that the mistress was transferred to another house only. I was tired seeing their relationship fall apart. And that is why, here I am in a convent trying to have some peace of mind and saving myself from possible heartaches in the future. I don't believe in fairytales anymore. For lovers, it's only once upon a time they were happy, then they end. So here is my story.

"Transferring during second year is such a weird time." "Some stuff happened at my last school, so my aunt told me to just transfer. Plus, my dad graduated here, so I thought I'd try it out too." "Did you get into a fight or something?" Crimson asked. "Please, I'm too scrawny to get into a fight. I'd instantly be knocked out." "Then can I ask what happened?" "You can't." I replied almost immediately. "I'd rather not talk about it." There was a bit of an awkward silence, but then suddenly, Scarlet looked like she lied down, but she actually fell asleep. "That scared me!" I exclaimed as I held onto my chest.

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?”

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)

“We need a better story for Christmas.” Maya said it while she was still in bed, phone in one hand, Lila’s leg thrown over hers. Morning light cut across the sheets. The laptop sat closed on the nightstand. The camera was packed away. For once the apartment looked normal. Lila didn’t open her eyes. “We already have a story. Early shifts at the campus library. Overtime. Whatever.” “Dad’s not going to buy overtime through the whole break. He already thinks we’re avoiding them.”

Though knowing that never in a million years could his mother-daughter threesome experience ever come to fruition. It was the kind of thing left to outlandish p**n videos and subpar smut. The kind of unbelievable, entirely outrageous story lines where several sexy women just miraculously throw themselves at a young, horny man – as if his penis possessed some ungodly power that women found irresistible. No, not Harry... he knew better than to equate reality with fiction. And that is precisely why his right hand did all the pleasuring at night, as he thought of the two women pleasing his miraculously hard shaft.

The guide stopped in front of a massive canvas that showed a woman half-turned away from the viewer with crimson silk slipping from her shoulders while a shadow with no face reached for her. He smiled the practiced smile of someone who had told this story a thousand times. “Many visitors report feeling a chill in this particular room,” he said. “Some claim to hear a woman crying after closing hours. The artist vanished shortly after completing the series. Some say she painted her own ghost into the frame.” A few people laughed nervously. I felt Zack’s hand settle on my waist again, fingers spreading wide, warm through the navy silk of my dress.

To my filthy girlies… this isn’t a love story. It’s a confession. Every story in this book is about women who were ‘good girls’ until they met a man who didn’t want good. He wanted wrecked. If you like it slow, go read a romance book. If you like it raw, if you like the sound of a spank echoing off a bathroom tile, if you like a man who looks at you like he wants to eat you alive… Then stay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Feels strange being home again. Jack launched into a story about work and some deal they were both involved in. I sat on the opposite end of the couch from Richard and tried to look interested. My body had other plans. Every time he shifted I noticed the way his trousers pulled across his thighs. Every time he spoke I watched his mouth. I kept thinking about those same lips between my legs. About his fingers sliding under this dress and finding out how wet I already was just from sitting in the same room as him.

"Used to be. Gave it up when the stories started costing more than they were worth." That answer carried weight, the kind that invited questions but also warned against them. I set the mug on the low table in front of me and leaned forward slightly. "What kind of stories?" "The kind that get people hurt when they come out wrong. Or when they don't come out at all." I felt a flicker of recognition then, something tugging at the back of my mind like a half-remembered name. "You sound like someone who has been burned by the industry."