Short Stories For Young Adults Novels & Stories

The next day at work felt like absolute torture. I was the manager of Velvet Desires, an upscale adult store located in a quiet corner of the city. We sold high-end toys, luxurious lingerie, premium lubes, and everything a woman could possibly want to explore her deepest fantasies. Normally I loved my job. I helped shy customers find their first vibrator, recommended the perfect bullet for discreet public play, and smiled through awkward conversations with complete confidence. Today, however, I could barely concentrate on anything.

Chapter 1: Caught in the Act I straddled on Professor Blake’s lap in his office, my short plaid skirt shoved up around my waist, my soaked black panties hanging off one ankle like a dirty little trophy. His thick cock was buried deep inside my dripping pussy, stretching me open as I rocked my hips in slow, lazy circles, taking every inch of him with each roll. I’d never been one for hitting the books hard. Studying felt like torture, so I’d found a much more appealing way to keep my grades up, and it was simple, riding my professor raw for hours. And it happened to work every single time.

"Yes they do. It's true there are some of them who use their imaginations to make their own story but most of them don't. Their creativity can easily be corrupted by others' power." Mr. Kang nodded again and she kept talking about how to teach them and encourage them to create stories themselves. "What kind of stories did you come up with?" He asked her curiously. "It's a collection of fairy tales written by children. The main theme is love, hope, happiness, and adventure. If you put it together, it's actually one huge adventure story. That is why I wanna give them a try." Jung-Hoon smiled at her. She was such a inspiration for young people who wanted to work hard for their dream. She was so

They left a decent neighborhood for a rundown apartment block. Word on the street was that Rhett got so sick he nearly did not make it, and Kelly aged a decade in a single night. They had once been the pride of the block, always bragging about their daughter’s big achievements. Then, they became the punchline of every neighbor’s joke. People whispered that I went too far, that I forgot old loyalties. In response, I would give a half-smile and stay mum. Did Sheila think of the sacrifices I made while she was off studying abroad on my dime? Did she spare a thought for the house I mortgaged or the plain dinners and crowded bus rides I endured?

“I have my moments.” We talk about everything except football—travel horror stories, worst interviews we’ve done (theirs are better than mine), the general absurdity of adult life. Harper tells a story about accidentally interviewing the wrong athlete at the Olympics—fifteen minutes in before anyone realized. Sloane talks about the time she got stuck in an airport for three days covering a story that fell through. I tell them about the teammate who thought “per diem” was a type of pasta. It’s easy. Natural. The kind of conversation that makes hours feel like minutes.

Abby ~•~ My heart hammered in my chest as I stepped through the velvet curtain into the club, and it had nothing to do with the music. This was insane. I was twenty-one, freshly legal for this kind of place, but I’d read, heard, and watched a lot of things about these kinds of places. I couldn’t resist it even if I tried. I wanted to experience it, even if it was once.

His rolled up sleeves reveal the thick veins in his forearms, and the scent of him, that woodsmoke and sharp musk, seems to drift across the rows of desks, clogging my lungs. "Most writers fail because they are afraid to feel," Professor Tyler begins, his eyes snapping back to mine for a split second before moving on. "They describe a scene like a blueprint. But a story is not a blueprint. It is an experience. If you want your reader to bleed, you have to describe the coldness of the blade. If you want them to burn, you have to make them feel the heat of the skin."

Such as, Randell, the oldest, had the sexiest smile that could make girls drop their damp panties if he so much as looked their way; Lance had an ass you could bounce quarters from and looked moving-violation fine in a pair of boardshorts; and sweet Kingsley had a perverted side to him that totally appealed to my inner bad girl. It was right after my eighteenth birthday that I decided I’d waited long enough for the boys to notice what was twitching right beneath their noses. My opportunity was almost gift-wrapped and handed to me with a bright shiny bow when my parents decided to go away for the weekend, leaving my brothers in charge.

I helped care for them until they passed away when I was seventeen. I've never understood why so many bunny parents toss their children aside. I did have a few run-ins with some questionable characters that I'd rather not think about. When I met the Biker Bunnies, I finally felt like I was part of something I believed in. I graduated from nursing school a few months ago, just after my twenty-second birthday. Taking care of people is what we all love to do, in addition to riding our bikes.

Winter's POV Uncle Justin is here again. He's downstairs talking with my parents over drinks and stuff while I wait in my room for him, it's how it is between us. He visits, sleep over and sleep in me. Cock buried inside of me and hands fondling my ripe and womanly tits, since I turned eighteen two years ago, we have been playing this game. A knock on the door makes me sit up in the bed, I'm ready for the night, hair washed and body eager, pussy already swollen and clit ready.