Psychotic Stories Novels & Stories

I rolled over and grabbed my journal from the floor. I told myself I was going to write about what happened today. About how Lane saw through me. About how it made me feel exposed, vulnerable, disgusting. But that’s not what came out. Instead, I wrote a story. A scene. A fantasy. I didn’t even realize what I was doing until I was already halfway through describing how he stood up from his chair in his office , walked right straight to me, and pinned me to the wall. His mouth found mine like he couldn’t hold back anymore. His hands undressed me with a quiet kind of urgency, as he plunges his dick into my pussy.

“I have already gone to the press.” “Will someone get these lunatics out of here?” Porter demanded. “Gone to the press with what?” she fearfully asked. “You know what,” he said, “and so does Nate” “What is he talking about?” Nate asked. “PCP. MDMA. Scopolamine. And two months of psychosis,” said Carter. “You will never live it down.”

I hurried past the bar, my eyes met those of the Bartender and there was a glow in his eyes I hadn’t noticed before. “Are you okay?” he said. I shook my head. I felt my temperature rise and a slight ache was creeping up my joints. My muscles started to feel tense. My hair pores started to look like big rashes and they itched as the hairs on my body began to grow longer. My palms began to expand as my nails extended further. My ears felt like they were drawn out. I could hear the slightest sound of a foot leaving the ground, a house fly buzzing, frantic heartbeats and drinks getting poured into cups. The music became almost a hundred times louder. I could nearly hear people’s thoughts and fee

When he is having a psychotic episode, now that he has officially being diagnosed as one, his prescribed doctor, Elias, sedates him. When he is not having an episode he talks about how kimberly and i betrayed him for a few rounds that are pity fucks. He says that he is disappointed that i of all people could get pregnant for a man older than him. I dont know where he got that idea bu alas, all he says on repeat is that. I am lying on the couch with my feet elevated when a sharp pain shoots from my stomach and i curl up in a ball. Well in as much a ball i can curl up in my state.

Scrawled in his messy handwriting were the lines I knew I'd have to chant while they used me: “I'm your cum dumpster, fill me up.” “Pound my worthless holes harder.” “I'm a leashed bitch who begs for cock.” “Use me, own me, break me.” And at the bottom: “Warehouse on Elm Street. 8:00 PM sharp. No delays, or we'll come get you and make you regret it.'

I paused and looked at them, I can't believe I'm lying to them but I don't have a choice. "When she came back around I was overwhelmed and filled with joy, I told her about all the things that happened after she went into that state thinking she'll feel pity for me, and together we'll tell everyone that I didn't try to kill her but she said all the rumors were right that I dod try to kill her, I was upset with her and we had a fight that's all...I didn't tell anyone that I'm schizophrenic because I thought that the hate talks would just get worst."

Back then, I told myself they were just like family, so there was no need to get jealous. However, all those little signs I had ignored played back in my head, over and over. When she came back, we launched our design studio. I landed a whale of a client, a deal that put us on the map overnight. On the night of our big bash, I had one too many and wanted her to pick me up. I called over and over, but got nothing. Finally, a coworker ended up driving me home. The morning after, she came to me with puffy, red eyes, spilling the story of how Yoel was heartbroken, how he had drowned his sorrows in booze at the bar, and how she had stayed with him through the night.

I could feel myself shaking uncontrollably, tears running down my face. Lena licked my tits, sucked my nipples while the men destroyed me. The sounds were obscene; wet squelching, skin slapping, my broken moans and their low growls. Her dad’s voice cut through the haze. “Tomorrow morning we’re breeding both of you. Gonna fill these young cunts with so much cum you’ll be leaking for days.” The words pushed me over again. I came harder than ever, squirting all over Ethan’s cock, ass pulsing. My vision went white. I felt like I was floating and falling at the same time.

Three weeks into October, Dr. Whitmore from the National Institute of Neurological Disorders called with an opportunity that changed everything. "I'm on the review board for the Breakthrough Research Initiative," she explained, her voice crackling over Marcus's office phone. "We're allocating emergency funding for high-impact neuroscience projects, and your name came up in our discussions. Combined with word that you have a visiting researcher from Berkeley—Dr. Vasquez, is it? we're wondering if you'd be interested in submitting a proposal."

The circle was drawn in Himalayan salt and crushed pomegranate seeds, the air thick with the scent of burnt honey and Ava's desperation. She wasn't praying; she was bargaining. Her knife, usually an extension of her will, felt heavy and dull in her hand. The critics' words echoed, derivative, lacking fire, safe, carved deeper wounds than any blade. Michelin stars felt like distant, dying embers. Inspiration had deserted her like a fickle lover. So, she turned to the unconventional section of her grandmother's grimoire, the one bound in suspiciously soft, warm leather. Incubus Minor: For Creative Ignition. Price: Nights of Service.