Suffer the Flesh

Chapter 7

Alone in the cells, dim sconce struggling like the flame of a dying candle. Surprised that they hadn’t left her seething in total darkness. Body damp, shirt clinging feverishly to her skin. Pushed sticky hair off her chin. Smelled her own ripeness, the unwashed odors of sweat and despair.

Now she had company. He quietly entered the cell and sat beside her on the cot.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen," James said.

“Get the fuck away from me.” Zoey pulled the sheet over herself.

“You must have done something to piss Robin off. She just got a little carried away.”

“Fuck you.” Screw their rules. She didn’t have much to lose by expressing herself—what more could they possibly do to her? Besides, it felt wonderful to vent.

The other cells were empty. She wondered what time of day it was, because she never knew for sure, not in this windowless torture chamber where the clocks indicated numbers but never an accurate time of day. She slept and woke as commanded, but her internal clock had never felt more confused, not even during her frequent trips to and from England to visit then-boyfriend Doug in Ireland.

“I want to go home,” she moaned. “Why can’t I just go home? I don’t belong here. All those other women seem to be handling this, but I can’t.”

The sheet was draped over his leg and he pushed it aside, rested his hands on his lap, leaned against the brick wall. “They’re not all handling it. Some are worse than you. You’re just not seeing it.”

“That’s a small comfort.”

He cocked his head, studied her breasts, and with a tentative, almost-shy gesture, he slowly trailed a finger along her arm. “Big women are beautiful,” he whispered.

Fire burned in her brain. “Then why the hell do you want to make them thin?”

“It’s my gift. My way of pleasing you. I know what you want.”

“You’re still not getting it. The only way to make me happy is to let me leave this place.”

He smiled. “I can’t do that. But you’ll only be here for a few months. Six, tops.”

Six months? Her jaw muscles worked, mouth dropped open. “What?”

“That’s not so long. You just need to adjust.”

“I can’t! I want to go now.” The frustration grew, a frenzied mass trying to explode through the top of her head.

He stood, stretched his arms overhead. “Stop yelling. Maintain a civil tongue, Zoey.”

But now she was sobbing, her balled-up hands pounding the mattress.

“Last chance to settle down. I do have standards to maintain.”

And she heard him, heard every last word but couldn’t control herself, needed this release.

“I’m giving you three seconds, Zoey. As much as I like you, I can’t make exceptions, can’t deviate from my standards.”

Three seconds came and went, and so did James. She collapsed on her face and sobbed into the pillow.

Clanking metal woke her—how long had she been asleep?

The cell that had been a stark gray was now without a source of light and had become as dark as a starless night sky. The light poured in from the end of the hall, and a stream of women flowed inside, entering their cells. Their voices sounded like sighs, the beating of tiny insect wings.

Zoey crept across the floor and wrapped her fingers around the bars, peered into the now-blackness of the cell beside her own. “Kim? You there?”

Conversations were minimal, their voices sounding tired. The sweet musky scent of sweat mingled with blood hung on the air, thick and pithy.

“I’m here.” Kim was beside her, on the opposite side of the bars.

“Anything going on?”

“No surprises, if that’s what you mean. We were wondering what happened to you.”

“After that bitch Robin attacked me, they brought me back here.”

“You okay?”

“I guess.” Zoey sighed, expelling the weight of the world from her lungs.

“Get some sleep. I’m exhausted. They really wore me out.”

“I know how you feel, Kim. Try to rest.”

She sobbed, her shoulders hunched into the bars. “I can’t take any more, Zoey. I want to go home. I just want to die.”

No words would come. Zoey empathized, held her through the bars as best as she could, until Kim sniffed and pulled away.

Hands extended for guidance in the blackness, Zoey returned to her cot.

The following morning—she guessed it was morning, it could have been any time at all—Chambers paid her a visit, medical kit in hand. She applied a cream between Zoey’s splayed legs and then told her to lie on her stomach while she inspected her back.

“Not too bad,” Chambers said. “Some bruises, light scratches. You’ve been lucky so far.”

Lucky.

Again in the cafeteria, ground zero, given her assignment by a guard scratching his hairless head his pencil. “You’re in Room Nine today. Huh. Good luck in there.”

Oh great. Good luck?

His face drooped, and he looked forlorn, as if he was sending her into battle unarmed. “Just… remember to do what they tell you, okay?”

A cold chill gripped her colon.

“And be there by ten.”

That left her fewer than ten minutes, so she headed down the corridor.

Good luck, the guard had said. Was he trying to scare her? It worked. Her heart thumped against her ribs. She sucked air and stepped into the dark room.

The air was damp, mildewy, sat on her taste buds. It was a peculiar claustrophobic feeling, akin to being buried alive. A metallic, salty tang filled her nostrils. Reminded her of the time she had gone deep-sea fishing with her grandfather off the Jersey shore. He’d caught a marlin, and she’d caught a baby shark.

She could smell that air again now. In the corner of the room there was a chair, more like an exam table, similar to the one they had used her first day there to rape her after her “gynecological exam.” This was shorter, and it also had stirrups. The line of six women moved quickly through, each having a turn in the chair, something being inserted into their vaginas.

“Zoey—let’s go.” Tony shoved her toward the line. When it was her turn, she climbed up, sank back into the plush leather. Her feet were guided into the stirrups.

“Relax, this is nothing. Just inserting an electrode to monitor your responses.”

Chambers said to Ted, who was standing beside her, “Number 99552. Name Zoey. Lot number 8359.”

“Okay, here we go.” She pushed a single finger inside. Zoey barely felt it, and had been unable to see what she was inserting.

Slight pressure, deep. Pulled it out, inserted another finger inside Zoey’s anus, pressed against the wall.

Seven women, including Zoey, were told to strip and were ushered to the center of the room.

The male guards undressed and began stroking themselves. The women were forced to the floor.

Zoey’s guard wanted his dick in her mouth, and she shuddered, knowing resistance would be worse than this. She accepted him, licked the hard shaft, teased the balls with her fingers.

“Good. Get it good and wet. Suck it.”

Lips kissed the tip, took as much of his swollen member into her mouth as she could, and she worked it for about a minute.

He pulled out, knelt beside her. “Turn around.”

On her hands and knees. Wet fingers pawed at her pussy. But then his cheek rested against her ass, steamy breath tickling the delicate hairs, and he licked her asshole. It closed up, resisted his tongue. He plunged his spit-slicked finger inside her anus.

Around her, groans, sobs, squeals of pain. The smell of body fluids ripe, heavy.

“Spread your legs,” he said, and licked her asshole again. The tip of his engorged cock poked against the tiny hole.

“No,” she begged, agonized gasps stealing her voice.

Slowly he impaled her, half an inch at a time, a sensation that she was tearing from the inside out. Pain rippled through her body. He pulled out, a spasm of momentary relief. Drove into her again, and the agony started once more.

“Oh, god!” she sobbed. Tears dripped to the floor, fingernails gouging into the padding beneath her. A bit more until he entered her fully with one final, powerful thrust. She screamed, tried to crawl away. He fucked her ass, pumped and pounded, clutched her hips like handles. Fondled a breast when he could, crushed it against her body, pinched sore, abused nipples. He convulsed against her and pulled out, a blood and cum mixture tricking down the back of her thigh.

Nausea captured her breath, and she collapsed on her side.

After the moaning subsided, after the cries began to die down, a guard said, “Most of you did well. But two of you did not.”

Oh, no. Clamped her eyes shut, clutched her stomach.

“Zoey, Lucy. Over here, please.” Dread washed over her like acid rain. Her feet slipped in the bloody cum. She got up again and joined Lucy.

The guard handed Zoey a towel. “Wipe your ass.” He cocked his head, clicked his tongue. “What the fuck is it with you two? When will you learn?”

He pointed to rings bolted to the floor. “Get down, hands and knees. Grab the rings.” Similar setup to the room where she’d been forced to wear the leather hood. Their hands were snapped into the cuffs. Several feet of floor separated the two women. Hands pulling her ankles wide apart. His chest was pushed to the floor, her ass held up in the air by someone beneath her torso, guiding her hips.

Lucy was pushed into the same position.

“Listen up, you two. If you move, not only will you have to go through this anyway, but I’ll beat the shit out of you first. Clear? Answer yes or no.”

Voices shaking, both said yes. Zoey wished for her death, wished the earth would open up and swallow her whole.

“Okay, we’re ready,” he said.

Zoey heard a door click open, heard panting breaths like an overzealous lover… heard the slight whines, the sniffing. Felt the cold, wet nose pressed against her groin, inspecting the bloody, torn anus. Then the nose moved further, seeking out her vagina… its tongue followed, lapping at her cunt.

“Oh, no…” Lucy moaned. “No!”

Zoey forced her mouth shut, forced herself not to say a word. Felt paws on her lower back and then around her abdomen. The animal’s large, hard penis pressed against her crotch. The shock of penetration, ragged breath harsh, uneven, arms quivering, the dog’s moist panting against her back, its sharp claws digging into her flesh. It nipped her, pushed into her, its rhythm awkward, feral. It finally pulled out and was gone. Her wrists were unlocked and someone pulled her up off the floor, and she was pushed toward the other women.

Lucy’s dog finished shortly after, but she was left in the same position. A guard removed his belt and struck Lucy, the cracks sounding like gunshots. Lucy was sobbing but not saying a word.

“If you move, Lucy, it’ll only get worse. If you speak, Lucy, it’ll get horrible. Do you understand? Yes or no.”

“Yuh-yes!” she wailed.

“Okay, we’re ready.”

Zoey turned her head toward the door as the dog handler entered the room. The Great Dane’s cock was enormous, at least twelve inches long, several inches thick. It swayed between its legs like a massive pendulum as it trotted over, licked Lucy’s crotch before mounting her.

Lucy’s agonized screams pierced Zoey’s ears and shredded her heart. Over the animal’s guttural snarls, she heard the soft sound of Lucy’s vagina tearing, like tissue paper being ripped to shreds.

A minute later the dog trotted off, leaving Lucy sobbing in a puddle of blood.

“Get her on her feet,” James said, entering the room. He stood before Lucy, glared at her, and then shook his head. He wandered a few feet away and motioned for the guards to bring Lucy over, and she was secured face-up to the rings on the floor.

“Get me the Pear,” he said, and Lucy began to sob.

The women beside Zoey gasped or squeezed their eyes shut.

“Please, James,” Lucy moaned, panting, near hysterics. “Please don’t. I swear I’ll listen. I’ll do whatever you say. I swear to god…” But her choking sobs cut off her words, and what followed next was a shrill scream that rattled Zoey’s eardrums.

James ignored her pleas and accepted the device from the guard who had retrieved it.

On the floor Lucy twitched, her knees jammed together in a futile attempt to ward off her attacker, her body twisted as if undecided which direction it desired to go.

“Spread her,” he said, and Lucy howled, threw back her head.

The Pear was named for its shape, the large metallic oval head supported by a thick rod leading to its base. At the end of the rod, a lever. Metal prongs adorned the head of the Pear.

James pushed the Pear into Lucy’s vagina, and Zoey could see the oversized bulb obscenely spreading the woman’s tortured flesh.

Lucy thrashed, tried to slide away on the floor but was held down tight. Two-fisted, James gripped the handle and began to rotate the lever. With each turn, the Pear spread Lucy further, the metal prongs catching her flesh, and she screeched, unable to escape the torment.

James turned and turned the lever until there was a hideous ripping sound, until blood poured from between Lucy’s legs. Unconscious or dead, she no longer moved.

The stunned women were told to report back to the cells.