The President's Secretary (Evil Morty X Reader)

Just a Toy

You wake up with a start to the sound of a gunshot. You open your eyes. The body of a Rick is slumped in a chair. His entire head is blown to pieces, and you hold the gun. Your eyes dart to your left, and your Morty carries an unconscious Morty over his shoulder. He opens a portal and steps through. Your legs somehow move on their own, and you step through the portal. You arrive in a place you've never seen before. A room, filled with abandoned, cowering Mortys.
Your Morty practically throws the unconscious Morty on the floor, causing the other Mortys to disperse. Your Morty opens another portal and grabs your wrist.
"Come on," he commands, "we have to clean you up for tonight."

Tonight?
What's tonight?

Both of you step through the portal and arrive inside your bathroom. You just stand there as Morty begins to strip off your clothes. You look down at your body in shock. Wires and screws protrude from under your skin like tumors. You keep on trying to run away, but it's like you don't have control of your body, but only your eyes.
The tub fills with water and you step in. Morty begins scrubbing your body aggressively, causing scratches and irritation on your skin. It hurts, but there's nothing you can do about it. He rinses you off and walks to the closet, grabbing a hairdryer and looking at it contemplatively before holding it over the tub, letting it dangle by a short wire.
"You know..." he mutters calmly to you, unaware that you're actually listening, "I could drop this into the bath and watch you die, just for my own amusement. But I won't. Damaged property won't make as much money."
Morty sets the hairdryer on the table and starts draining the tub. You get out and he begins drying you off, brushing out your hair, which is longer than you remember it being. When Morty looks at your face, squinting in confusion. His thumb pushes into the corner of your eye, then he pulls it away.
"...tears?"
He wipes his thumb on a towel, looking at you in suspicion.
"Must be a malfunction in the tear ducts." Morty puts the brush down and stands you up. "I'll take a look tomorrow."
Morty wraps a robe around you and leads you outside. "Let's go."

What's happening?
Where are we going!?
I'm naked!!
I can't go out there!

Since there's no way to object, and your jaw being literally locked in place to the point where you can't open your mouth, you follow. As if you had a choice. Morty stops you in front of his office door and reaches into his pocket. When his hand emerges, it clutches a blood red tie. He wraps the tie around your head, enveloping your non-blinking eyes and glassy stare in an endless sea of crimson. You feel something big wedge itself inside your mouth. Your lips close around the object and your teeth compress it. Firm rubber? From the way your tongue rests itself uncomfortably near the object, you can tell it's in the shape of a sphere. Cold leather constricts your neck like a python, followed by the sound of jingling chains. Freezing metal clamps itself tightly around both your wrists. Once you fully realize what's going on, your skin is greeted with frigid air as your robe is stripped away from you.

Jesus Christ...
Please, don't do this to me...

Though you can't see your surroundings, you know for a fact that Hell lies in wait behind that office door.
The door creaks open and something tugs at your neck, causing you to lurch forward towards the sound of the jingling chains. You stop and a door closes behind you. Morty cuts through the silence by clearing his throat.
"Men..." he begins, "as promised, I have kept my end of the deal. Three hours, whatever you want. Same as usual."
You can barely hear the rest of Morty's sentence before you're shoved down, your face colliding with the hardwood floor like a corpse being thrown into a shallow grave. You feel multiple pairs of freezing cold hands touch your skin, then everything goes numb.
You know exactly what's happening, but your brain refuses to process it. Every muscle, every bone, every joint, every orifice is screaming in agony. And all you can do is stare blankly at the ceiling. This is a fate worse than prison. You've never felt more dead inside, but you've never wanted to die more in your entire life.

When you come to, you're in a pitch black room, not even a meter wide. You're pressed up against the back wall, knees hugged to your chest. You've never felt this... pointless. You're an object now. Just a toy. There is no god anymore. No, there is a god, and he's the one holding the remote control. You stare at the wall, tears silently pouring down your cheeks.

The only thing left to do is try to sleep and hope you don't wake up.