Short Stories With A Twist Novels & Stories

Some of you loved the story, others not so much. But I want to thank every single one of you for giving this story and this author a chance. If my story managed to provide a temporary escape from reality or simply added a sprinkle of joy to your day, then my mission as a writer is complete. And to those who patiently endured the plot twists – I promise, I only did it because I love you all. Okay, maybe that is not the complete truth. Perhaps there was a hint of mischief in the twists and turns of this story, just enough to keep you on your toes and keep you guessing.

Her curly dark hair was loose and wild from the rain. “Sit,” he ordered, gesturing to the chair opposite him. She sat, crossing her legs tightly. The movement made her skirt ride up another inch. Elias picked up her essay, flipping through it slowly. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Mia’s heart pounded. She knew she’d pushed the boundaries in this paper—deliberately provocative interpretations, sentences laced with double meanings. Testing him. When he finally spoke, his tone was dangerously calm.

END. * Next: Bend Me Over While You Sleep A step-mother being abused by her husband was saved by her twin step-sons she hasn't met because they lived in another country. She found out about their strange habit of sleep walking. But why are they fucking her?! And why is she not stopping them?!

I turn to face the door as he walks in. “That seems to have gone well. Seems Mrs. Hernandez is everything they say she is”, my dad smiles, as if her being a total psycho is the best thing ever. Twisted minds, I guess that’s what we all are in the Mafia, just in different ways, but all still twisted. “Yes, seems it’s an easy task and we will have a very powerful ally for life. It’s a win, win situation for us”, I grin, thinking about how to put that new connection to good use.

"Conrad, you're really—" An idiot! I didn't get the chance to say the words before Conrad had his hands tightly around my neck. My breath was slowly drained from my chest. Blood dripped from the corner of my mouth. It looked just like the red leaves that had fallen on the ground. "Shirley, are you having another headache?" The cold rain vanished. The hard floor disappeared. The crisp autumn air filled the space, and the room buzzed with guests. It was my 22nd birthday party and my engagement party with Conrad.

My breasts were so swollen and sensitive that each flick of his tongue caused lightening to strike in my p***y. ‎ ‎I was so turned on that my p***y clenched in on itself and ached with the need to be touched too. He released my n*****s and I lay back on my elbows as he began nibbling my ribs and working his way down my stomach. He stopped at my belly button and he licked the water that had pooled there. I drew in my breath imagining his tongue delving deep in my p***y. His mouth moved downward and in the same swift motion as before, he loosened the straps of my swimsuit bottom and flung it to the side with the bra. He stared at my p***y for long before whispering.

A single sentence appeared on the bare wall, written in condensation as if breathed onto glass: **“I’m not in the mirror anymore. I’m inside you now.”** I shivered with both fear and dark arousal. That evening, I tried to leave the apartment. The moment I reached for the door handle, an invisible force pushed me back against the wall. Strong hands pinned my wrists above my head. My legs were spread, and I felt the thick cock rubbing against my bare pussy again. “You’re not leaving,” the voice whispered, sliding inside me in one deep thrust. “Not until I’ve had my fill.”

They stayed joined together, breathing heavily. He kissed her forehead tenderly, still buried inside her. “Lesson one is complete. Next week, my apartment. No panties allowed. And bring your journal you’ll write exactly how it felt while I fuck you again.” Lila shivered, feeling his cum leak down her thighs. “This is still so wrong… but I already can’t wait for the next lesson.” “Miss Moreau, the library closes in twenty minutes. Meet me in the restricted Victorian literature section. Back corner. Now.”

The story of the cursed wolf was this. The story of the Alpha was this. The story of the manor was this. The story of the garden was this. The story of the flowers was this. The story of tragedy was this. The story of return was this. The story of rest was this. The story of breath was this. The story of recognition was this. The story of dissolution was this. The story of the reader reading this was this. All stories are this. Appearing as story. All non-stories are this.

He felt fast action was vital,so he tried to twist the cyclist's head back to it's proper position,BREAKING THE BIKER'S NECK! I don't own any of this stories. I found them in some creepy books. I'm thinking of writing my own scary stories, but not anytime soon. You can send me your short stories for a feature if you feel like it. Thanks for reading. Enjoy!