Traumatic Stories Novels & Stories

I was worried I might be his rebound. By the time the crocuses arrived, splashing yellow and purple across hard, blank ground, we’d moved on to more dangerous territory. He would hit me, twist my nipples, tie my wrists to my ankles and fuck me. Some- times I would cry afterward and so would he but for different reasons. My tears were a glorious release after zoning out in that taut, trapped place of being subjected to pain. His tears were the pain of loss and fear.

He had me sit on the stage, right next to him. The spotlight hit my face. I could barely breathe. He didn't use charts or data. He just looked them in the eye and told them stories. Stories of patients he'd lost. Trauma survivors who couldn't handle the whispers and the stares. The judgment of a small town. "Her past is a wound, not a crime," Julian’s voice cut through the room. "A wound that was finally starting to heal. And today, with every vicious comment, every gleeful share... you didn't just pour salt in it. You ripped it back open with dirty hands."

The Taboo Chronicles is a curated collection of dark, twisted, and unapologetically erotic stories designed to push the boundaries of conventional desire. From the sacred halls of a silent church to the high-stakes shadows of obsessive power plays, these stories explore the raw, unyielding side of human hunger. Whether it’s the thrill of a secret shared in the dark or the surrender of a soul to a dominant force, nothing is off-limits.

Ilang beses ko nang kinuwento 'yung nangyari sa faculty room pero everytime ikinukwento ko siya, may parts na parang lumalabo na. Hindi dahil nagsisinungaling ako kundi dahil trauma itself affects memory at siguro 'yun din ang dahilan kung bakit maraming victims ang nahihirapang magsalita nang diretso. Hindi linear 'yung takot, at hindi rin cinematic. Minsan fragmented, minsan naman magulo. “At one more thing,” dagdag niya habang nakatingin sa'kin nang diretso. “Do not exaggerate details to strengthen a statement.”

Or come to talk about countless venturing into the woods at the outskirts of Ogobia to mock some old tales of bush babies; or the tales by moon light that made my heart merry and the late night rest that made the head damp and foggy. The complexities weave on: the seldom lost from home that awakened in me horror and a feeling of nostalgia; disturbing screamings and leaping from my dreams when confronted with nightmares; luring of an unfriendly friend into picking of a naira coin leading to getting several lashes form dreadful ladies. The several forceful scooping from the ground half-smoked cigarettes which led us running tauntingly to find refuge under the iron bed of one retired granny. O

The shared consciousness began replaying memories through the network faster than before Wars. Abandonment. Cruelty. People hurting each other again and again across generations. Every betrayal feeding the rage. Every act of violence becoming evidence. The nodes weren’t just feeling emotional pain anymore. They were building a narrative from it. A story. And stories were powerful. Because once suffering becomes a story People start looking for villains. “They think humanity deserves punishment,” I whispered. Nathan’s jaw tightened. “No,” he corrected softly. “They think humanity deserves what it created.”

"Fuck, it's too much... but so good. Walls squeezing, milking it like a cock." Jax stepped closer, cock in hand, but I shook my head. "Nine first." The penultimate setting: a powerful, steady roar, full throttle. I buried the toy deep, thumb on my clit, rubbing furiously. "This is the destroyer— vibrates so hard you feel it in your bones. Pushes you over, no choice. Orgasms crash like waves, one after another."

I asked. Maria met my eyes without hesitation. "Because I'm tired of seeing survivor stories told by people who don't understand them. I'm tired of trauma being exploited for entertainment. Your memoir doesn't do that. It's honest about the horror, but it's ultimately about power and transformation. That's the story I want to tell." "And if I say no?"

“We can’t complain, can’t we?” Sly turned his head to some desolate place, waiting for something. “Your growing up story is always traumatizing.” Aiden shuddered when he thought about it. “Our story is part of our history. We, sometimes, look back at it and be proud. We survived. By any means. That’s all that matters.” Aidan shut his mouth and looked away. It was so awkward to continue asking for a complete story when the trauma was still haunting them.

Until now, strange short stories had only very short stories. But from volume two I intend to add stories that have 10 to 20 captains as well. These stories are not so long nor have so much visibility as a separated book. For this reason, I decided to move all then into strange short stories, that is already a storybook of different themes.