Twisted Tales Collection Novels & Stories

Luckily, my words didn’t sound too slurred. He smiled and turned to the bartender… who amazingly enough came right over. Everyone who had been waiting for a drink looked over, jealous. The girls kept looking at the guy holding my hand. There was something about him that made him impossible not to look at. If I hadn’t grown up around werewolves I would probably be staring at him too. Werewolves have this amazing ability to attract all the attention around them when they wanted it, and the older, more experienced ones could blend in like they were invisible if they needed to too.

“Yes, yes, let me see what we have here. Ah, there it is.” Stan climbs onto one of the library ladders that extends to the top of the stacks. After looking for a few moments, he pulls out a thick, heavy tome with the title, “Wolves: Myths and Legends” engraved in silver script against the brown leather cover. The pages are edged in gilt. He carefully descends the ladder and gives it to me. “This is what immediately sprang to mind when I got the call from Dr. Tawny. There is a passage in chapter seven that talks about the magic of twins.”

Waking up today wasn’t my intention. I had a long day ahead of me and of course, I’m always the one who has to work hard. I wasn’t an adopted child, I wasn’t a stepdaughter, but I had an annoying twin sister. Veronica Summers, my identical twin was the opposite of me. She was pampered more by my mum and dad and always caused trouble - of course, I’m always the one to be blamed.

My hands snaked up, wrapping around my chest. "No way. The whole point of the dare is so we get to see your tits. Drop your hands." Eric demanded. I stuck my tongue out at him before obeying, pointing to Jackson. "Truth or dare." "Since things have finally gotten interesting, dare my big titties." My face flushed at his words. My breasts were quite large, and pressed against the see-through material with my nipples so hard made my cunt slightly drip. "Take off your clothes. All of it."

He’d hinted at his darker tastes before, but seeing the tools in his hands made my clit throb with wicked excitement. “Come here,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. I obeyed, crossing the room to stand before him, my heart pounding. He looped the chain around my wrists, the cool metal biting into my skin as he secured it loosely at first, testing my reaction. I gasped, the restraint igniting a fire in my belly.

Twisted I always had fear of death ever since I became aware of the clock birthmark engraved on my left palm. I always hate celebrating my birthday because it always serves as a reminder that I'll die young. My parents told me that among our generations, I am very different because my two clock birthmarks have the same date. Because of too much curiosity, I tried researching and reading stories and blogs that tackle different painful tragedies.