Mariella possessed something Mimi lacked: trust in Damon. While not ideal at that moment, a part of her—buried beneath weeks of programming and trauma—recognized this as more than just sex. This trust remained, a crucial element preventing her from panicking completely as the drugs took hold, blurring her vision but leaving her skin prickling.
Her mind sank into a drug-induced haze; she heard men talking, smelled scents whose nature remained indistinct even to her drugged mind, yet a part of her knew they were not threatening. Warm hands lifted her onto a rack and placed her in bed, her legs spread. Sensations flickered, then darkness consumed her.
Occasional sensations—the softness of the bed, smells, sounds—reached her, but she was too drugged to open her eyes. These drugs, though seemingly identical to those used by her tormentors, didn't paralyze her in the same way; instead, they plunged her into a deep relaxation, a deep sleep from which she surfaced intermittently, sometimes feeling sensations coursing through her body while remaining detached, observing herself as if from a distance.
In her mind's eye, she was lying on her back, naked, legs spread, as Damon ate her pussy; her body contorted, writhed, and quivered, yet she watched this with detachment. She was heavily drugged with a cunning cocktail of dental substances and sedative anesthetics.
A mirror in the ceiling, coupled with Damon's subtle mental nudging, further enhanced this detachment, allowing her to see herself in a new light. This, at least, was the plan, but dealing with the Chaos Pack rarely proved easy or straightforward.
A warm, gentle voice assured her that everything would be alright, yet the touch that accompanied the words sent shivers of fear and disgust through her. She felt unworthy, believing she deserved punishment; the voice, she knew, was lying. As the prick of a needle plunged her back into darkness, she struggled to remain conscious.
Insidious programming had taken root, its grip tightening on her confused and traumatized mind. Damon couldn't locate the source of her suffering, unable to grasp and remove it. She heard others nearby—those deemed worthy of pleasure and attention, unlike herself.
Feeling worthless, she desperately sought an end to the torment, a way to alleviate her overwhelming sense of indebtedness. She believed Jojo, and the others were superior, that Damon loved them more, and that she was an ugly, worthless creature. Any sexual encounter, she thought, would be an act of pity, not desire, as no one could possibly find her beautiful.
Her fractured mind fueled a vicious cycle, forcing Damon and others to further sedate her to prevent complete collapse. Their hearts ached as they witnessed the desperation pouring from her soul.
Mimosa and Shadow shared her anguish, viewing their human forms as a betrayal, undeserved by creatures who felt they were merely animals. Forced into these sensations, neither believed they deserved this treatment. The men tending to them sensed their despair acutely through their heightened telepathy, sharing their overwhelming sense of loss and the uncertainty of ever restoring the self-worth of these deeply traumatized women they loved. The women's suffering felt like an attack on them as well.
Mimi's little intervention backfired. Her mental wipe had erased all clear memories, leaving only a blurry recollection. Without visceral memories, it was nearly impossible to pinpoint the origin and content of the implanted suggestions and programming.
Examining the past proved futile; they needed the specific memory, the experience itself, to modify. It was like looking at a picture or a movie of a rose that had pricked a woman's finger, hearing someone describe its fragrance, but unable to smell or touch it.
Without sensory feedback, manipulating the memory of the prick was nearly impossible, as the women couldn't recall the sensation. Blindly hoping sensory overload would overwrite the negativity, they were overwhelmed by revulsion, self-hatred, and a crushing sense of worthlessness. This eroded their fighting spirit, making the task infinitely harder.
Mimosa, barely conscious, felt someone touch her breasts, suckling from her, yet even she sensed her body's passive acceptance while her mind rebelled. She felt undeserving of these sensations, seeing herself merely as an animal, unworthy of such human behavior.
Mariella, similarly unresponsive to her surroundings, nonetheless felt a resonance as warm hands caressed her. While her skin enjoyed the touch, she felt utterly unworthy of such pleasure. Her mind was a whirlwind of self-hatred, doubt, and implanted programming, twisting her psyche and perverting what once brought her immense joy.
The males' impatience was palpable as they attempted seduction. Frustrated by the women's unresponsive states, they were on the verge of giving up, yet they persisted.
However, the question remained: how long would this take, and what would happen if it failed? Desperation and the need to heal burned within them, suggesting that feeling, rather than logic, might ultimately prevail. This was not what they had anticipated.
Elena drifted in and out of consciousness, her waking thoughts filled with regret over past lies. Even if she hadn't been directly responsible, the sense of guilt lingered, fueled by drug-induced trauma that made her feel monstrous. She was no longer the innocent young girl she had been when she met Damon; she was twisted, a monster.
Even the attempts to comfort her made her shiver, as she felt she deserved far worse. She had let Stefan kill her friends' brothers—a seemingly fun act at the time, but one that solidified her monstrous nature, her enjoyment of ripping someone apart for the thrill of it. Therefore, she didn't belong in this pack.
She knew she had been raped, a karmic punishment. Mimi had taken that pain away, and Elena hoped the lesson would stay with her. Like the others, she was programmed to hate herself, a difficult program to dismantle. It was like removing a piece of deeply embedded tape; you must find the starting point to carefully pull it out, a process made harder by its masking and obscurity.
Despite meticulous planning, things didn't unfold as envisioned. They hadn't accounted for the storm of emotions—weakness, self-blame—left over from the witches' spell, emotions they hadn't properly processed. This made the task harder for everyone, especially the men, who refused to acknowledge their own struggles and instead focused on helping the women.
While a break to regroup might have been beneficial, it was too late to back out; all they could do was push forward, focus, and hope for success. They weren't perfect, but they tried. They planned, they acted; now, the challenge lay in their unwavering commitment to overcoming this nebulous programming.
Mariella was once again awakened, relentlessly pushed by the vehement programming. She capitulated to its power, unaware of its aberrant nature. Her mind readily accepted these false ideas and feelings, twisting her attitudes toward sex and pleasure into something unrecognizable from her past.
Since Mimi had hidden clear memories, finding the root of this twisted malignancy proved incredibly difficult. Damon's attempts were like trying to stand upright on moist ice—frictionless and futile. Complicating matters, the women's hazy memories offered no leverage. Damon's attempts to tap into their sensations proved too much, even for him; his sensitivity to love and trust thwarted this approach.
Increasingly baffled, they struggled to understand the extent of the trauma caused by their infidelity and how to atone for it. They wanted to convince the women that their actions hadn't been voluntary, that they'd been compelled by a spell. As Damon considered this, ghost sensations of pleasure surfaced, memories of the women grinding on his lap, his cock pistoning in and out of their soppy cunts.
He questioned whether it had all been forced, or if he wasn't as morally perfect as he believed. Had their love been diluted? He was unsure. At this juncture, clear minds, free from vicious cycles, were imperative. But no one is perfect; a lesson learned. Damon felt a need for revenge.
He craved retribution, with blood and pain, his predatory instincts awakening. He wanted to find whoever was behind this. Bring them to Austria or one of Mimi's sheds to spend weeks making their victim regret their actions. However, his indolence sometimes intervened; the prolonged torment became boring once his victims began to beg and weaken, diminishing his satisfaction.
Damon had learned over his years with Mariella and Mimi that regret changes nothing; only action does. Regret yielded only mental anguish, while action, however difficult, was what was needed. He knew, as he had learned from painful experience, that those we love most deeply can also wound us most profoundly, and healing requires more than time—it demands confronting the pain we avoid.
Life, Damon knew bitterly, is full of such harsh truths, lessons learned the hard way. Life often defies logic, regardless of our best efforts. Adam and Charles desperately wanted to erase the damaging programming from women's minds, but it proved impossible, at least for now.
Despair weighed heavily upon them, threatening to unravel their resolve. Maintaining their roles was easy with those who hadn't been traumatized, but working with traumatized women proved immensely challenging. Their conviction that things would eventually improve was crumbling like ice in the sun, melting into nothingness.
They needed a nudge, some sign that their efforts would succeed, but there was none; the time wasn't right, and patience was demanded. It was difficult to remain dauntless when faced with a traumatized wife, who clearly hated being touched, her anguish breaking Adam's heart.
He tried to calm Mimosa, to help her enjoy the touch, but she sobbed, pleading in a drugged voice for him to stop. Number Three then entered, injecting more drugs; Mimosa's eyes rolled back, and her anguish subsided—for now.
Adam felt like a beast, his arousal pulsing between his legs, heavy and hard, yet he didn't want to shock Mimosa. He left the room, seeking out Mariella's girls, who were eager and willing; his predatory smile ignited their desire as they spread their legs for him.
Meanwhile, Damon ran a hand through his hair, feeling desperate despite the short time elapsed. He'd kept Mimi sedated; still weak, she was fed intravenously to regain strength before he resumed work. He needed a spark, some hint of progress. Even acknowledging the inevitability of change and the passage of time, immortality didn't make things easier.
He knew that some victories were bittersweet, sometimes lessons learned rather than desired outcomes. Damon realized he needed to subvert the programming—removal was impossible, at least for now, requiring a change in tactics.
Small, incremental steps, pushing where even slight concessions could be gained, might unravel the programming; a dichotomy that could offer a starting point. Damon had a new idea; he wanted to hear the women's doubts and thoughts, contradicting them one by one. His persuasive nature, coupled with a slow, pervasive approach, aimed to dismantle the programming, thought by thought, until it lay in dilapidated ruins. It would take time.
He shared his idea, and a new plan formed: each male would focus on a single female, tasked with overturning a specific misconception. For example, Damon would address Mimosa's belief that she was an animal. Number Two would work on her skin, replicating human sensations; Number Three would teach her about kissing; Number Four would massage her, familiarizing her with the unique aspects of a human body.
This would be a slow process, but with many working simultaneously, the only challenge was remembering individual assignments. Mimi wasn't yet included; Damon needed to work on her first, determining her needs and how best to manage her potentially dangerous rage.
Then, Damon had another epiphany: music. It could alter perception, and had always been a significant part of their lives. He instructed Numbers Two and Four to retrieve Mimi and Mariella's playlists. While unfamiliar with Mariella's tastes, he planned to use empathy to select resonant songs, strengthening his message and influencing the females' internal conflict. Music might be the key to success.
Once the programming was dismantled, they would convalesce in the Azores, he and Mariella, and Salvatores, Mimi accompanying whoever she wanted, wherever she would be. Damon deeply desired to be with Mariella, to help her heal, fueling his determination to end this ordeal. They needed to recover, move on, and perhaps eventually return to pack life.
He knew this coup over the programming wouldn't be easy, but they would succeed. Music, sensations, feelings, and talk would be their weapons. Women would be crucial; their intermittent awakenings would provide opportunities to probe, find weaknesses, and formulate counterarguments. Eventually, they would reach an epicenter, a central knot; once unravelled, the rest would be easier.
However, each victory needed corroboration to prevent setbacks; every solution had to be definitive, a permanent fix. Hope fueled their efforts; those early, small victories spurred them on, providing the encouragement they needed. Ultimately, everything would be alright, but the timeline remained uncertain.