Shrinking Stories Novels & Stories

Then I commented underneath it. "Thanks for the concern, everyone. We've broken up. Please don't bother me about this."

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.

“I am not suggesting you disappear. I am suggesting that a period of reduced visibility might allow the story to lose momentum.” I look at her for a long moment. She holds my gaze with the serenity of a woman who believes she is being reasonable and has extensive practice believing that. “You are suggesting,” I say slowly, “that I make myself smaller to make the story smaller.” “I am suggesting strategic restraint,” she says. “No,” I say. Evelyn blinks.

I lay in the dark, cramped bedroom of our rundown apartment, the cheap mattress sagging under our combined weight. Money was tight after I lost my main gig following that wild studio day. My wife, Karen—always nagging about bills and space—insisted we couldn’t afford a bigger place yet. So here we were: one queen bed for three. Karen had put Lily right in the middle “for fairness,” she said, but it just meant I was tortured inches away from the girl I’d watch being ruined on camera two days ago.

he said, his voice a low vibration that hit me square in the chest. The chatter died instantly. He turned around, leaning against the podium, his sleeves already rolled up to reveal the lion etched into his tanned skin. My pulse spiked. I couldn't stop my eyes from tracing the golden outlines of the beast on his arm, remembering the way it seemed to ripple in the moonlight of my subconscious. "The Art of Storytelling is not a solo venture," he began, his almond eyes finally sweeping over the rows. "To understand narrative, you must understand collaboration and the friction of differing perspectives. For the remainder of the semester, you will be working in groups of five."

I whimpered around his cock but obeyed, sliding my mouth up and down slowly, trying to keep the wet sounds as quiet as possible. Why wasn’t he even bothered about it? My fingers were still between my legs, rubbing my swollen clit in messy circles. I was sweating now, little beads rolling down my back under my blouse, my thighs trembling from how turned onI was. The risk made everything sharper, these investors had no idea a girl was under the desk choking on their host’s dick. One of the men cleared his throat. “Mr. Mateo, about the European expansion. We projected a fifteen percent growth but the latest numbers from logistics show some delays—“ He paused.

A gift for all my slow romance erotica lovers, a short story from: dividing and conquering the professor I,II,III Lily's POV With my tongue tucked in my cheeks, I press the new toy against my pussy wall and the strong vibration causes my body to shake. “Ahh…” the small whimper that slips out, bounces off the bathroom wall. Biting my lips and pressing my thighs together only makes my moans come out louder. It's been too long since I got fucked, too long that a vibrator feels like paradise to me at the moment.

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!

Kelly trembled, slowly looking up, her eyes filled with pleading. The message was clear. She had ruined my engagement and turned me into a joke in front of everyone—she felt guilty. If I didn't say anything, she wouldn't stop. Fine. Let her keep going. I raised an eyebrow and continued sipping my wine. Kelly gritted her teeth, preparing to grovel again. Conrad suddenly stepped forward, slapping my wine glass out of my hand. "Shirley, don't go too far!" "Shirley, is this how the Harmons taught you to behave?"

"Projected outcomes decreasing." Luke stared in horror. Because it wasn't random. The futures disappearing all shared something. Hope. Growth. Continuation. The brighter futures vanished first. Then the difficult ones. Then the strange ones. Reality's possibilities narrowing. The shard whispered softly. "Someone is shortening the story." The grieving being immediately looked terrified. Mira looked worse. Because unlike everyone else— She recognized what that meant. Luke turned toward her. "Mira." She didn't answer immediately. For the first time since arriving—