Story's Or Stories Novels & Stories

If you must tell a story, then you should tell the story from the start to finish. But this time it was i who was telling such stories to my children at bedtime, a story which is not meant to be told at such a bed time rest, but this is not a story as it ought to be. Do you call History of one a story? In general stories could be anything fake or real but to me it was not. To me the History of my people was never a story. No it should be called the way it was... a History. This was going to be me in that story, pardon me i have made error calling the History of my home a story. Again i seek for remission of sin from the gods of my home land if it be an atrocity to tell the younger ones such

Now it was their story but future will witness someone's else love story. *l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l * The end.

Hi, I will not say much. This is an erotic story that contains a mom/aunt/son. As you know, I write about Aunt/Mom’s stories. Please support me by reading my other stories, too. Also, you can support me on my P*****n: p*****n.com/laxu00 Story starts

I panicked, Jax slipping out the window like a ghost. Body aching, pussy throbbing, I dressed slow, cum still inside. Downstairs, his eyes met mine over coffee promise of more anytime. The weekend? Far from over.

Author's Note This book is a short compilation of erotic stories. Please note that not all entries are heavily erotic—some lean more toward emotional moments, dramatic tension, or character interaction. Also, 99% of these stories don’t follow a traditional plot, so don’t be confused if there's no clear beginning, middle, or end. They’re written more for mood, moments, and expression than full narratives. Enjoy the ride,no overthinking needed. 😉 ********************************************* Kael didn’t wait.

CYNTHIA “Oh shit man! That's hilarious.” I heard Jake, Cole's best friend scream from the top floor of the school's cafeteria. Of course they usually had their lunches alone,away from peering eyes. Cole had forgotten his textbook with me and I was walking slowly up the stage when I heard their laughter. Cole is my step brother,the son of my mom's husband. “So tell us, what are you gonna do and how are you gonna bang her?” I raised my brows, already liking their conversation until I heard my name.

Some stories started with hate. This one ended with everything.

“I know that too.” “It’s not something you can ignore.” Her patience snapped slightly. “Kael.” Her voice was sharper now. More dangerous. “Stop telling me things I already know.” A beat passed. Then another. And finally… He spoke. “There are stories,” he said. Arin stilled. “What kind of stories?” “Old ones,” he replied. “Older than the kingdoms that exist now. Older than the wars we fight.” Her pulse quickened. “That doesn’t explain anything.”

A handful of younger coordinators sat on the stone steps near the training circle, their posture open, their attention direct. “Not rules,” one of them said quickly. “Stories.” Lyra hesitated. Stories are carried differently than directives. Rules could be followed, adjusted, or replaced. Stories stayed. They shaped how people thought long after the moment had passed. They were harder to control. Harder to limit. More honest. She sat anyway. She did not choose the stories carefully. She chose them truthfully.

I have begun to realize I do not mind it as much. "Does it not end well?" I frown. He visibly stiffens for a second at my remark but purses his lips. "It simply ends." He finally speaks, "I think that is the problem." He mumbles lowly again, "That It ends." "Ah," I nod in understanding. I have been told stories so good they should have been designed to go on forever, but sadly stories have to end. That's what defines them. A beginning and an end. My gaze trails the width of the Library, and I suddenly think of all the stories that the library holds. Many lives lived, and many facts are buried within these old pages.