Suffer the Flesh

Chapter 4

Down a corridor painted in soft beige tones, simple art prints adorning the walls, Zoey slowly passed door after door. Most were marked in number only and began with Number Twelve. The numbers descended, even on one side, odd on the other, spaced

widely apart. She was likely on the right track, with Room One at the far end of the corridor. Her bowels felt rubbery as she slowly made her trek down the endless hallway, studying the layout, searching for a way out. A few doors were labeled more bizarrely. Room Six—BDSM. Room Five—Surveillance. Room Nine… her head snapped back when she read the sign on Room Nine.

Room Four—Punishment.

Punishment? Her breathing slowed, and her hands felt clammy. Jesus god almighty, they’ve to be kidding! Where was the exit? Maybe she could get out, could find a stairwell somewhere. She passed Room One, kept going toward the end of the hall. No doors, no sign of an exit. She wrapped her arms around herself. No alternative it seemed. She backtracked to Room One and stared at the closed door. Reached up… pulled her hand back.

Couldn’t do this, couldn’t bring herself to knock. The corridor was deserted—maybe now was the time to search for that way out. There had to be an exit. But what if she disobeyed? What would they do to her? Even worse, what if the exit was on the other side of that door? Maybe they were going to let her leave.

She tapped, and no one answered. Knock again or turn and get the hell out of there? She tapped again. Tried the knob, which turned easily in her hand. Poked her head inside the dark room.

“You’re two minutes late.” A male voice. Soft. Familiar. James.

The breath she’d been holding poured out of her lungs. A smile formed on her lips. He’d been kind to her, in a way. She trusted him as much as she was able to trust anyone in this place. He’d looked so gentle, his blonde hair falling over one eye, downy like swan feathers.

“Come on in, Zoey.”

She entered the room, her eyes fighting to adjust to the darkness.

“Close the door.” He cleared his throat. “This is Room One, the Introduction room. I gave you more than enough time to get here, Zoey. It’s a one minute walk from the cafeteria, yet you managed to be late anyway. I was kind to you, was I not?”

She nodded.

“Speak when I ask you a question. I can’t hear your head rattle, Zoey.”

“Yuh-yes,” she whispered, her heart thudding, sweat trickling down her neck, down the back of her knees. Tried in vain to make him out but there was no light, nothing to focus her eyes on.

“You’ve been bad. Haven’t you, Zoey?”

Bad? No! What was he saying?

“Answer me.”

“Bad?” Her voice cracked.

“You’re learning some hard lessons. But you have to learn to do as you’re told. We can’t have chaos around here.”

That now-familiar dread returned. She felt rather than saw them approach. Hands on either side of her grabbed her arms. She screamed, tried to pull away.

James calmly said, “You’re only making it worse. Do as you’re instructed. Do you understand?”

“Yes!” she sobbed. Gave up the fight, waited for them to lead her. Her T-shirt was lifted over her head, and she stood naked in the darkness, arms and hands trying to shield her body. Then her arms were lifted above her head, her wrists pushed into shackles,

clamped shut.

The lights began to slowly brighten, as if on a dimmer switch. The room was crowded with guards flanking the perimeter.

Staring at her naked in the center of the room.

James approached and eyed her body. Despite what they were doing to her, she felt a fierce embarrassment, a hatred of being seen naked. Her thick stomach exposed, heavy breasts, fat thighs.

He reached up, flicked a nippleand then lowered his head to it and sucked. “See? This could have been simple. This was supposed to be introductions, a tour of the facility. But you’ve failed your first test, Zoey. You just keep disobeying. Why is that?”

She moaned, stared into emerald eyes that seemed so kind. So deceptive, so horrible the secrets they hid so well. This was not a kind man, this was a psychopath.

“Answer me!” he yelled, veins bulging on his neck like thick rope, and roughly squeezed a nipple.

She screamed, tried to back away from him. “I don’t know! I’m

sorry!”

He calmed down, smiled again. Hefted both breasts in his hands. “You don’t know.” Kneaded them like mounds of dough. “How does this feel? Good?”

She looked away. “No.”

He fondled them, squeezed and kissed and licked. Then he let go and walked away. “Okay,” he said, but not to her.

Two men approached her and took over where James had left off.

One in front grabbed her breasts, flicked the nipples with his tongue. Reached down and slid his fingers between her lips, prying them open, his thumb massaging her clit. She tried to back away but bumped into the man behind her. She opened her mouth—

James shook his head. “Not a word, Zoey. Not one single word.”

Anger overshadowed the embarrassment, but she couldn’t react.

Heat spread on her cheeks. Something hard poked her, rubbed against her ass. Hands slid between her legs, moist now because of the bastard playing with her breasts and clit. She gasped as the one behind her slipped his fingers inside her pussy and finger-fucked her and then followed with his cock, pushing himself from behind. Awkward, painful. He rammed the inside of her vagina at a bizarre angle, unable to insert himself in fully. Rough touches. His thick arms wrapped around her stomach, held her in a death grip.

The man in front sucked her tits, his lips hanging from one like a bloated parasite. He kicked her ankles further apart and guided his swollen member inside her. She tried to move away, to bring her legs closer together. His stomach pressed hers, and his fingers

pried apart her labia. Pushed hard against her, fighting for space in her already full vagina. Pushed harder until the tearing pain made her shriek, made her swing her arms and shove her torso against him. But he was inside her now, fucking against the other cock, stretching her tortured canal, digging deeply within agonized places. She writhed, tried to push them out. Burning, shredding pain. Hatred and shame made a grotesque marriage.

They battered harder, faster, sliced her vagina raw, their fucking a practiced rhythm. Seconds apart they came, grunted, leaned into her. A soupy blood and cum concoction tricked down her thigh.

“Good job, guys,” James said, clapping them on the shoulders. He held Zoey’s breast. “Think you’re finally learning?”

Before she could stop herself, before she gave herself even a split second to think about what she was doing, she spit in his face. He stepped back, clearly startled, wiped the spittle off his cheek and stared at her for a moment before he reached up and released her from the manacles.

“I guess you think this is some kind of game. You think you’re being defiant, but you’re not.” He pulled her into him, pressed their bodies together. Placing his foot behind her ankles he tripped her, dropping her to the mat. He fell on top of her and ground his groin against hers. Held her arms above her head with one hand and reached down with the other to violate her, most of his hand inside her.

“This is no fucking game, Zoey. Funtime is over. I’ve had it with your bullshit.”

He removed his hand and wiped it on his pants. To the men who had raped her, he said, “Take her to Room Four. I’ll be there shortly.”

Room Four? Her mind raced back to the signs on the doors—and she remembered Room Four, because it was marked with something other than a number.

Room Four had been marked Punishment.

A screaming and kicking Zoey was dragged out of Room One.