Folie a Toi
Copyright© 2026 by A duck named TEF
Chapter 9
Thriller Sex Story: Chapter 9 - 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
’Drip ... drip ... drip... ‘ It is a fascinating thing, the deep connection between humanity and water.
’Drip ... drip ... drip... ‘ Humans are formed in water, incubated in a womb surrounded by fluids, protected until birth.
’Drip ... drip ... drip... ‘ Humans are constructed with water, it is essential to life.
’Drip ... drip ... drip... ‘ Humans respect water, it is the one element that can provide and destroy.
’Drip ... drip ... drip... ‘ Water is gentle, life giving. ’Drip ... drip ... drip... ‘ Water is frightening, truly the greatest terror imaginable.
’Drip ... drip ... drip... ‘
“Noel, Noel!” A young mother was running about trying to find her young child. Where had that boy gone? “Noel!” She shouted, stopping a few other park patrons inquiring if they had seen the small boy with the fiery red hair. No one had seen him, but they joined the frantic mother in her search. Her desperation appealed to their kind nature.
Soon there was a decent sized search party. A shout rang above the calling for the child, a group formed around the central pod of the park. A kindly middle aged man had pulled a young boy from the water and was working to clear the water from his airway, breaths and chest compressions well measured.
A pink blossom of color began to show on the boy’s otherwise pallid face. The mother was beside herself with a mix of emotions. She shrieked loudly and lifted her young boy when started to couch and spit up pond water. The crowd hailed the man as a hero, the woman thanked him profusely. The child would forever fear water.
The man in the mask hit the young woman hard with the broom. “You’ve done better, do it again and don’t make another mistake! Just like I told you! You’re my Magnum Opus, are you not?! You know the game, you know the rules. Do it again!” He shouted. The young woman shrunk at the rebuke and positioned herself once more to repeat the same form she had done countless times. The knife held firmly in one hand, and the ribbon in the other.
Her master had an affinity to teaching her elaborate dances mixed with a form of martial arts. She revelled in his praise, but she loathed herself whenever she did anything to displease him. She was his Magnum Opus, she would prove herself worthy of this title. He would tell her that he had plans for her, she was to be his perfect weapon, his perfect tool.
She wanted to be that piece of his perfection. He only watched, critiquing her every move, correcting an imperfect form. He was moulding her into his ideal of perfection. She was going to be the first of his perfect puppets. Years of experiments and planning, soon he would have everything he ever wanted, he would be untouchable with eyes and ears everywhere. He would take his place as the recognized master of humanity. The true master pulling the strings, controlling the masses of morons.
Any one who was useful would be utilized to their greatest use, anyone useless would serve in his pursuit of the arts. One had to strike a balance between the hemispheres, the critical analytical side of the brain was easily stimulated with games of strategy and problem solving, however the more creative side needed stimulation as well in such things as visual arts and music. The man found his balance, creating a perfect human puppet in the way he pursued it had proved to satisfy both sides of his mind.
When he felt a creative block he would go to any redlight district, or a bar, find someone with a notable feature, drug them, and then turn them into a sculpture featuring that small bit of beauty they possessed. Physical beauty, there was one thing he was not blessed with.
The man watched the woman, her movements graceful and precise. He liked beauty, he had never been regarded as anywhere near Adonis in his looks, his peers seemed to be effortless in how they could seduce, or attract whomever they decided upon in order to gain whatever they desired. This man had to rely on his wit, his cunning, his mind.
The old clock outside of the room sounded the new hour, “That’s enough. Back to your nest.” He took Magnum Opus by the hand and led her to another room, one with a window boarded. There was an accident that broke the window, something that greatly displeased this man, the man Magnum Opus affectionately, and reverently, called ‘Maestro’. He preferred she call him ‘Master’ though, she tried, she always tried, but it always came out ‘Maestro’ she couldn’t control her tongue when addressing him and she never understood why. She didn’t try to understand either.
The man would scold, and punish her when she would refer to him by that name. He was only pleased that she had lost that defiant tone she had used when she first called him by that name. “Reflect on your performance. You’ll be performing against live boars again tomorrow. I want to see you slick with their blood again.” He told her, gently stroking her cheek. The girl was surprisingly disinclined to his rare show of affection, “Whatever you say ‘Maestro’.” There was that defiant tone. Had he not already broken her of this? Had he not found in her his perfect puppet? Was she still in there, holding on to the futile hope of freedom?
He took hold of her long black hair, pulling her close only to toss her further into the room, “You stupid bitch! Starve then!” what he despised of her the most, she had a nasty habit of eliciting his well guarded emotions. He slammed and locked the door behind him, leaving her there with no intention to bring her the evening or morning meal.
He made his way to a large room, a small library in its own right, and to the large mahogany desk at the end. He sat down and powered on the computing device he managed to put together himself. It took him some time as the components to make it were not common components, special orders overseas and all.
This new technology he could see would become more common as technology was constantly improving on itself. This particular device though he had made custom to aid in his experiments and studies. He stared at the monitor, showing a live feed of his current Magnum Opus, or, was she going to be yet another disappointment? He stood again and sighed, leaving the library to make himself a meal. It had been some time since he last ate anything.
It couldn’t have taken him more than ten minutes to make a small bowl of pasta and eat it, not long at all. When he came back and looked at the monitor he saw her, laying on the hard floor, blood pooling around her, and a shard of something that looked like glass in her hand.
He was dumbstruck, surely she didn’t, he thought. Another few moments and he was running to the room. He threw the door open and looked at her, she had sliced up her skin, any part of her he would have used as an artistic feature was ruined with deep cuts.
She was still breathing, still alive but barely. Perhaps she could still be salvaged as his Magnum Opus, a marred one, but a perfectly controlled puppet none-the-less. He lifted her from the floor and took her to the small infirmary he had. He never thought he would need his room, just had it as a protective measure.
The man went to work stitching his project, he had a small store of plasma that he infused into her. He never bothered to learn the blood types of his subjects, and so this plasma was the best thing he had apart from blood of the same type as the one who may need it. It would have to do, not like he could take her to a conventional hospital anyway. Time would tell if she was salvageable or if she was another piece of bio-waste to be discarded. It would be such a waste, at least humans were in abundance.
He had given her a month, her flesh healed well enough, scarring her body to look like a jig-saw puzzle. The scar on her chest reminded him of his mother, she had had heart surgery and so was left with a large scar similar to this.
Just to satisfy a strange urge, he had put a red wig on the girl, with the wig she really did look like his mother, it was a bit easier to care for the invalid when she looked like his mother. She didn’t seem to be recovering in any other way though. As if she was braindead at this point. Perhaps she lost too much blood for too long.
No point in keeping a corpse. The man loaded her into a vehicle and took her out to a marshland he was familiar with. She’d be found by hunters most likely, of that he had no doubt. Just an unfortunate girl found dead, no ties to him. He unceremoniously dumped her here among the reeds and left, he had hydrophobia to a degree and quickly went back to his home. It was time to plan, he needed a new batch of subjects. The girl had been the closest he had been to achieving his goal, perhaps a younger subject then.
Noel Patrick was by no means a physically attractive man, he was stocky in build with ‘ogre’ features such as a large nose and small ears that stood out from his well shaved head. He had long since made peace with the fact he would never be so attractive by societal standards.
What he lacked in good looks though he by far made up for with intellect and brute strength. He took pride in his prowess and knowledge of various fighting styles. Patrick was one who believed in balance, be it of mind and body, work and personal time, mathematics with science versus arts and literature, life demanded a balance.
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