Folie a Toi
Copyright© 2026 by A duck named TEF
Chapter 8
Thriller Sex Story: Chapter 8 - A career serial killer has his life abruptly changed when he comes across a mysterious young woman with seemingly no past. A group of detectives and a psychologist work to unravel the extent of the perpetrators crime, and the origins of the young woman and her multiple personalities while an even greater threat looms in the background trying to remain within the shadows of his monstrous existence. Will the darkness of shared madness win out over justice?
Caution: This Thriller Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Drunk/Drugged NonConsensual Rape Heterosexual Fiction Crime Rough Sadistic Snuff Torture Necrophilia Cannibalism Prostitution Violence
Summer was once again acquiescing to the bitter chill of fall, but the sunshine refused to allow for too much cold to take hold on this day. It was a perfect day, in Birdy’s mind anyway, she was happily walking beside Jester along the side of the small road in the downtown area of their new temporary abode. She gleefully hummed some nursery tune while keeping pace arm in arm with Jester.
Exploring the new area was always something Birdy looked forward to, it gave her a chance to spend time with her Jester in an environment other than a stuffy motel room or the Altima. This place though almost felt familiar, like she had been there before many times years ago.
She had been so lost in thought that she didn’t notice Jester had stopped until she felt him pat down on the red wig she was wearing, “Birdy, did you hear anything I just said?” he asked, regarding her with a look that could be mistaken for genuine concern.
She blushed slightly in embarrassment, she had not heard anything being so lost in the muddle of her own mind. “N-no.” Her voice came out barely above a whisper. Jester clicked his tongue and shook his head in a show of exaggerated disappointment. He pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her waist, “I guess that’s no ice cream for you then. Try to pay better attention next time, or you’ll miss out.”
They had stopped outside a candy shop, but not for long. Having missed the chance for a treat Birdy felt even more ashamed of herself for not listening like she should have. Jester was her everything after all, why did she miss what he had asked her? What was more important than him at that moment? She forgot about her nostalgic feelings, returning her focus mostly on Jester. “I’m sorry.” She said, still hushed and leaning into Jester’s hold.
Later that night as the two lay in bed, Jester couldn’t rest. He held Birdy close to himself and ran a hand through her black hair. ‘The hell are you doing to me?’ he wondered, always the question of who she really was and how she affected him.
He didn’t want to admit it, couldn’t admit it, that she had a strange power over him. Ego would never allow for him to admit that this puny woman had any power over him. She was his, not the other way around, she belonged to him. How though, how could he properly claim her as his own if he didn’t know who she really was?
He brought his lips closer to her ear, “I don’t know if you can hear me, but you’re safe with me. You’re mine, and no one else, not even Maestro, can have you now. Don’t hide, I won’t hurt you.” He whispered gently. Somewhere in a dark corner of a loud chaotic prison, that voice broke through the cacophony of madness and desire to survive. Birdy inhaled sharply, which briefly startled Jester, but she remained asleep. ‘So there is someone else in there. I’ll find you, and you’ll be mine completely.’ His grip on her tightened as he tried again to fall asleep.
Too much paperwork, enough to bury him alive, but Mr. Steele preferred this to meeting with his client, Mr. Lazlo. If he was to be completely honest though, he preferred paperwork to everything else about his current job. Written word, numbers, judicial laws, procedures, reports, he much preferred this work than the human elements. The paperwork for this case was stacked enough to hide him from view of anyone who would look into the office; he had been locked in twice this week due to his colleagues’ lack of consideration for his existence.
Not that getting up from his long seated position was a difficult task, it served to remind him that the day had ended when he would get up to turn the office light back on. The noises of his colleagues barely affected him, when Mr. Steele was focused on his work, nothing would distract him. That was one of his greatest skills in school, a skill well honed during hours spent studying so he wouldn’t be left too far behind his twin brother.
Now here he sat, working on requests, no demands, from Mr. Lazlo, replies to the court officials, and compliance reports for the enforcement case files. In addition to the handwritten hard copies, he was also inputting the documents into the new computer system the office received. Handy device, but arduous in transcribing all the hard copies into this system.
The office only had two computers, though it was no problem on a normal work day when there usually only ever was two people in the office. During extraordinary circumstances though when all the office occupants were present it was a challenge. Mr. Steele, ever the pacifist, never raised his voice in protest when a colleague requested to use the computer.
Working on the filing, Mr. Steele did his best to avoid the case photos, though one caught his attention, Birdy and all those scars. He didn’t know what this photo was doing in the file, but that didn’t matter at the moment, it was there and he was holding it, gazing at it. The report attached stated that the scarring was self inflicted, what would drive anyone to scar themselves so? It wasn’t a design as ritual scarring the islanders would do, it was more as if someone had sewn her together. “What horrors hide behind the shield of personalities?” he said aloud to no one. Mr. Steele leaned back in his chair, still holding the photo, studying the scars on the young woman.
‘What are we doing?!’ She thrust the piece of glass into her skin and dragged it from the base of her neck where the collar bone met the sternum, down, and around herself following between two ribs. “I will not allow him ... his victory...” She said through the pain. She knew that if he realized that part of her still lived he’d use her in his twisted art work, if things continued like this though she would continue to be a pawn in his twisted game.
She would ruin the canvas. She was going to go out in her own way. If this was the end, then at least she was in control. She continued, marring her skin with jagged cuts. She wanted to survive this, but she didn’t want him to find any use in her.
‘Why? Don’t defy Maestro! We are the Magnum Opus! We are useful!’ “That’s a lie you needed to survive. I WON’T LET HIM WIN!” she continued using the glass shard to rip into her skin. Slicing everywhere she could possibly reach.
By the time she was done blood had pooled around her. She fell, embracing the cold quiet of nothingness. Only sporadically did she manage to open her eyes. First when she was lifted off the ground, noises were muffled around her.
Sometime later she couldn’t move, everything was numb but she managed to catch her reflection, bundled in bandages. Later still she felt herself being carried again, as if she was given up on she fell into a cold nothingness again. The rain began to fall slowly. The feel of water drops hitting her roused the woman from her void-like slumber.
With great effort she raised herself from the reeds of the marsh. Her mind was completely blank, but the sound of a door closing caught her attention. Something in the back of her mind was telling her to Survive, that sounds meant humans, and humans meant survival.
More effort and she brought herself up to her feet. She moved like a reanimated corpse towards the sound. By this time she was soaking wet, the reeds were a lot soggier than she had first noticed, and now she was shivering, wet, and wanted warmth. She tapped on the driver’s window, seeing a man inside the vehicle. When he came out the woman knew that he was her salvation from ... from what?
He used videos of savage combat, and ground war on his victims at this stage. Their eyes were forced to stay open as they endured the horrific scenes, bound to bolted chairs, mouths taped so they couldn’t speak, and every so often a silent masked man would lubricate their eyes with saline drops so their viewing of the videos would continue.
What was the point? They had been enduring hell through various tortures and now this? After days, if not weeks, of videos highlighting human brutality they were given their answer. The digitized voice rang over unseen speakers, “If you want your life back, you’ll be the last one standing in the arena tomorrow.”
They would comply, by now they were all broken, by now they had long lost that part of them that defined them as human. By now they had succumbed to numbness of emotion and loss of autonomy. They were puppets, now to see who was the best puppet.
Each torture, each ‘experiment’ tore away a piece of their individuality, and now this latest onslaught of visual violence would plant the seed for brutality, the need for blood shed in order to live another day, only at the mercy of their master. If he still had an apprentice, the masked man would have hedged a bet that the drill sergeant would rise victorious.
His apprentice though had long since lost his life to a girl whose escape was foiled by a door. That girl was tough to break, probably due to her young age. Children were apparently rather resilient.
The masked man, truly Master, decided that he would slowly introduce more youths into this barrage of experiments. Now to see just how this crop would do, with any luck the victor wouldn’t disappoint him at the end. The three before committed suicide, and the first to make it this far fared even worse a fate, finding his voice once more and daring to speak out against his Master.