I was naked, my mind was blurry as I came to. I woke up already tied to some device. What a hurry this boy is in, I thought. I had been cannulated and drugged and my voice box didn't work yet. Tight spiked cuffs encircled my wrists, keeping them in place, and the spikes were long enough so I could not twist my wrist at all. Pain exploded behind my eyes and I realized he had given me again some drug that enhanced my sense of touch, and pain, of course. So this would feel really bad, too.
I was lying on my back. Again, inside of one shuttle. I could feel metal pressing on my back, as I was not in good shape at all. The lid was still up, and bright lights in the high ceiling illuminated this space again, giving this torture chamber a cold, uncaring glare. this was not a nice place at all. I didn't smell anything that indicated this shed had been used, so I must be the first victim brought in here. Maybe this one is done just for me.
Lamps didn't illuminate everything, and there were deep shadows in corners. I could make out jelly tanks in there, but I was not sure what jelly would be in those. I thought it was just one random thought that Damien never had used panic pharmaceuticals on me in the shed. I wonder why?
Maybe I will get too messed up by them and it somehow renders his enjoyment less. or then it is just something else, not to do anything. Or he doesn't have them. That could be one reason, too. Usually, when I have procured those drugs, Samuel or Colin had put them tightly locked away.
Even in base too. Our drug cabinets and drug deliveries are very well protected, so Damien doesn't have access. But Damon does. Because he used them in me in that damn hospital. Once again, yet another difference between Damon and Damien. I needed to keep all of these in mind and then maybe one day, I could show again Damon all the differences between them. Maybe our love would wake up, and ignite properly again so we could have our lovely perfect time.
Even though this was not a good place to be, and I was drugged and tied to a hell machine, I refused to be a victim. I tried to think of everything else, trying to distract myself from this machine, not panic, but just keep myself in check.
As I had been a leader, this had been one skill that I had to improve, time after time. Mission after mission. I had to be under control. I needed to keep my cool, be an example, lead my people, and be the one that they could look up to. And I used this ability. This skill was to keep me in check, not be a pleading, trembling victim, desperate to get away, but I tried to keep my wits, always and forever. Keep my so-called ice queen mode on. Not to be the best victim for Damien.
Soon I heard his heavy footsteps approaching as his boots made a distinctive sound, hitting on the concrete floor.
Damien walked over to me.
He looked at me, my skinny body, my protruding ribs, my scarred skin too, and said, sneering, "You probably have a perfectly good explanation for why you're in such a damn bad way, but I don't care. It seems like someone has done work on you. But it is not important. And I'm not going to give you the chance to tell me. And you probably can't tell Bran anything, either. You see, as you know, Bran is very heat-oriented, and if you were to get the heat right now, he wouldn't care either. You have been given a rage blocker, a few bags of my goodies, and also one little dental substance that makes your sense of touch quite good. So you are good to go. But let's begin. This machine is more or less a full-body stabber. It will give you herb concentrates, and some metals too. So you are not just gonna be a little sliced and diced, but you get something from me. I am so generous guy."
He chuckled at his joke, put the lid on, and darkness engulfed me. Only knowledge of what was gonna soon happen was with me. It made my heart race.
Then he turned on the device.
In the darkness, there was nothing else than pain. Thousands of blades pierced my body in different directions, releasing herb concentrate that burned like battery acid. The blades struck in different places, from neck to toe.
I didn't see anything; the shuttle was fully lightproof, and no sound came anywhere. The Only sound was a soft moist squishing sound that came when blades ripped off of my body. Damon did not speak at all. I was once again trapped in a dark hell of pain and anguish. The sound of his silence was not helpful at all.
There were metals, herbs, and drugs in those blades and my mind started to get more confused and messed up, too. The pain did not lessen at all. The herbs burned. The pain was hot, white-hot, tearing, slashing. No sound came because my voice box was held tightly paralyzed.
My pain, blood, and fear stank in the tight confines of the shuttle. I tried so hard to keep my wits on, but as drugs kicked in more, metals too, and herbs caused agony like no other, and darkness, silence, smells and my utter helplessness made me feel so damn weak and powerless.
The machine mutilated me for what seemed like an eternity. Then it shut down. Thousands of blades partially sunk into me. The pain did not cease as I could feel still herbs and metals seeping into me. No blade went fully through to me, ensuring that no herbs or metals were wasted, but every last damn drop was stabbed inside me.
Then the lid creaked open, light struck my eyes, and I squinted until I could tolerate opening my eyes even a bit. Damon came and opened the lid fully, and the blades ripped out of me. He smiled in satisfaction.
He said, "Was it nice? Come on, time to get something in your veins."
He carried me to the table, put several bags into my cannula, and opened them fully, draining them fast and efficiently inside me, while looking me through, then he looked at some reading from the computer, and dictated once again, listing how much what had been put inside of me.
He dictated also my general condition and his timetable as he had only about six weeks maybe less if I put my heat on, and then he could not take me fully to the end as I had to be in good enough condition to be fucked and used by Bran. He did not doubt that Bran had some not-so-nice plan for me.
Then he came back after he had written and spoken his report, to see where we were in terms of dripping those bags into me. He looked at me. He had his plastic apron on and heavy-duty gloves preserved as I was more or less mince meat.
Then he went and got the hose and hosed me down with cold water. That stung so badly when hitting on my wounds that I blacked out from the pain. When I came to, those bags were almost empty, and I was shivering from the cold, shock, and whatnot.
When those bags were empty, he unhooked them from my cannula and put them in the trash. He had special trash bags where he always put them. He put his gloves on as He lifted me off the table and dragged me to some sort of frame. I was pretty limp, not able to stand. He tied my arms at my sides and my legs down. These were strong leather straps, and he fastened my limbs in a few points so I would be fully immobile in that frame. Then he turned the frame horizontally.
He dragged walls, a movable wall on each side a few meters away from me so that I was almost in the box or a very small room, almost. The walls were quite high. I had no idea why he had put these walls. He dragged the last wall into place. And put this frame on.
The frame started to rotate. Round and round sideways, faster and faster. My stomach turned upside down, and I felt myself vomiting now and then. I realized why those walls were there now. Centrifugal force or something seemed to be about to bruise every organ in my body, and the spinning just accelerated. Eventually, I lost consciousness. When I woke up, the machine had stopped again. Damien noticed I was awake and turned it back on—many times.
The force spun my blood out of my wounds and as this frame was in some sort of little room these walls on four sides, were now painted on my blood, and everything else that had span out of me, my vomit, there were almost tissue globs too, or blood clots.
He carried me onto the table. Put some more dripping into me, dictated, and there were scales on this table, so he got to see how much mass I had lost already. He always dictated everything that the machine had done, how long and with what force.
And then there was always a report of what shape I was, and how many bags he was dripping into me this time. The bags were just numbered as substance one or substance two. There were no identifying names or anything that I could have gotten some idea of about what on earth was in these bags.
Next was the shredder; I was tied to the table, front first. From the neck down, a plate was lowered over me. My hands were tied next to my torso, so they remained under the plate. This time, we had spiked cuffs again. The plate was heavy. And Damon put it on.
He said to me."Let's see how whole you are after this one. We still have time. You have some healing left. You have gotten stronger, gives me more time to play with you."
As this hell machine went on, hundreds of tiny blades of the circular saw began to slice into my body from all sides, each one cutting deeper than the next and always changing places. Every 10 minutes, a fine mist would spray from the plate all over my body, and the blades would continue. The mist stung and burned so damn badly it was some sort of herbal concoction, too. Or at least I smelled herbs.
After an hour, I was no longer healing. The device was on my frontal torso for 12 hours. Then it was time to dictate, dripping again his bags inside my veins, what was left of them and after that Damien turned me over, and it was back on my back for 12 hours. I was mutilated, literally. I could feel those blades ripping into my spine, causing horrible nerve pains all over my body as it was not enough to be ripped apart by these blades.
He came at me, again in his protective outfit, to hose me down first, to get all the loose blood and guts out of my skin, also from the front. I passed out, again by sheer pain. After that, he put me in jelly for 10 hours, which hurt so bad I couldn't stand to be conscious. He did not jelly me from the inside as I hadn't recovered, so jelly would not stay inside me. This jelly was full of metals, drugs, and herbs. My life was just pure pain, nothing else. I had no sense of time, not sure had been in one device more than once, or how many times he had dripped those bags inside me.
Then, another new machine seemed to tear my joints out of place. He kept injecting them with something, metal, I think, and going on and on, pulling and twisting from the fingers up. My hands were tied in many places, and he had driven little hooks through my fingerbones, and the next ones were in my wrists, my elbows, and my shoulders.
First, my whole arm was immobile but these hooks in my fingers started to pull my fingers until they popped out of the socket, or ligament teared, then Damon would inject them something, next pull would be my wrist, and the same thing, so long until something gives, and metals next.
He treated my limbs like this, dripping at the same time, his bags dictating as it took time to rip my thigh out of the socket. It had to be done slowly, so the pain was as hard as possible.
My whole body ached, pain throbbed all over, and after several weeks of pure torture, I felt the heat begin to awaken. He had used machines, and shuttles repeatedly, used drugs to keep me confused, helpless, in pain, just suffering.
Damien found the whole thing amusing. He crouched next to me.
He hissed into my ear, "Look at you, baby, weighing way less than 30 kilos, maybe 24-26 and yet you smell for the heat. Really strongly. I'll wait for another day. Your heat isn't on yet. But the day after I deliver you to Bran, he really can't help himself. You're gonna get your ass kicked, girl. And maybe that heat will last. Think about it, baby, six weeks of a decent shed, otherwise all in the house, if I may say, then maybe an 8-week heat. Oh, you'll be fine after that. I guess I will be busy, so I am not going to care for you, even if you might need some. I guess I will manipulate Damon into several women again. He is so easy in that regard. It has been a blast, baby. It really has been, If you didn't smell like heat, I would guess you have gotten my little treatment still two weeks, maybe even three weeks. You are quite resilient."
I was in terrible shape. Skeletally skinny, weak, metallized up to my eyeballs, and in heat. Oh, fuck my luck. Everywhere ached and hurt, and all the damage was far from healed. Damon healed all the wounds with his own blood, but only superficially. He used a little syringe and dropped a few drops until the wound closed. He pulled my skin close first, so no blood went inside me. Then he called Bran, who told him to deliver me to the Montana cage.
I didn't even need to be medicated, and I couldn't do anything.
Damien called Bran on the way. " We're on our way. Baby took a bit of an injury; she's a bit skinny and weak, but she's as in heat as can be, "
Bran smiled. Now the little bitch is learning and learning well.
He said to Damon. "Leave Mimi in the cage. There's a mattress. I'll look after her gently, don't worry. You've got a job in Spain. My old friend Asil, it's time to call it a day. I was too lenient in my day when Asil came asking me to kill him, and I didn't, so if you could, it's not a straightforward job, but I think you'll get the job done. "
Damon growled in response. They arrived at their destination. Damon carried Mimi, naked and wrapped in a blanket, to the basement cage and lay down on the mattress.
Damien hissed at me, "Enjoy your rush, baby. Sorry, I have a much more important job to do than fucking with you for several weeks. Damon will be having fun with other girls once he gets Asil killed. I can get him to do it. All I have to do is give him a little of my feelings, a few bits and pieces from the shed. Few mental images about your shape, your confusion, and his conscience will take care of the rest. I somehow doubt that your heat will go on for 6 to 8 weeks, but I can be wrong, too."
He stood up, closed the cage door, and walked away. I lay on the mattress, completely powerless.