Woman Reading Novels & Stories

You're smaller than I expected. The woman in the library looked up from her book without any particular urgency, like I had knocked instead of just walked in. She was older, maybe seventy, with white hair pinned loosely and reading glasses pushed up on her forehead. Small framed, wrapped in a dark cardigan, seated in the largest chair in the room like she had been the one to put it there. People usually are, she said. Sit down, Ella.

I wanted to roll my eyes there, but I just stopped myself. "Oh, so you're here too? Alright. I'm near the castle," Roswell continued. I raised one eyebrow slightly and just sighed. After a while, I heard a woman's voice; she was calling Roswell. "Roswell!" "Oh, come on. Don't shout my name," Roswell said, then hung up. I turned to the woman calling Roswell. Her hair is long and curly. She looks like a model or celebrity. She was wearing a brown winter jacket and black boots. She smiled as she approached the place where we were sitting.

he said. “Geno!” yelled a man’s voice from inside the Candy shop. “I have to go, I’ll see you later” he said while rushing inside the Candy shop. I peeped through the glass as I saw a muscular red-haired man who seemed to be in his early forties yelling at him as I carried on walking down the crowed street. My eyes suddenly spotted a young woman dancing while painting. People had gathered around her putting money inside a black hat which was beside her small radio while she spun around with her brush going through her painting board. I slowly walked toward the crowd as I watched her in amazement.

Well, not anymore, I guess. A woman with short dark hair and heavy makeup is sitting behind the counter reading a book that I can’t see from the raised side of the counter. She’s pretty and young, but probably older than me. It’s hard to tell with the makeup. Her lips move silently as she focuses on pronouncing the words to herself. She turns the page and giggles, holding her hand over her mouth, then continues reading with a huge grin on her face.

Even though his eyes were fixed on the Arena, his gaze seemed flat. A woman stood in the middle of a closed cage surrounded by bold red iron bars. The woman’s body looks limp, with her hands and feet tied to a pole in the middle of the cell. She covered only with a bra and G-string. Thousands of men surround the cage with a lecherous stare, their lustful eyes glued to her nakedness.

I like that about her. I see her studying people in various stages of undress engaging in a multitude of sexual activities. A man relaxes on his back as a woman takes the length of him in her mouth and another straddles his face, her ample tits spilling from her dress and a look of concentration and pleasure on her face.

Some Years Later (About 3 Years Later) A beautiful woman, elegantly dressed even in jeans with a white blazer top and white t-shirt underneath and boots on her feet, her wavy hair fluttering as she strides confidently. Every person she passed by would surely glance at her, like a magnet. The woman seemed to be carrying a bag over her shoulder as she pulled a suitcase with her left hand while her right hand seemed to be busy holding the hand of a little girl who was hugging her stuffed rabbit.

Kalev’s POV In the main room, the applause was deafening. “Look at that,” a woman said, a smile plastered on her face. “How did she do that?” She strode up to the screen, a drink in her hand. Her long dress brushed across the floor. “She really is a flora wolf, isn’t she?”

I call hoping they won’t come out holding some machete or something. The door opens revealing an older woman around her 40s wearing black jogging pants and a brown long t-shirt. I smile as the woman look at me from head to my feet. I sigh feeling that warmth coming from inside the house. “Yes-Yes can we help you?” the woman asks as she smiles and scans my whole appearance.

Gabriela We jump apart, spinning around to face the voice. A woman, human, stands just at the water's edge. Her gray, wiry hair is tied up tightly on top of her head, and prominent wrinkles indent her tanned skin. She's wearing loose-fitting pants and an oversized jean jacket that has grease stains all over the front of it. "We're just swimming," Rose says, gesturing around us. The woman eyes us warily, shifting on her feet just enough to touch something out of view behind her back. "This is private property."