​I stood there, shivering despite the heat, as they began the ritual. The sound of snapping latex gloves echoed like gunshots. Elena opened the briefcase, revealing rows of vials and plastic-wrapped syringes.

​I watched, my breath hitching, as she tore open a package. The needle was massive—a 16G x 1.5" spike that looked more suited for industrial machinery than human flesh. She drew up 12ml of sterile water with a rhythmic shrr-clink of the plunger.

​"What... what is that?" I asked, my voice cracking. "Where are those going?"

​Mara looked at me, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her face. She enjoyed the tremor in my voice. "Exactly where you want them, honey. Right into those thick glutes. And yes, before you ask—it’s going to hurt. A lot."

​Elena stepped toward me, her heels clicking on the linoleum. "Turn around. Pants and underwear down. Now."

​I obeyed, my hands shaking as I pushed my clothes to my ankles, exposing my muscular buttocks to the cool air and their judging eyes. I felt exposed, reduced to a specimen.

​"Nice and firm," Mara remarked, stepping behind me. She traced a finger over the skin, a chillingly light touch. "Plenty of room for a long needle. I think we’ll start high and outside for the first two, Elena. Keep the lower quadrants fresh for the 'special' ones later."

​"Face down," Mara commanded, climbing onto the bed. Her weight was grounding and suffocating as she pinned my wrists into the pillow. Elena's knees locked over my calves, her strength pinning my legs.

​I felt the cold shock of the alcohol wipe. Then, the needle entered.

​It wasn't a quick poke. Elena drove the 16-gauge steel in with agonizing slowness. I felt the metal parting the muscle. I groaned into the pillow, a muffled sound of shock.

​"That's just the needle" Elena whispered. "Now comes the volume."

​The injection began. At first, it was just pressure, but as the 12ml of cold sterile water filled the space, the muscle began to scream. "One in," Elena finally said, the needle sliding out after what felt like an eternity. "Three more to go."

​The second shot, administered by Mara, was a mirror image. By the time it was over, my lower body felt heavy and thumping. Then came the two hours of service—a blur of fulfilling their every whim while my hips throbbed with a dull, persistent ache.

The room had darkened as the evening progressed, the only light coming from the harsh glow of the bedside lamp. It glinted off the chrome of the briefcase and the long, wicked lengths of the needles.

​Elena and Mara were in their element now. The "moderate" part of the night was over. They had moved with a chilling efficiency, prepping the final syringes. I watched, paralyzed by a mix of terror and a dark, twisted fascination, as Mara held the vial of Vitamin C up to the light.

​"Look at the color of this," Mara said, her voice smooth and taunting. "So bright and innocent. But once it hits the muscle, it’s like liquid glass."

​"And the 14-gauge is going to make sure it gets deep," Elena added, pulling the plunger back. The 14G x 2" needle looked like a structural nail. "He’s already trembling, Mara. Look at his legs."

​"Are you scared?" Mara asked, leaning over me, her breath warm against my ear.

​"Yes," I whispered, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might bruise my ribs. "Please... where are those going?"

​"Right here," Mara said, her hand slapping my right buttock with a stinging crack. "And right here," she echoed on the left. "We’re going to go deep into the lower quadrants. It’s a very sensitive spot. It’s going to hurt more than anything you’ve ever felt."

​"Will it... will it be fast?" I asked innocently, hoping for a shred of mercy.

​Both women burst into a short, sharp laugh. It wasn't a cruel laugh—it was the laugh of experts who knew exactly what they were about to do.

​"Fast?" Elena echoed, stepping closer and gripping the waistband of my underwear. "No, honey. If we go fast, we might cause damage. To be safe, we have to go very, very slow. You're going to feel every single drop burn."

​With a sharp tug, she pulled my pants and underwear down to my ankles, leaving me completely exposed. I felt a flush of heat spread across my skin as they hovered over me, discussing my anatomy as if I were a piece of meat at a butcher shop.

​"He's got good muscle density," Elena noted, poking at my hip. "The 2-inch will go all the way in. We'll put the first one right in the center of the lower curve."

​She climbed onto the bed, her full weight settling into the small of my back. She grabbed my wrists, pinning them with a strength that made escape an impossibility. Elena moved between my legs, her knees locking my calves to the mattress. I was pinned, spread-out, and helpless.

​The alcohol wipe was ice-cold. Then, I felt the tip of the 14-gauge needle press against my skin.

​"Deep breath," Elena said, and then she pushed.

​It wasn't a poke; it was a slow, rhythmic shove. I felt the thick metal sliding through the skin, then the fascia, then deep into the muscle. I let out a sharp, jagged cry.

​"Oh, we’re just getting started," Mara whispered from above me, pressing her chest into my back to keep me still.

​Then the plunger moved.

​The Vitamin C hit my nerves like boiling acid. I didn't just cry; I regressed. I began to wail, a high-pitched, rhythmic sobbing that sounded like a frightened child. Tears streamed down my face, soaking into the pillowcase.

​"PLEASE! STOP! IT BURNS! IT BURNS SO BAD!" I shrieked, my body trying to buck upward, but Mara’s weight was an anchor.

​"Shhh," Mara cooed mockingly. "Look at you, crying like a big baby. You wanted this, remember? You asked for the cure."

​"Hold his leg tighter, Mara, he’s twitching," Elena said clinically, her focus entirely on the syringe. "We’re at four minutes. Halfway there."

​Four minutes. I felt like I had been in that fire for a lifetime. Every time I thought the pain had reached its peak, Elena would depress the plunger another millimeter, and a fresh wave of agony would ripple through my hip. I was begging, incoherent pleas for "Mommy" or "God" or "Please, no more," falling from my lips in a pathetic stream.

​When the needle finally slid out after nearly nine minutes, I went limp. I thought I was done.

​"Other side," Mara said, her voice devoid of pity. "My turn."

​The fourth injection was a blur of pure, unadulterated trauma. My voice was gone, reduced to a hoarse, wet croak as I sobbed through the final nine minutes of fire. By the time Mara withdrew the needle, I was shaking so violently the bedframe was rattling.

They didn't leave immediately. They stayed for the aftercare they had promised. I lay there, my face buried in the pillow, my lower body feeling like it had been shredded.

​"He's a mess," Mara said, and I felt the light touch of a gauze pad dabbing at the injection site. "Look at his face, El. He’s cried all the salt out of his body."

​"He did well to stay as still as he did," Elena replied. I heard the sound of a fresh alcohol wipe being torn open. "The swelling is already starting. He’s going to have two very hard knots in those muscles for a week."

​"At least a week," Mara agreed. She pressed a piece of medical tape down firmly, the slight pressure making me hiss in pain. "He won't be walking straight for a while. Every time he takes a step, that Vitamin C is going to remind him of us."

​Elena leaned over, her face entering my field of vision. She looked satisfied, like a teacher who had finished a difficult lesson.

​"Are you okay?" she asked softly. "

​"Please... let me up," I gasped, my chest still hitching with leftover sobs. "I just... it hurts so much."

​"Of course it does," Mara said, patting my cheek. "That was the point. Now, stay there. Don't move for twenty minutes, or you’ll faint when you try to stand."

​They packed their bags with a series of efficient clicks. As they reached the door, Mara turned back.

​"See you in a month?" she teased.

​I didn't answer then. I couldn't. I spent the next two days in a state of miserable recovery, my butt so sore that even the weight of a bedsheet felt like a burden. Walking to the bathroom was a Herculean task that brought fresh tears to my eyes.

​But as the time passed, the pain faded into a dull, phantom itch. The memory of the needles—the 14-gauge steel and the absolute power they held over me—began to glow in my mind. The "cure" hadn't killed the fantasy. It had simply raised the stakes.