The morning breaking through the curtains in my bedroom finally coaxed me awake, and I was greeted by the sweet essence of breakfast flowing from the kitchen downstairs. Lazily, I threw on a hooded sweatshirt that was sitting right next to the bed and stepped out into the hallway. I could hear eggs sizzling on a skillet and a kettle happily whistling that tea was ready for drinking.
I made my way down to the kitchen, and she was there in front of the stove, wearing a pink apron over a short skirt and a sleeveless top. She took the tea off of the stove and turned around with the smile of a little girl and glided across the kitchen to give me a kiss on the cheek. “You’re up earlier than I thought, Joseph. After last night…”
She flashed an innocent smile and walked back over to the stove. My head started to ache a bit, and couldn’t stop shivering, but I just couldn’t get over those tits. Her ass looked particularly poundable when she bent over to get the muffins out of the oven, but…
“Wait, what?” I stammered, my voice cracking a bit.
With a flirty laugh, she bit her lip. “What do you mean? Last night…”
“What happened last night?”
“You don’t remember?” She frowned, turning off the stove and preparing a plate for me. Her lipstick was deep red and her lips were so luscious, but…
“…who are you?”
“Sweetie, are you feeling okay? It’s me, your wife. Do you want me to call a doctor?” She stammered, looking worried.
“N-no, I feel… I feel good. Tired. But, I’m… married?”
She giggled a bit and walked over to my seat. “Stop playing around. You know we’re married. Remember last April? The white flowers? The beach?” She sat on my lap and put those beautiful tits right at eye level. “The hot tub?”
My head felt like a bowling ball on my neck, and I almost felt like I was going to fall asleep. She leaned forward and pressed her cheek against mine, whispering into my ear, “You remember last night, don’t you?”
I couldn’t put it all together. The food smelled absolutely delicious, the house was well decorated and felt like the house I grew up in until I was twelve, and my wife was just fucking gorgeous. I recognized her, but not as my wife.
“Yes, dear?” She pulled her head back and reached down to the bottom of my sweatshirt.
“What did you… give me?”
“What do you mean?” She giggled, starting to pull it over my head.
“I don’t feel right. I feel like…” I thought about it for a second, and then figured it out. “Vicodin, right?”
“Stop talking,” she started kissing my neck and cradling my head with her hand.
I wanted to go along with it, but I felt fucking paranoid. I didn’t remember anything, and even though I felt comfortable, my heart started to beat out of control. Her blouse came off and she started unhooking her black brassiere just when my brain caught up to my head.
I felt the welts on my arms and the hole in my lip.
I felt the burns on my chest and the bruises on my face.
I felt fucking rage.
In one fell swoop, I threw that bitch off of my lap and wrapped my hands around her little neck, trying to choke the life out of her pretty little face.
In the next, I got hit by a charge from a taser and a rubber bullet in the side of the head. I was laying there helplessly when I looked up and saw Julie rebuttoning her blouse and walking over to the two men in combat uniforms situated in the kitchen.
“He’s not ready,” one of them said to her, but she shook her head.
“No, but he’s close enough.”
The other one chimed in. “Ma’am, you don’t need to get involved with this. We can handle him. We’ve done this before.”
Acid flowed through my veins as the auburn-haired Julie knelt down beside my paralyzed and concussed body.
“I rather like him. He’s going to be my favorite when we’re done with him. He’s not done, but he’s close. Give him another week and he’ll be ready for action.”
She leaned over and, with those utterly delectable melons just barely out of my grasp, kissed me on the forehead and playfully dragged her tongue down my neck. “I’ll see you soon, sweetheart.”
There are whole days that I simply don’t recall from my conditioning. I’ve come to terms with the fact that my brain decided it was best for me not to remember some of them.
The seven days they kept me awake, though, are unfortunately still vivid in my memory.
I woke up to ammonia shocking my nostrils, and I was back in a familiar place: tied to a vertical board and unable to relax my muscles. At this point, I was starting to get used to the discomfort – obviously, it was time for a new torture. Sleep deprivation.
The dissonant screams started back up in a matter of minutes, and the lights went back out, but with one notable exception: I couldn’t close my eyes. Literally. They were stitched open.
Hour after hour, day after day, I listened to screams and stared into darkness, unable to catch even a wink of sleep. Every time I started to get used to the pattern of the screams and lull myself into partial unconsciousness, an ear piercing blast would go through the speakers and I’d wake right the fuck up. And that wasn’t the worst part.
The first two days, to be honest, were horrible. The second two, though, were what had me questioning how much longer I could take this shit.
They locked me in a room the size of a closet; the overwhelmingly stale smell of pine sap and vomit filled my nostrils immediately, and I spewed the contents of my stomach all over the front of my ragged clothes. Then came the real kicker: bed bugs. Fucking thousands of bed bugs.
I heard some movement above me and when I looked up, an insect landed on my forehead. I shook it off, but they started sliding into the box en masse and started covering my body.
My arms. My legs. My face. The back of my neck. Hundreds and hundreds of little bites. Must’ve been enough of them to line the floor. I shook them off, but they crawled right back up my pants and onto my legs. Crawling all over my skin. Crawling down my back, up my neck. Biting me, sucking my blood.
I wanted to kill myself after two hours.
I was dead after three hours.
Four days later, they said they were done with me. I remember staring Julie in the face again and thinking how nice it was to see her smiling face. I wanted to go back to that morning; I wanted to eat breakfast with her, smile with her, kiss her, fuck her.
I wasn’t angry anymore; I was broken. If she told me she was
the fucking President of the