25. Mad world.

I woke up in a worn, uncomfortable chair, my vision slowly adjusting as I opened my eyes. The faint hum of the plane's engines filled the air, confirming my suspicion that we were already in flight. Uncertainty clouded my mind as I pondered our destination.

Across from me, Damon sat at a small table, surrounded by drip bags filled with an array of vividly colored liquids. My first aid kit sat before him, its contents scattered across the table. With deliberate precision, Damon selected a sedative bottle, drawing an excessive 10 ml into a syringe, nearly five times the usual dose. He then pierced the needle into one of the drip bags, emptying the contents into the mix. The once clear liquid transformed into a gelatinous substance, thickening before my eyes.

Satisfied with his creation, Damon placed the gel-filled bag among the others, already numbering close to ten. He repeated the process, creating four more bags, two with anesthetics and two from the mysterious black bottles. As the final jelly bags were prepared, Damon glanced up, his voice devoid of warmth.

"Oh, Baby, you're awake. Do you like what you see?" he asked, his tone chilling. Methodically, he packed away his supplies, rising from his seat to approach me. Bound to the chair, my attempts to free myself proved futile.

"Don't bother, you can't escape," Damon taunted, observing my desperate struggles.

With a swift motion, he tilted the chair, causing me to fall onto my back. He lifted my shirt, unbuttoning my jeans and removing them, leaving me exposed from the waist down, save for my panties. My shirt was yanked up, baring my stomach.

With purposeful intent, Damon brought the jelly bags closer, attaching each one to a hook suspended from the ceiling. He drained the gelatinous substance through the hose, connecting it to the cannula still embedded in my stomach. His touch was cold and forceful as he rubbed the jelly onto my insides, ensuring thorough coverage with each bag.

The process continued, bag after bag, as Damon maintained a relentless pace. Though his grip lacked gentleness, I was spared from any visible bruises. Surprisingly, my mind remained clear, despite the administration of the drug. I speculated that the low concentration hindered immediate absorption, and my body's tolerance to substances played a role in delaying its effects.

Also, hopefully, the drugs in my first aid kit were not the most effective I've ever had. The medicinal scent wafted through the room, a mix of sterile chemicals and faint hints of mint. It made sense because I couldn't drug myself out of my mind at a mission for the sake of a single bullet removal. The meds were probably designed to help keep me calm, but not too unconscious. Even though they would be effective, they hardly put me to sleep for days to come.

Damon, his hands steady and swift, was fast and efficient in his task to fill me up with those jellies. The sound of the bags being drained echoed in the room, a soft gurgling noise. He rubbed them all over my insides, his movements firm and methodical, reaching all the way to my diaphragm, including my back. The pressure of his touch intensified, the friction causing a slight warmth to spread across my skin. He rubbed for a while longer, then picked the bags off, their contents oozing out.

He picked something out of one bag, and the crinkling sound of plastic caught my attention. He came back with some kind of neoprene sheet, its synthetic smell filling the air. He slid the neoprene sheet under me, its smooth texture cool against my skin. It surrounded me from under my breasts to the top of my thighs.

He wrapped the sheet around me, the sound of Velcro ripping through the silence. It had stickers on it, their adhesive clinging tightly to my flesh. He made sure the sheet or belt was everywhere, tight against me. He still wrapped the belts on top of the sheet tightly around me at an angle so that the belt was really tight. The pressure intensified, squeezing against my body. I could breathe, but could feel the belt already warming up. It was not very comfortable at all.

Then he put my shirt down and pulled my skirt with the elastic waistband over it. The fabric brushed against my skin, a gentle sensation amidst the discomfort. He went off again somewhere, only to return with another injection. The sound of the needle being prepared sent a shiver down my spine.

"Alright Baby, showtime, this minor stuff will activate everything I just poured into your insides. The heat will help with so many things then, you'll see." Damon's voice was a sadistic, malicious sneer, his words hanging in the air ominously.

He'd taken the cannula out of my belly, but I did not doubt that the 15 liters he was shoving in would do the job. He came up beside me, turned my arm, and slipped the needle into the vein. The sharp sting of the needle piercing my skin sent a jolt of pain through me. The injection was quickly administered; the liquid flooding my veins.

It started as a sensation of heat, a burning ember spreading through my body, then aching, which intensified. Wavelike pains started deep in my lower back, spreading down my back and to my diaphragm. I could feel the sedative working. Then came the searing pain, tearing, cramping, quick stabbing flashes that always made me gasp. My head got more and more cloudy, but the pain wouldn't stop.

The belt was painful. It weighed and distressed and squeezed; the pressure mounting with each passing moment. Damon had at one point lifted me back into a sitting position, which only made the pain worse.

Damon sat opposite me a little away and watched me like I was some science project, without emotion. Or the emotion I was looking for. Every once in a while, when the pain got terrible enough that a moan would erupt from my mouth, his expression would show raw pleasure, a twisted satisfaction in my suffering.

After several hours, he slowly rose from his seat and carefully positioned my chair back in a horizontal position. Gently, he lowered my skirt and delicately lifted my shirt. With careful precision, he loosened the neoprene belt, sliding it out from beneath me.

The touch of his hands on my entire stomach sent waves of soreness radiating through my body. Even the removal of the belt provided little relief from the persistent pain. Damon began to knead and massage my stomach, intensifying the agony to unimaginable levels. It was evident that he knew exactly what he was doing, deliberately increasing my suffering. His hands moved to my back, exacerbating the pain that had already gripped me.

Sometimes, he would apply pressure to a specific spot while simultaneously rubbing with his other hand. When he released his touch, the pain would rush back in, flooding my senses. Occasionally, he would lift me to sit for a short while, but even this position, combined with the massage, only intensified the immense pain.

Cramps twisted and convulsed in my stomach. A burning, tearing sensation roared in the depths of my being, and it felt as though razor-sharp knives had been thrust into my back. No position offered any respite. The effects of a sedative and a muscle relaxant ensured I could not shift my position much. And still, the relentless rubbing continued.

"You see, my baby," Damon whispered, his voice almost mocking, "as you may have already noticed, my little concoction includes a muscle relaxant, various sedatives to keep you calm or rather, incapacitated, and the neurotoxins responsible for this excruciating pain. Additionally, I've included iridium, vanadium, rhodium, and cobalt, absorbed slowly to gradually weaken you in the days to come. Platinum and herbs complete the mix."

Damon recited this list as if reciting a shopping list, all the while bruising my stomach, which was already beginning to display extensive bruising.

"These bruises," he explained, "are the result of snake venom. The refined snake venom still lingers in the cocktail, not causing any severe effects, but enough to serve its purpose."

The sedative plunged me deeper and deeper into a state of oblivion, until I felt nothing at all, consumed by the encompassing darkness.

I awoke in a foreign place, no longer confined to a plane's cramped space. The throbbing pain in my stomach had dulled, allowing my weak muscles to respond. As I sat up, my surroundings came into view - we were our exquisite Italian castle.

Damon entered the room, his voice breaking the silence. "Good, you're awake."

Approaching me, he effortlessly lifted me into his arms and carried me into another chamber.

"Everything's ready," he assured me.

Stripped of my clothing, my underpants gone, a tightness gripped my lower abdomen. He gently laid me on the bed and swiftly secured spiked restraints on my arms and legs. Then, with a scalpel in hand, he made an incision just above my hips, piercing my lower abdomen. Using an implant gun, he fumbled for a moment before injecting two implants, likely into my ovaries.

"Your curse has been broken once again, Baby. These implants will nurture your follicles, inducing ovulation. We will conceive a child this time. Your fertility is now at its peak after a successful heat, just a bit more enhancement."

I remained quiet, relieved that Charles and Colin's intervention would prevent any offspring. I showed no reaction as he closed my stomach and made another incision, this time near my diaphragm. Inserting a thick hose, he opened the tap on a nearby tank, causing a sedative jelly to flood into me once more.

With one hand, he spread the gel over my ribs, stomach, and back, causing a slight distention in my stomach. The jelly then coated my legs, chest, and ribs, and seeped beneath the surface of my limbs.

Four sizable tanks were used. I knew the warmth of my body would aid absorption, and I could already feel its effects as my body temperature activated the gel. The jelly within my limbs would gradually absorb, maintaining sedation, while the jelly in my abdominal cavity would be absorbed more efficiently. He untied me and turned me over onto my stomach. Removing his pants, he entered me in a single, forceful thrust, burying himself completely.

Damon's thrusts were clumsy, lacking the usual vigor. The mechanical rhythm made it feel as if I were merely a vessel for his sperm.

"You will carry my seed inside you constantly, baby," he whispered, his voice tinged with a mixture of desire and determination. "And when the time comes for ovulation, our army will be ready to meet your eggs. You will be fertilized." 

His forceful thrusts continued, filling me deeply three times before he abruptly stopped. Helping me sit up, he draped a wrap-around dress over my trembling body. With his support, we began to walk, his hands tenderly caressing my stomach, the warmth seeping through my skin and mingling with the jelly-like substance inside me.

The metals still caused discomfort, but the sedative left me disoriented, groggy, and utterly defenseless against his manipulative touch. Time became irrelevant as he occasionally led me to a room, where the mechanical cycle would repeat - fucking me, coming three times, always inside me. It felt almost robotic. With no pleasure for both of us.

He also drained the jelly from my stomach multiple times, ensuring that I remained in a state of sedation, disorientation, and awareness of the invasive procedures being performed on me. The jelly caused pain once again. We continued to wander through the hallways, my attempts to escape futile as his grip remained unyielding. His other hand remained fixated on my stomach, pressing, rubbing, and probing. And then he would fuck me again. 

Gradually, my mind cleared, and my stomach burned with an intense sensation.

"What have you done?" Damon demanded, his voice filled with anger. "Your ovaries have remained unchanged for two weeks now. Tell me what's happening!" 

And there it was. Five years ago, after the incident at the French castle, Charles, Colin, and Adam had devised a solution to prevent me from conceiving. The process had taken years to complete, finalized just before my last heat. After Bran's assault, Colin had employed a mixture of leprechaun magic and medicine, while Charles had sought help from the spirits.

My reproductive organs appeared normal, but my ovaries were artificial, magically rendered incapable of producing viable eggs. They mimicked the appearance of ovulation, but it was a façade. Even if my uterus were removed, there would be no possibility of a new life. My womb would experience heat cycles, but the ovaries would remain non-functional.

They even cursed my ovaries for authenticity, whispering ancient incantations to ensure that if Damon ever attempted to impregnate me again, the curse would make it more realistic. Charles and Colin, with unwavering determination, assured me that no force in the world could make me fertile. Their meticulous plan was executed with precision.

I remained silent as Damon's anger grew.

In a fit of rage, he hurled me onto the bed, his voice filled with venom. "Fine, I'll remove them. They're useless anyway," he hissed, taunting me about my future ability to speak with a new uterus and functioning ovaries.

But he didn't follow through. Instead, he dragged me to a chair, forcefully administered drugs, and relentlessly interrogated me about what had inflicted upon me to ultimately achieve my barren state. His expression, a twisted amalgamation of fury, disillusionment, and resentment, mirrored the bitter truth he discovered.