Floory Inanimate Insanity Novels & Stories

I ask. “Wait – why is there bruising?” Tom asks the doctors. No matter how rough Tom gets, there’s very rarely any physical evidence of it. “I’ve told you, your wife is insatiable—” Dr. Hogan starts but he’s quickly cut off by Tom. “Didn't you tell me my wife is almost completely insane?! Why would you leave her unsupervised?” Tom shouts. Dr. Hogan stammers, seemingly lost for words. Finally, he says, “we watch her. There are always cracks – moments when our backs are turned. Your wife’s unwell, but she’s not a danger to herself. We occasionally do have more urgent patients.”

"Hello. Would you like to bind with a life-swapping system and be my master? I can serve you well and help you swap out or exchange anything you want." "Get lost!" These systems only did a world of harm and no good!

Enzo had simply mentioned that she was ill. Flora looked at the psychologist in front of her and couldn't help but feel anxious and uncomfortable. Like everyone else in this mansion, this doctor was undoubtedly under Enzo's influence. Flora couldn't rule out the possibility that Enzo had planted listening devices or hidden cameras in the room. He might be watching her from a distance.

Without saying another word I practically run out of his office. Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.Fuck.

VOLUME ONE: FLUX: Freedom Alex crept down the stark white hallways lit with generic compact florescent lighting. The tile echoed every whisper of her careful, quick movement. A dark line beneath each office door gave away the emptiness of the building. She slowed her elegant stride as a corner approached and pressed her pointed ear to the wall. Alex heard no vibrations and carefully peeked one dark eye around the corner. An empty row of office doors stared back. She continued down three more vacant corridors, exact copies of the previous, as if hallways could be mass produced. Her mental map guided her through the winding maze until she finally faced the door number 1672.

But after getting acquainted with Isabella's sweet wet parts and her ferocious fighting, just the thought of touching another person made me feel nauseous. So now, I am nothing more than an entity filled with tension and violence. An existence that cannot be measured or contained and continues to grow bigger with every passing second. My beast has scratched and clawed at the walls of my sanity, demanding a way out. The crazier the better. I wanted nothing more than to give it a taste of euphoric anarchy. But the downside was, if I let it loose, Isabella wouldn't give me any more time. I would be mentally changed and could and would revert to drastic measures to have her again.

He looks as though he’s having an out of body experience. His whole body stills and his dick softens inside me. Taking advantage of the opportunity, I push myself backward, propping myself up by my elbow, my suspicious and bewildered gaze on him. His remains still, his expression stoic, a certain kind of darkness creeping into his eyes. I gulp, subtly sliding his dick out of me, immediately wrapping my sore body up with the blood stained duvet. “The guy is insane. He probably has a personality disorder because one minute he was all over me and the next he fazed out and then blinked a few times and forgot who I was. He was even asking where he was and shit. He probably took some drugs.”

**The Strange Sickness** Aria awoke to an insidious wave of weakness, a heavy fog settling over her limbs and pinning her to the bed. The world around her swayed unsettlingly, each flicker of light from the window disorienting. When she attempted to sit up, a fierce and nauseating lurch rose within her, forcing her to collapse back onto the comforting yet unyielding mattress. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest, each pulse feeling like a distant drum signaling an uninvited storm.

Our days were filled with laughter, imagination, and a sense of wonder that seemed to permeate every aspect of our lives. But right now, it was the year 2023, Florence felt more lonely and more alone than ever. Florence clutched the glass of alcohol, its amber liquid swirling in her hand. Never before had she felt so isolated, so utterly alone in the world. The drink had become her solace, her crutch, a desperate attempt to maintain her sanity in the face of overwhelming despair. Her gaze was fixed on the rich, reddish-brown hue of the bourbon, as if seeking refuge within its depths.