I woke up abruptly from a sitting position, my body aching from the uncomfortable chair. This goddamn torture shed was a place that filled me with dread. As I glanced ahead, my heart raced and panic set in when I saw the white box before me. Damon, the sadistic tormentor, approached and forcefully placed a suffocating mask over my head.
The sharp metal in my teeth forced my mouth open, causing discomfort. The spreaders on my eyelids had been removed, but I kept my eyes tightly shut, feeling them stinging and burning. With a gloved hand, he molded the cold, suffocating mask tightly over my face.
I attempted to struggle, desperately fighting against my restraints, but it was futile. This time, I was completely exposed, naked and vulnerable, tethered to a menacing machine. Suddenly, I felt a rush of icy air cascading down my bare back, sending shivers down my spine.
Damon activated the device, unleashing a wave of excruciating pain that overwhelmed me. Panic consumed me entirely, until I felt a searing sensation slice through my back, momentarily eclipsing my fear. It was a sharp, intense pain that made my entire body tense up.
His sadistic voice pierced my ears, his breath hot against my hair as he whispered, "See, baby, two birds with one stone. While you're enduring this little breathing therapy, a robotic contraption will simultaneously work on your back. This pharmaceutical device guarantees a more drastic experience. It doesn't care whether you live or die."
I could feel the drilling sensation as it pierced through my spinal column, invading the very core of my being. Meanwhile, the CPAP machine continued its assault, forcefully blowing unknown substances into my lungs at varying speeds, leaving me in a perpetual state of anticipation and dread.
Sometimes, the machine would remain silent for agonizingly long periods, only to unleash a torrent of something, causing my lungs to feel as though they were bursting under the sheer force. As this torment unfolded, my back endured its own form of brutality. The vertebrae were relentlessly drilled into, while simultaneously being battered and injected with substances.
The machine ruthlessly peeled away at my muscles, leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable. Ribs were snapped quietly, one after another, leaving jagged bone fragments in their wake. Scapulae, neck vertebrae, and my entire central nervous system were left in a state of chaos. I could no longer distinguish which torment was the most unbearable, as everything melded into one unending nightmare.
Time slipped away from me as panic consumed my thoughts, rendering me unable to function or even think clearly. Instead, I was left with a raw, visceral experience of feeling and suffering. Pain and agony became my world, intermingling with the eerie whispers of Damon's voice as he insidiously assessed my physical state, taunting me with the knowledge of how deeply I had been affected by the metallic instruments he used. However, he intentionally withheld any indication of time, leaving me in a disoriented haze of uncertainty.
I was oblivious to how many days or weeks this torment had persisted. I existed as a living specimen, subjected to the relentless dissection of Damon's torturous machines, while the constant presence of the CPAP machine kept my panic levels at an all-time high. It was an experience that threatened to shatter my sanity.
Sometimes, the torment would briefly cease, and I would lie motionless in bed, too weak to even nourish myself or move. In those moments, as I drifted in and out of consciousness, the futility of inflicting further torture upon me became apparent. If I was already unconscious, there was no point in subjecting me to more suffering. Those intermittent periods of respite provided me with the precious rest I needed to endure the ongoing ordeal.
And then, without fail, the CPAP device would be employed once again, intensifying my panic with each use. Damon's instruments would mercilessly probe every inch of my body, traversing my chest, stomach, and back in a repetitive cycle of torment. He delighted in my weakened state, relishing the power he held over me. He didn't require any drugs to subdue me; my strength had been drained to the point of exhaustion. Yet, there was no mercy in his actions.
Week after week, Damien observed with sadistic satisfaction that Mimi's condition steadily deteriorated as it was meant to. He handled her ruthlessly, experimenting with all his new equipment, and even revisiting some of his older devices. Thankfully, the CPAP machine caused her panic and strong time after time, which pleased Damien immensely. It worked exactly as he intended.
As Damien glanced at the calendar, he realized that it had been twenty-two long weeks since he had first captured her. His gaze shifted to his wife, who now weighed a mere 30 kilos. There weren't many more weeks left of this torment, but he couldn't help but acknowledge the progress he had made. Damien had estimated that she weighed over 60 kilos when he abducted her. He purposefully refrained from sedating her in the shed, wanting the memory of her suffering to remain vivid and potent.
I had been here again for who knows how long. Now Damon had yet another favorite toy he wanted to try. He again dictated and dropped those murky substances in my veins when I was resting. I had no idea of time, none and I just felt how weak I was becoming all the time. I had no access to my rage, and I did not know why I did not get allergic to him. I hated this, his touch, his voice, his wet dog stench, ashtray stench as well.
Now he came at me and smiled, looking at me like a piece of meat. He picked me up and dragged me forward. I no longer had the strength to resist everywhere I ached, hurt, felt cold, tired—another white box. Panic struck, and my heart started pounding. I was just too weak to resist.
Damon guided me to stand and spread my legs a little apart. Then he pushed me down. Something really thick and hard sank into my pussy. I tried to get up and dodge, but Damon pushed me down so that the rod or whatever sank as deep as it could. Damon then tied my legs and arms to the equipment again.
He made sure I was tight against the device. Then he pushed the button, and I felt the rod inside me rise and push higher and higher. Eventually, the pain was intense as this rubbed my cervix or the base of my pussy. Damon adjusted a little more, the rod thicker. He stopped the thickening when I tore so much that the blood gushed. Then he pried my mouth open again and put the mask on.
Panic hit me as strongly as always and I just tried to get free. Pain tore me apart and my panic stopped any reasonable thought forming in my mind.
First, he made the rod move inside me; it wriggled and jiggled. It stabbed needles into the tissues in my cunt and all over inside me and drained something in there in between. The rod-sprayed liquid that absorbed into my torn tissues. After this had been on for a while, he turned on the fan. It felt like my lungs were about to burst. And then a third torture. The front plate of the box against my stomach slid off, and the blades struck my stomach—a great, built-in stabber.
Damon came and sat behind me and started breaking my ribs all over with his hands and my vertebrae. He kept talking. That was his trademark. Sometimes, he would tape something on the recorder, and I knew these sessions were being filmed. Sometimes, he would talk to me, sometimes to himself, but he was there all the time talking. Usually very, very creepy, whatnot sticks in the memory. I already knew that because I remembered every session.
I had no idea how long each of these torture sessions took, I might woke up again some hard pallet, torn, stabbed, tired, when I had lost consciousness, from exhaustion, panic, so there was no pleasure to torture me if I did not feel it.
I was lying on the bed. I was cold. I had no energy to really shiver even. I knew I had a fever. Damon was next to the bed. He was cutting a wound in my stomach, sticking a tube in, and draining something inside me. Long, it spread everywhere. Then he closed the wound with a bandage because I wasn't getting any better.
He started rubbing my stomach. The pain started again, more metal.
"Mimi, baby, now you already have an infection, a fever. It won't be long now." He whispered, evilly again in my ear.
Then he came to the bed, lifted me up on his lap with my back against his stomach, and continued to massage me. I complained weakly. The rubbing got harder. He really made me explode from the pain, weakening me, holding on to my trembling, exhausted form in his lap. He had his apron on and gloves too.
Now, Damon was no longer putting me on the machines but was sticking things inside me, rubbing or breaking my bones, and talking. I mean, he talked in a gentle, soothing voice about really creepy things all the time. Now, he wouldn't let me rest on my own anymore. He was always doing something. By now, I was so skinny that it was easy for him to break any bone in my body. Most of all, he loved to stick something in my stomach and rub it.
Damon's implant gun pierced my liver with a cold, metallic sensation. As he massaged the area, the fever that had plagued me vanished. Time had lost all meaning long ago, leaving my mind and soul exhausted, yearning for an end to this suffering.
"It won't be long now, baby. You're already hypothermic, and septic. Your time is running out," Damon whispered in my ear, his voice a constant presence.
His hands pressed and rubbed, causing agonizing pain, and draining my strength. And still, the metallic implants remained in my belly, a constant reminder of my torment. The pain intensified as Damon's hands continued their relentless assault.
Suddenly, he paused, disappearing for a moment before returning. I was still conscious, weak, feeling my strength slipping away with each passing minute.
He approached me, his touch now gentle, stroking my hair softly. "Now, baby, it's time to thank you once more. You've given me so much pleasure for so long. You're such a good wife," he murmured.
The scent of passionfruit filled the air, replacing the stench of wet dog and ashtray. He draped a soft blanket around me, lifting me with care and settling me into a chair.
His smile sent shivers down my spine as he spoke. "This time, baby, let's not be apart for so many years. You deserve a holiday in the Azores once you recover. Perhaps we can have a good time together, a time for you to enjoy."
Shock coursed through me. This was truly him, without a doubt. He unwrapped the blanket slightly, adjusting his position, and reached for something. A sharp, searing pain ripped through my stomach as the dagger pierced my flesh, slowly. He withdrew it, licking the blade clean, then stabbed again, this time between my ribs, just grazing my heart.
The pain made me stiffen and moan, and I tried to resist. But my strength waned with each successive strike. He continued to stab me, slowly, twisting the knife, his voice filled with the scent of passionfruit, speaking of a holiday in the Azores. I didn't want that. Not with him. Darkness crept in, swallowing me whole.
As Damien brought Damon closer to the surface, He ensured Damon would feel a dagger in his hand, would smell Mimi's blood, and witness her demise soon enough. To feel her dying in his arms when he would be the one killing her.
With each stab, Damien reveled in the sensation of the blade piercing Mimi's flesh, the sound of her pained gasps echoing in his ears. He allowed Damon to witness the horror in Mimi's eyes, realizing that there was no evil twin, only the cruel reality of her beloved Damon being her tormentor.
As a reward for this twisted session, Damien spoke of the Azores, a paradise that seemed so far away. It served as the ultimate tease, reminding Damon of what he could never have. That being Mimi's love. Because now he would not go to the Azores. It was almost now ruined for them.
Then came the final convulsion, as Mimi's frail body stiffened, her vacant eyes staring into oblivion. Damien's telepathic connection confirmed her death, and he relished in the pleasure he projected onto Damon, manipulating him into believing it was his own.
The mention of the Azores ensured Damon would not take Mimi there, at least not for a long time. Damien gazed at her anguished face, deliberately leaving it in a state of pain, knowing it would haunt her even after Adam and Charles found her. It was perfect, the way Damon's panic and self-hatred weakened him further. Now it was time to enjoy.