B
Literature
Bitter days with Marla F/M, torture This one is really dark. I wanted to explore my dark side. Only read this one, when you are in a sadistic mood. --- The city at night is a different beast, breathing cold and whispering secrets into the ears of the unwary. In the shadow-drenched backstreets of downtown, Marla prowled, her eyes sharp beneath the brim of her hat, scanning for her mark. She leaned against the cold brick of an old nightclub, cigarette smoke curling around her fingers, blending with the fog that slithered along the street. The muffled thuds of bass from within promised young, easy prey—naive souls lost in the pulse of transient joy. "That one," she muttered to herself as she spotted Eli. He spilled out of the club, laughing too loudly, stumbling slightly on the curb. His jacket was undone, revealing a carefree spirit that attracted Marla's calculating gaze. He hailed a cab, but Marla was quicker, sleeker. She approached, her boots silent against the concrete. "Hey there," she called out softly, just loud enough to be heard over the hum of the city. Eli turned, his smile broad and inviting. "Lost something, lady?" he asked, his words slurring slightly. Marla smiled back, stepping closer, her approach casual. "Yeah, I think I dropped my phone back there somewhere. Mind helping me look for it? It's really dark," she gestured vaguely towards the darker side of the street, away from the lights. Eli, ever the gentleman—or so he thought—nodded eagerly. "Sure thing. Let me just—" He didn't see the chloroform-soaked cloth coming until it was pressed firmly against his face. His words turned into muffled protests, his movements sluggish as the chemical took hold. Marla’s grip was iron as she dragged him towards the alley where her van waited like a silent predator. "Just a little nap, Eli," she whispered into his ear as he slumped against her. She heaved him into the back of the van, securing his wrists and ankles with practiced ease. The van's doors closed with a thud, sealing him in darkness. Marla slid into the driver's seat, tossing her cigarette out into the night. "A star is born" she murmured, with a mean smile smile she started the engine and disappeared into the labyrinth of the city. --- Eli's consciousness flickered like a failing light bulb as he gradually came to awareness. His body was stiff, sore, and he couldn't move. Panic surged through him when he realized he was bound tightly to a cold, hard surface. His wrists and ankles ached from the tight straps that held him immobile. A blindfold pressed heavily against his eyes, plunging him into darkness, and a gag stifled any attempt to call out, muffling his panicked breaths into muffled whimpers. The mundane sounds of daily life started filtering into the room—sounds grossly out of place in the nightmare he was experiencing. He heard the distinct clinking of a spoon against a ceramic cup, followed by the soft sigh of satisfaction that one makes after taking the first sip of coffee. The faint murmur of a morning television show played somewhere nearby, the cheerful banter of the hosts a stark contrast to the fear knotting in his stomach. As he lay there, trying to make sense of his situation, a sudden electric shock coursed through his body. His muscles spasmed violently against his restraints, a choked scream muffled by the gag. The shock receded as quickly as it had arrived, leaving a tingling aftershock in its wake. Eli's mind raced—he had no idea why this was happening, who was doing this to him, or what he had done to deserve such a fate. The room fell silent again, save for the occasional tapping of keys on a laptop. Marla was there, working as if she were in a normal office, occasionally pausing to take a sip of coffee or glance at the TV. Eli's fear and confusion built with each passing moment of normalcy outside his field of perception. Each time Eli tried to wriggle or shift for even the slightest relief from the pain of the straps or his cramped muscles, another shock would jolt him. After a few trials, he lay still, learning that any movement or attempted noise brought immediate and sharp retaliation. Hours dragged by. The occasional shocks continued without warning or pattern, each one a cruel reminder of his helplessness in this grim scenario. He flinched at the smallest sounds, each one possibly heralding another wave of pain. The relentless terror of anticipation, coupled with the actual physical agony of the shocks, left Eli drained, trembling, and teetering on the edge of despair, his sense of time and self slowly eroding under the continuous strain. His head pounded relentlessly, the ache exacerbated by the tight blindfold and the jolts of electricity that terrorized his nerves. The gag in his mouth made his jaw ache, and drool dampened the cloth pressed against his lips. Eli's mind oscillated between fear, confusion, and a desperate hope for release. The psychological torment of not knowing when the next shock would come, coupled with the ordinary sounds of Marla's morning routine, twisted his perception of reality into a surreal nightmare.   As the clock struck noon, the room was filled with the faint scratch of a match striking, followed by the deep inhale of a cigarette being lit. Marla sauntered over to where Eli lay strapped down, a plume of smoke trailing behind her like a sinister fog. She perched herself close to him, so close that he could smell the tobacco mingled with her perfume—a disconcertingly pleasant aroma that contradicted the stark terror of his situation. With a coy smile, Marla reached forward and removed Eli’s blindfold, allowing his eyes to squint against the sudden influx of light. His vision blurred into focus, revealing the gritty details of the loft: exposed beams, peeling paint on the concrete walls, and a single, grimy window that let in a harsh stripe of sunlight. The room was a stark, unwelcoming space, filled with shadows and the remnants of old industrial use, not a place to find comfort or warmth. "How are you feeling, Eli?" Marla’s voice was mockingly sweet, dripping with feigned concern. Her face was close to his, her eyes scanning his, reveling in the fear they displayed. Eli’s throat was dry, his lips parched and trembling. Before he could respond, Marla laid out her cruel rule, "before you answer, every word from you will cost you a little cut, just deep enough to bleed." With a cruel smile she brandished a small, sharp knife, catching the light menacingly. She leaned in, her breath smelling of smoke and coffee, and slowly almost sexual pulled the gag from his mouth, whispering, "Ask me anything." Desperation clawing at his voice, Eli started, "Please, help—" "Each word, one cut," Marla interrupted smoothly, her voice still sugary sweet as she made a small, precise incision on his forearm. Eli's breath hitched at the sting of the blade, the sight of his own blood welling up in a dark red line against his pale skin. He bit back a cry, tears welling up in his eyes, realizing any plea for help would only bring more pain. After a painful pause, he whispered, "Why?" Marla watched Eli closely, her smile lingering cruelly on her lips as she took another slow drag of her cigarette. The smoke curled around them like a sinister embrace, and she leaned in closer, her eyes locked onto his. "You see, Eli, I enjoy playing games. And for the next few days, I'll be playing with you. Unfortunately, you won't be able to enjoy my games as much as I will," she said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. Her gaze was cold and calculating as she studied the fear etching deeper into his features. "Then, when I'm done, I'll sell you. We all have to pay rent." she explained, as if discussing something as mundane as the weather. Eli's mind raced, panic clawing at him as he struggled against his restraints. "No, you can't do this—please," he began to argue, each word punctuated by a desperate gasp for air. Marla's smile only widened at his plea, her demeanor devilishly calm. "Each word, remember?" she reminded him smoothly, making another precise cut on his arm. The pain was sharp, a stark reminder of her control over him. She made another cut, then another, each one a silent declaration of her dominance. His cries filled the room, echoing off the barren walls as despair took hold. Eli's eyes darted around the room, taking in the cold, hard surfaces and the stark minimalism that offered no comfort. The loft felt larger and more oppressive with his newfound sight, each shadow seeming to hold a menace, and the grimy window offering no escape, only a view of a world he couldn't reach. Marla, seemingly unaffected by his suffering, prepared the gag again, this time coating it with hot sauce. "I like to cut you, but dead men don't sell," she murmured, as if confiding a secret. With a swift motion, she replaced the gag, the hot sauce burning Eli's lips and tongue, adding a cruel, fiery pain to his already overwhelming torment. Marla settled back to watch TV, every now and then coming over to Eli nonchalantly making small cuts on his exposed skin until all his words were „paid“. The cuts were shallow, meticulously placed to cause pain without serious harm, a twisted art form for her. Each slice was a brush stroke on her canvas of cruelty. After each cut the told him with a grim smile how many were still to come. Eli, gagged and burning from the hot sauce, could do nothing but whimper and cry. The pain was relentless, both physical and emotional, as he lay helplessly bound. The afternoon dragged on, each moment stretching into eternity. Marla occasionally laughed at something on the screen, her amusement starkly contrasting with the gruesome scene beside her. As the hours passed, Eli's sobs grew quieter, a sound of a soul being crushed under the weight of relentless pain and hopelessness. The room became a chamber of horrors that Eli could neither escape nor ignore, his every sense assaulted by the ordeal Marla orchestrated with chilling precision.   As the loft grew dim with the setting sun, Eli's sense of dread intensified. The faint sounds of Marla's movements were all he had to gauge her approach. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing his fear. Marla, her silhouette darkened against the fading light, approached him. A cigarette dangled from her lips, its ember glowing. She seemed almost a shadow, a specter of malice. Without a word, she removed the gag from Eli's mouth, replacing it with a panel gag that forced his jaws apart and stifled any attempt at speech. Her hands, steady and unemotional, fitted a discipline helmet over his head. The helmet was tight, restricting his vision to nothing and dulling his hearing to a level where the world sounded muffled and distant. He was isolated, cut off from the world he knew, now existing only in this realm of pain and fear. The sharp smell of burnt tobacco filled his nostrils as Marla extinguished her cigarette on his chest. The pain was immediate and brutal, a searing agony that sent shockwaves through his body, but his screams were muffled by the gag, a dull moan the only sound escaping. Marla's hands then moved to encase his hands in heavy leather mittens, rendering them completely useless. The leather was stiff, the bindings tight, ensuring that his hands offered no means of defense or escape. "You've been relaxing all day," Marla remarked, her voice chillingly casual as she began to undo the restraints that held him to the hard surface. She pulled him up to stand, guiding him clumsily through the sparse, shadow-filled loft. Every step was a shuffle, the helmet and gag disorienting him, making the simple act of walking a challenge. Marla led him a few steps backward, and suddenly a creaky noise filled the small space. It was the sound of a door, a lock clicking into place. Panic surged in Eli as he tried to move, only to realize that he was confined in a narrow cage. It forced him upright, the space so constricted he could barely breathe deeply. His body ached, pressed against cold metal bars that offered no comfort or respite. Then, the torment escalated. Marla's hands cruelly twisted his nipples, eliciting muffled cries of pain, and without warning, she squeezed his genitals not brutal but just enough to inflict terrible pain. "Have a pleasant night," she cooed mockingly. "Don´t dare to disturb my sleep, or the shock collar will remind you to stay silent." Her footsteps receded, and the sound of her settling back on the couch drifted faintly to his ears. The normalcy of her actions—eating pizza, smoking more cigarettes, and watching TV—formed a grotesque backdrop to the hellish tableau in which Eli found himself. Locked in the cage, every slight movement brought discomfort, the discipline helmet and panel gag constant reminders of his helplessness and Marla’s control. As the hours passed, Eli's body began to cramp from being forced to stand upright. The shock collar around his neck, a looming threat of more pain, kept him from crying out. He was left to suffer in the silence of his isolation, the contrasting sounds of Marla's relaxed evening torturing him as much as the physical pain she inflicted. This night, like the day, stretched long.   The chill of the morning was still lingering in the air when Marla approached Eli, her steps echoing slightly in the expansive loft. In one hand, she held a steaming cup of coffee, and in the other, a lit cigarette dangled casually. She exhaled a stream of smoke as she neared the cramped cage where Eli had spent a torturous, sleepless night. "Morning, Eli," she greeted him with a falsely cheerful tone, her voice saccharine sweet. "I hope you had a restful night because today, my dear, will be full of fun and games." Her smile was chilling, her eyes scanning his worn-out expression and battered body with a predatory gaze. Eli was visibly exhausted, his body aching from the cramped conditions of the cage. He hadn’t slept a minute, each moment filled with discomfort and dread. Marla unlocked the cage and guided him out, his discipline helmet still on, which muffled his senses and disoriented him further. She led him stumbling to a new apparatus in the room—a padded sawhorse, sinister in its simplicity. She secured his ankles to one end of the sawhorse tightly, ensuring he couldn’t kick or struggle. Then, she bent his body over the structure, locking his head down on the other side. With a D-Ring on his helmet. His hands, still encased in the leather mittens, were rendered useless, hanging limply by his sides. Eli was completely immobilized, vulnerable and exposed. With a sinister grin, Marla removed his pants, exposing his bare skin to the cool air of the loft. She took one last drag of her cigarette and then, with deliberate cruelty, stubbed it out on his buttocks, eliciting a muffled scream from beneath the helmet. The pain was sharp, a brutal awakening to the day’s torments. "Now, let's make sure everyone knows the rules," Marla remarked as she picked up a tattoo gun that was lying nearby. The gun buzzed to life with a sinister hum. Eli felt the piercing pain as the needle began to etch into his skin, the words "Exit Only" being tattooed permanently across his vulnerable area. The process was slow, each letter a stroke of agony, Marla’s hand steady as she wrote. Once satisfied with her handiwork, Marla stepped back to admire the tattoo, a wicked smile playing on her lips. "Well, look at that, Eli, a brand new tattoo just for you. I wonder what your friends would say. But don't worry, it's only permanent.“ Leaving Eli bent over and locked in place on the sawhorse, she walked over to her couch, lit another cigarette, and turned on the TV. The sounds of a morning show filled the loft, a stark contrast to the grim scene near her. Eli remained in the painful position, each minute stretching into eternity. The new tattoo throbbed painfully, and the discipline helmet continued to isolate him from sights and sounds, leaving him in a torturous limbo. Marla, meanwhile, relaxed on her couch, occasionally glancing over at him, taking pleasure in the sight of his helplessness and the effectiveness of her cruel creativity.   By noon, the loft had warmed slightly with the sun's ascent, casting harsh shadows across the room. Marla approached Eli, her steps deliberate and measured. She released him from the torturous confinement of the sawhorse, his limbs stiff and his skin marked with the fresh ink of his humiliating tattoo. Guiding him back to the hard bed where he had spent his first day, she secured him tightly once again, ensuring that he was immobilized. With a small flourish, Marla removed the discipline helmet from Eli's head, allowing him to see her clearly for the first time since the last evening. His eyes, weary and red, squinted against the light. Before him, Marla held a plate with two pieces of cake, the aroma tantalizing and sweet. "I bet you're hungry, Eli," Marla said, her voice syrupy sweet as she took a seat near him. She slowly ate the first piece of cake, savoring each bite, her eyes locked on his. "I have something really fun planned for this afternoon, but I can't share this with you. I wouldn't want you to choke," she teased, her tone mocking his helplessness. As she finished the last bite of the second piece, she set the empty plate aside and adjusted Eli's position. She lowered his head slightly and reminded him of the harsh rule: one word, one cut. With practiced ease, she removed the gag, exposing his dry, chapped lips. Marla then proceeded to lower his upper body, positioning him perfectly for the next phase of her game. She began with the water torture, slowly dripping water onto his forehead from a height. Each drop was cold and precise, causing him to flinch and twitch with every impact. The steady, rhythmic dripping was maddening, a slow torment that gnawed at his already frayed nerves. "After a dry spell, a little water must feel refreshing," she whispered, her voice dripping with faux empathy. As the afternoon stretched on Marla wanted to try something new "Remember to be quiet, Eli," she cooed mockingly as she gently stroke the shock collar around his neck. "This little device is quite sensitive to noise," she whispered, her tone playful yet threatening. Eli, his nerves already frayed, understood the cruel catch he was in. The need to suppress any reaction was immense, yet the anticipation of laughter or screams battling against the fear of triggering the shock collar was excruciating. As Marla began her next torment, tickling him mercilessly under his arms and along his sides, Eli fought desperately to hold back his reactions, knowing any sound could set off the collar. Despite his best efforts, a few stifled laughs escaped, each one immediately met with a sharp jolt from the collar. The shocks were brief but intense, causing his muscles to spasm and his breath to catch in his throat. The room filled with the quiet sounds of his suppressed struggles, the faint hum of the collar activating, and Marla's amusement. After a time, that felt like hours to him, of this delicate and torturous balance, Marla paused, her expression shifting as if struck by a sudden thought. "Well, perhaps this is a bit too cruel, even for me," she remarked with a feigned sigh of compassion. With a swift movement, she removed the shock collar, allowing Eli a brief, misleading sense of relief. But before he could fully comprehend the change, Marla's hands moved quickly to his nose, clamping it shut with a clothespin. "Let's see how you manage now," she challenged. Deprived of the ability to breathe through his nose, Eli's only option was his mouth, which was vulnerable and uncontrollably open due to his laughter induced by Marla's tickling. The room suddenly seemed to spin as his breathing became shallow, his body craving oxygen while laughter tried to force its way out. Marla watched with a predatory gaze, pleased by the panic overtaking him as he nearly suffocated from his own stifled laughter. "There’s no need for silence now, Eli. Laugh all you want," she taunted, her voice dripping with faux warmth. Eli’s situation turned dire as he gasped and chuckled, each laugh cutting off his air supply further, pushing him to the brink of consciousness. Marla’s tickling was relentless, her fingers expert in finding the spots that forced involuntary jerks and giggles from Eli, each one making his breath more precious and his situation more desperate. As she finally ceased her assault, stepping back to observe the effects of her handiwork, Marla quickly fitted a panel gag back into Eli's mouth, silencing any further gasps or involuntary noises. The gag and the clothespin on Eli's nose, effectively cut off his ability to breathe. Eli's eyes widened in panic, his chest heaving in desperate attempts to find air where there was none. Marla lit another cigarette, taking her time to inhale deeply, the smoke curling lazily in the dim light. She watched Eli with a dispassionate gaze, enjoying her brief respite while he continued to suffer in constrained silence. The smell of tobacco filled the room, adding a sensory layer to the oppressive atmosphere. After enjoying the first puffs of her cigarette and allowing Eli a moment of acute distress, Marla finally removed the clothespin. Air rushed into Eli's lungs in ragged gasps, each breath a sharp mixture of relief and pain. Marla’s face held a satisfied grin.   As the loft began to settle into the muted hues of evening, the room was intermittently illuminated by the faint glow of Marla's cigarette. Each puff created a small, glowing orb in the dim light, casting brief shadows on the walls that seemed to dance mockingly around Eli. Marla, seated casually on her worn leather couch, observed Eli with a detached curiosity that chilled him to the bone. The silence of the loft was broken by the clinking of metal as Marla stood and left the room, her footsteps echoing ominously on the concrete floor. She returned dragging a harsh, rectangular box, its appearance as cold and unforgiving as her demeanor. The box, designed to confine and control, featured a precise hole in its lid—just large enough to expose the head of its occupant, ensuring maximum discomfort and vulnerability. Marla approached Eli with the discipline helmet and the shock collar, tools she applied with methodical. Her movements were deliberate, each strap tightened to remind him of his helplessness. Once secured, she guided his stiff, aching body into the box. Eli felt the hard edges press against his skin, each movement a scrape against the cold, unyielding surface of his prison. Marla meticulously maneuvered him inside the cramped space. His legs, body, and arms were tightly confined, packed awkwardly into the box that allowed almost no room for movement. The space was claustrophobic as she closed the lid over him. The locks clicked shut, each sound echoing in Eli’s ears like the tolling of a doom-laden bell. With a swift motion, Marla removed the discipline helmet, leaving Eli's head exposed outside the box. His eyes, adjusting to the dim light, found themselves fixed on Marla's feet, positioned deliberately in front of the box. Trapped in this rigid posture, every detail of her shoes etched into his memory, Eli's world was reduced to this singular, confined view. "You had a hard day, so you may admire a true marvel." Marla cooed, her voice deceptively sweet as it cut through the quiet of the evening. She pointed deliberately at her feet, a playful smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "The rule is simple, Eli: look at my feet. That’s all you have to do. If your eyes wander, or if I even think you're not looking intently enough, you’ll know." Throughout the evening, Marla enforced this cruel game with a remote control in hand, ready to deliver a sharp shock whenever she perceived even the slightest deviation in Eli’s gaze. Each shock was a brutal reminder of his captivity, the sudden jolts of pain snapping him back to the stark reality of his situation. As the hours wore on, Eli's exhaustion made it increasingly difficult to maintain the constant, intense focus Marla demanded. His eyelids grew heavy, his vision blurred, and every so often his gaze would inadvertently falter—a slight drift that would immediately earn him a harsh shock. The physical pain of the shocks mingled with the mental fatigue, creating a torturous cycle that left him desperate for relief. Marla watched with a satisfied grin, taking pleasure in the simplicity and effectiveness of her game. Marla spent the evening in relaxation, occasionally adjusting her position, each movement a potential trap for Eli's weary eyes, the contrast stark and jarring. She smoked leisurely, the smoke wafting towards Eli, the smell intertwining with the mustiness of his enclosure. Each exhale directed at him felt like a taunt, the smoke a physical manifestation of her control over his environment. She lounged comfortably,. As the evening drew to a close, Marla stood and leaned over the box, her face hovering just out of Eli’s restricted line of sight. "Our time together is ending, Eli," she whispered, her tone feigning regret. "Soon, you'll be someone else's... toy. Perhaps they'll find new games to play with you." Her footsteps receded, and the light flicked off, leaving Eli in total darkness. The sound of her retiring to her room was faint, a final note of normalcy as he was left alone with his thoughts. Trapped in the narrow confines of the box, Eli's body screamed in silent agony from the cramped position. His mind, however, was in a far darker place, caught between the terror of the unknown future and the relentless replay of the past days' horrors. As the night stretched on, the minutes blending into hours, Eli’s sense of time warped. The darkness, the confinement, and the lingering pain became his entire world.   In the dim light of the loft, the morning was taking its toll on Eli, each moment dragging by with excruciating slowness. Marla still wasn´t done with him and approached him with a mean smirk. With deliberate motions, Marla removed the panel gag from Eli’s mouth, replacing it with a ring gag. This left his mouth forcibly open, unable to resist whatever she chose to administer. She then secured a strap from the top of the box to the ring, forcing his head to tilt back in an uncomfortable, vulnerable position. She then produced a thin, flexible hose. With a chilling smile, Marla attached the hose to a large container filled with a thick, gooey porridge. "Ready for breakfast, Eli? I've prepared something special just for you. I hope you’re hungry, because we wouldn't want any of this delicious meal to go to waste." She carefully inserted the hose through the ring gag, ensuring it was positioned deep enough to prevent Eli from pushing it out with his tongue but not so deep as to trigger his gag reflex immediately. "Let’s make this easier for both of us," Marla said in a falsely sweet tone, her words dripping with condescension. She positioned herself beside a pump attached to the container. As she activated it, the porridge began to flow slowly through the hose. "There we go, nice and steady. Eat up, Eli—it’s important to keep your strength up. You never know what other fun await you." Eli had no choice but to swallow the relentless stream of gooey substance being pumped into his mouth. The pace was controlled, methodical, ensuring he could just manage to keep up without choking, prolonging the discomfort. As Eli struggled to keep pace with the relentless stream of porridge, swallowing desperately to avoid choking, Marla leaned closer, her voice dripping with mock concern. "Oh, dear, are we not hungry this morning? Try to keep up, Eli. You wouldn’t want to disappoint me, would you?“ The bland taste of the porridge filled his senses, its texture making each swallow a battle against nausea. His stomach began to ache as it was forced to expand beyond comfort, the constant supply of porridge ensuring no respite and no control over the feeding. Marla watched with a clinical interest, occasionally adjusting the flow to ensure it was constant but not too fast. The porridge kept coming, and Eli's eyes began to water from the effort and discomfort. Marla watched with amusement, clearly enjoying the control and the visible struggle. "That’s it, keep going. You’re doing wonderfully," she sneered. "I never knew you had such a big appetite." Finally, as the container emptied and Eli sat bloated and miserable, Marla turned off the pump and removed the hose, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "Well done, Eli! I’m impressed. You managed to eat it all without making too much of a mess. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did" When Marla finally deemed the feeding complete, Eli was left feeling sick and distended. The excessive intake of the porridge left him bloated, each small movement causing discomfort. His situation was demeaning and painful. Removing the hose, Marla left Eli to digest his forced meal, his discomfort evident in his strained expression and shallow breathing. As she cleaned up her tools, her back turned to him, the sound of her casual whistling contrasted sharply with the heavy silence filled with Eli’s labored breaths.   Later that morning, Marla reaplied the panel gag as the distant echo of footsteps heralded the arrival of new figures into the loft. Eli, still confined within the rigid box, could do nothing but wait and watch with a weary dread. His knees ached painfully from kneeling all night, the hard surface of the box offering no relief, each small shift bringing a fresh wave of discomfort. As the door to the loft opened, two figures stepped inside: a large, imposing man with a demeanor of quiet brutality, and a woman whose bored, yet cruel gaze swept the space dispassionately. Eli could only observe them from his fixed position, his head exposed while his body remained painfully confined. Marla greeted the couple in fluent Russian, her voice carrying a businesslike tone that matched the seriousness of the transaction. The man’s eyes briefly appraised Eli, measuring him with a look that sent shivers down his spine. The woman, meanwhile, seemed barely interested, her attention only momentarily flicking towards him. As Marla and the couple conversed, Eli caught glimpses of large stacks of money changing hands. "He is yours," Marla finally said with a nod, indicating the box where Eli was confined. She turned to Eli and crouched beside the box, her voice soft and mockingly consoling, "You might be famous one day, they want you for one video project." The stress on the words "for one" sent a cold shiver down his spine, hinting at a fate potentially more grim than anything he had endured so far. „You have been a wonderful guest!“ were the last words she adressed to him. The couple wheeled the box out of the loft, maneuvering it with a practiced ease. Eli's view shifted as he was rolled through the corridors, the motion jarring his already sore knees further. His heart raced with each turn and bump, the helplessness of his situation pressing down on him as he passed through the familiar yet now unreachable spaces of the loft. Once outside, he was loaded into the back of a large SUV with blacked-out windows, ensuring that no casual observer could see inside. The vehicle’s interior was spacious, but Eli’s world remained confined to the dark interior of the box. Just before the trunk door closed, the russian woman fitted a discipline helmet over his head, plunging him into darkness, cutting him off not only from sight but also from sound, isolating him further from the world. The engine of the SUV hummed to life, its vibrations traveling through the box, reminding Eli of the distance growing between him and the only life he had known. Despite the unknown horrors that might await him, the constant movement of the vehicle and the enforced sensory deprivation oddly allowed him a moment of bleak, introspective calm. Here, in the moving darkness, there were no immediate tortures to face, no mocking voices or painful cuts—just the unsettling peace of not knowing what the next moment held.
