As the men busied themselves with their plans for the future, I walked to one of my bedrooms where I kept my nightgowns, hoping to maybe sleep or relax. However, a naughty thought crossed my mind, prompting me to take a little detour to my pleasure room.
There, I selected quite a few toys for myself—not just my "boyfriends", meaning crawlers, those wonderfully advanced dildos, but other kinds of gadgets as well. Despite what the men had said about the sauna, I was determined to try my own little inventive story, planning to make myself explode like never before.
I already had a few ideas in mind and hoped that if I fell asleep afterward, my little game would make my mind less prone to nightmares. I had a hell of a lot of spells running through my head, seeking out all things nasty, but I knew the truth: there was just so much hidden trauma buried deep in my mind. No matter how many spells I cast, those memories remained well-concealed.
I had no desire to unravel them so telepaths could erase or fade them, as many of those memories were truly nasty. Plus, dealing with them would knock me out for days, requiring strength I simply didn't have right now—I wasn't in the mood for naps. So, this was a bit of therapy on my own.
With my basket full of toys and supplies, I walked back to my bedroom. I hadn't put on any nightgown yet, still wearing the bathrobe I had on after coming from the sauna. I tossed my nightgowns onto a nearby bench, then opened my unmade bed and took off my robe and the towel wrapped around my hair, placing both in the bathroom. I then walked to the bed, sat on its edge, and began selecting what to use and in what order.
"Hmm," I thought, "first I'll put the nipple stimulation array on, and also a patch near my pheromone glands, which are extremely sensitive."
Next, I planned to oil myself all over with a new type of stimulation oil that would make my skin—and my pussy—even more sensitive. Then, I would start touching myself using a new type of glove covered with tiny bristles, providing extra tactile stimulation.
As heat flooded my core and slickness coated the insides of my thighs, I rolled my eyes. Oh yeah, I was easy—no need for anything but my imagination. I was wet and sopping. Well, it was time to start this rodeo.
I opened the necessary packets and leaned into a semi-sitting position on my bed, placing the first stimulation patches over my nipples and one on my pheromone glands. Then, I took the oil—starting with just a few drops—and began to oil myself, beginning with my legs.
At first, I avoided the more erogenous areas; only after I had oiled as much as I could reach did I move on to the most sensitive parts of myself. The oil made my skin heat up, heightening my sensitivity in the best possible way.
Every air current felt like a lover's caress, and my own fingers seemed like perfection on my skin. The scent of jasmine and lilacs filled the air, now mingling with the strong aroma of strawberries and champagne as I grew more and more aroused by the minute.
Then, I dipped a bit more oil into my hand and started to oil the insides of my thighs and my pussy. The sensation was overwhelming, and I orgasmed for the first time as the oil made me incredibly sensitive.
Even after the shakes subsided, pulses continued through my core as I spread oil to my asshole and ass cheeks as well. Panting with lust, I touched myself with my glove, eyes closed, biting my lip, simply enjoying the moment without even fantasizing—I wasn't yet capable of that.
This was just so perfectly intense. My moans echoed through the room, and the scent of my lust thickened the air. Completely absorbed, I paid no attention to my surroundings.
I missed the soft knock on my door as I came again so hard I was bowing off the bed. The door opened, and Mariella peeked in, her expression one of surprise. She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.
As my orgasm waned, I was still panting with lust, writhing as aftershocks rippled through my pussy, and I could feel the wetness dripping onto the sheets. Mariella froze in place, her eyes gleaming violet as she absorbed some of the spilled lust lingering in the air.
"Mimi, what the fuck are you doing? I mean, I get what you're doing, but how come you're so…" Her voice trailed off, rough with disbelief.
"Aroused, lustful?" I replied. "Well, I had this plan, but I underestimated my little helpers. Anyway, what brings you here? I thought you were still fucking through the fifth floor."
She sighed and came to sit on my bed.
Noticing the glove on my hand and the scent of oils, she said, "I am fucking bored with number one. He is once again an arrogant bastard and just used my body. Sure, I came, but it was lacking—he was too lustful. Somehow, it felt so cheap."
I took a few deep breaths, trying to steady my breathing, and replied, "That's because of love. He was not in love with you but was driven just by lust. When you've felt true love, lust can seem dull—especially when one uses it to chase demons away."
Curious, she asked me, "What are these? I haven't seen that glove or smelled this scent before. It's so..."
She was getting heated up now, but in the right way.
I explained, "I have nipple stimulation patches on my nipples as well as on my pheromone glands. I oiled myself with a special oil that makes the skin incredibly sensitive. And this is a new tactile glove, with small bristles—oh my God, it's just perfect."
Her gaze grew even more aroused.
I handed her the bottle of oil and said, "Have fun. Go with Damon, use that, and get your gear on."
I was just preparing for my next orgasm as she took the oil bottle in her hand and bit her lower lip.
Soon, the door opened again. Number one, along with two and five, walked in, all freshly showered. Their eyes locked onto me as I writhed on the bed, moaning softly. Number two yanked Mariella to her feet and led her out of the room, snatching the bottle of oil from her hand and speaking to her in a pretty dangerous tone.
Number one and five approached my bed. Five noticed my nightgowns and took them to the laundry. He could still smell residual panic on one of them, and it seemed as if there was a brief flicker of worry in number one's ice-blue gaze—perhaps he had just been told about my nightmares.
Meanwhile, I began to slip into my little fantasy, closing my eyes and letting my imagination take over. In my naughty mood, I allowed my desires to bleed into the hive, fueled by my lust as well.
Just as I was about to dip my gloved hand into my pussy, a strong, firm grip on my wrist stopped me, pulling me out of my fantasy.
Number one murmured in a heated voice, "Naughty wife, damn naughty wife. You have sanctifying sauna sessions with others, and now this? Tsk tsk. It seems the master needs to give you a lesson."
Oh my god, as he spoke in that certain tone, my pussy oozed a fresh flood of fluids.
I was wet as hell, and my voice turned dark and lustful, carrying an unspoken challenge. "I'm not sure if I need a master right now; my glove is all I need."
The grip on my wrist intensified, almost painfully, and his deft fingers plucked my glove off. He studied it closely.
Number five was nearby, sharp-looking as well, and he said quietly, "It seems, my naughty little bitch, that you should really show us your pleasure room so we can take stock—know what to use on this naughty little bitch who cums without permission and uses all kinds of novelties."
Number one, then cast some damn spell to lock my muscles so I couldn't move a single one. Despite my attempts to let my siphoning weaken the spell, it didn't work quickly. He deftly plucked patches off my skin, his touch making me cream myself as my skin was incredibly sensitive.
Number five's dark chuckle made me feel even hotter, and number one said to him, "Go. Deal with Mariella with two. Use the oil; make her explode; be relentless; tire her out. Use her lust so she will calm the fuck down. I'll deal with the little bitch."
Five smiled predatorily as he walked out of the room.
Number one then spoke to me in a dangerously low voice that made me tense. "Now, let me show you how this is done properly, babygirl. First, my spell will keep you nice and locked until I get a bit more done to you..."
He took a small bottle from his pocket—eyedrops or something similar.
His voice hissed to me evilly, "It's a tiletamine-romifidine mix. It hits you just right: three drops per eye, and your brain is pretty mushy. This is a special formulation that clouds your corneas and sticks to your eyelids, making you pretty blind and drugged. But knowing you, a bit more is needed."
I swallowed hard as he seemed not aroused anymore, but pretty damn tuned up. He leaned over me. My eyes were unable to close as he opened the bottle and dropped those three drops per eye, then closed my lids and massaged so the drug spread all over my eyeball. My mind soon became confused. It was hard to understand what was going on. I felt so damn paralyzed, helpless, and messed up.
His voice crooned to my ear, "As I said, babygirl, more is coming."
I could feel him opening my mouth, squirting thick gel into it, and his fingers were spreading it all over my mouth, making it dry.
He cooed to me in a sickly sweet voice, almost making this into a living nightmare, "Detomidine, babygirl, as well as thiopental and a bit of azaperone. It dries your mouth and adds the next layer of sedation."
His voice had an almost pleasurable undertone as he saw and felt my mind sinking into a deeper, confused haze. The drug erased the effect of oil on my skin, and my arousal disappeared. I was just so damn helpless, but too drugged to even try to figure out how I was supposed to fight.
I was limp and helpless as he lifted the spell. My eyes were fused shut, my mouth parching dry and sticky, and my tongue seemed to be glued to the bottom of my mouth, with no saliva forming. Some sensations bled through my messed-up state. I somehow got the idea he was in bed with me, but what he was doing, I had no idea.
Then, as hot, fiery pain hit suddenly in my cunt, it made me choke out a gasp. Much sharper pain then hit my flank, penetrating and burning inside me, waking some part of me. This made my drugged-up state less nasty, even though the drugs kept me helpless.
His dangerous voice talked to me, and then new, hot pain hit my stomach, making a surge come from within again. I was panting faster; I had no self-control and no idea what he was doing, but each time pain hit me, something was coming, something was nearing, and I had no way to control it.
He somehow kept pulling something closer, making it increasingly evident that something was happening. But what exactly? I was way too drugged, blind, and unable to form a coherent thought about what was going on. All I could do was feel—surrender to feeling, surrender to helplessness—and try to understand what this meant. Was this good or bad? I had no idea.
My mind was almost hallucinating; old memories bled through—bits of times when I privately visited Jake's grave, moments in Chicago when Adam and I had fun in the sauna. My mind and memory were out of control, and I had no way of managing the flood of images, sensations, and memories flickering through my thoughts.
Even though some of these memories brought heart-wrenching pain, my drugged state shielded me from fully feeling it—or at least, I thought so. There were very old memories too, from times in the hands of Kendrick and Morrisey: green sludge dripping into me, feeling weak and in pain.
Yet, there were also happy moments, like in the Azores, when my heart was singing. All these memories rolled through my mind like laundry in a washing machine, spinning until everything was mixed up.
Sensations kept hitting me; I had no idea if I had made a sound or moved. I could feel them—burn, sting, even a hint of arousal—yet it all felt distant. I was almost detached from my body, or at least it felt that way.
Somehow, I was pulling away from all the crap in my past, trying not to let it near me, while at the same time feeling something sinking into my chest, making my heart stutter. A dangerous voice was saying something, but I had no idea what.
All I could perceive was the danger of it. There was no fear, no panic—only sensation: a whirlwind of my memories, my feelings, my past, all the crap I had been through, and sometimes a flicker of the good times, those wonderful moments as well.
There were times I felt comfort instead of fear—moments that neither Damon nor Wulfe knew about. Not every good time I had was with the pack or Damon; I had cherished memories with others as well—Jarod, the Originals, my guys, Jake, Rob, Magnum, and so many more. I missed so many of them, like Burrows, who had been almost as important to me as Jake. But he, too, was killed.
In my memories, I relived the times with Burrows: how he barged into my office, sat on my sofa, hummed my songs, and tried to convince me to go to a karaoke bar with him so he could record my singing and show it in base.
He was actually a good singer and one hell of a protector in the field, standing a towering six feet five inches tall. He was as muscular as Magnum but faster, and he never feared my rage—not even when I was wounded, full of fury, and unpredictable.
He used to say to me, "Guess, flea, which one of us is bigger and stronger? Try me."
I had no doubt that if he seized me, his grip would contain me, and that brought me a rare feeling of safety. I wasn't the strongest, but nothing good lasts forever in my life.
Soon, though, my longing began to fade as another wave of sensation hit me. I felt something bursting out of me with such force that I had no control over it. This power—or whatever it was—gushed from me, somehow carrying all the pain and shit with it and leaving me feeling strangely cleansed.
Even though drugs still hit me, keeping me in their nasty grip, the flood kept coming out. It was almost too much to bear; I could feel sweat beading on my body, and my skin was once again painfully sensitive.
Yet, I was not aroused. So much was pouring out of me, and I had no way to control it. Wave after wave flooded out, taking away the pain, the hurt, and the heartache, letting all my bad memories sink so deep while my good memories grew brighter and more vivid.
Exhausted by the drugs and the entire experience, I couldn't help it as my mind finally shut down, and I passed out like a light. What tomorrow would look like, I had no idea—only time would tell.