Suffer the Flesh (8 page)

Strings of hair fell in her eyes, and Zoey pushed them back. “Do you know the way out? I’ve been in most of the rooms but haven’t seen an exit.”

“In all the time I’ve been here, I’ve never see one. I’ve never seen any of the guards come or go. Listen, Zoey, I won’t go with you, but maybe some of the others will. Ask around.”

* * *

She’d been watching, trying to see where her tormentors went after they left the rooms, to see where they turned off as they wandered down the corridor. So hard to tell. Unmarked doors, and the guards never announced their departure or their destination, even to each other.

If she’d managed to keep track properly, which was almost impossible in their bizarre time-keeping methods, not knowing day from night, she guessed she’d been there at least a month.

Everyone was assembled in Room Five, large enough to hold all the prisoners (
guests
) and guards. Lucy still hadn’t reappeared, and she’d been replaced by a new prisoner (
guest
).

Three women were chained naked, facing the wall at the far end of the room.

James faced the audience. “Many of you have become lax. You seem to believe I’m kidding around. Perhaps you think that because you’ve been here a while, I won’t go as hard on you as I would a newcomer. Not so, ladies, not so. As a matter of fact, since you already know the rules, I’m inclined to be even tougher on you.

“But I digress. What we have before us are three guests who have forgotten the rules. Three who believed, perhaps, that this has become some sort of joke.”

The woman closest to James slumped forward, her shoulders hitching.

James pulled on a pair of utility gloves and accepted a cat o’ nine tails—thick reinforced shaft, multiple leather strands—from the guard Tony. Raised his arm, the whip overhead and behind his back, and struck the first women and then another, until he was whipping all three, each blow causing horrible screams. The cat o’ nine tails split their flesh, left bloody welts exuding pus and gore on their backs and arms and legs, ample flesh quivering with each blow.

Breathing hard, hands on his knees, face glowing with exertion and happiness, James pointed at the first woman. “Sandra here spoke. Sandra’s been here way too long to have made such a careless mistake.”
Crack
! Sandra screamed, her body shaking, as if trying to break free of the chains.

He approached the middle woman. “Marie was late. Again.”

Crack
! Flesh blood tricked down Marie’s thigh, and she shuddered. “Marie’s
always
late. Think now maybe she’ll be on time?”

“Joanna …” James shook his head. “Joanna thought it was a good idea to attack a guard. There’s no excuse for such an indiscretion. No forgiveness.”

Crack
! The third woman shrieked, threw back her head, falling toward her knees but caught by her wrists in the shackles. To the guard beside him, he said, “Turn her around. And get me the Ripper.”

Joanna was unchained, and she slumped against the guards, who again secured her to the wall, this time facing out.

Another guard handed James the device.

Four-pronged, like sets of fangs, two metal curved spikes jutting up from the bottom, two reaching down from the top.

Face already drenched with tears, Joanna sobbed harder.

“
No
forgiveness for assaulting a guard. No redemption. When one bites the hand that feeds her, the punishment must be severe. Some rules are never to be broken; such transgressions are intolerable. Let this be a lesson to all of you.”

Gently, he raked the tool along her abdomen, leaving pink streaks in its stead.

Joanna moaned, exhaling pent-up breath, her body trembling.

With a quick stroke he lifted the torture device up to her breast and tore through the fatty tissue, delicate skin bursting, white globules hanging, dripping from the destroyed breast.

Joanna was shrill, hysterical, and James yanked the device up from the bottom of her torn body part, severing the breast from her body. It plopped on the floor, a gory lump of ruined tissue and desiccated milk ducts.

The smell of blood, coppery and salty, swam in her nostrils. Zoey retched into her palm.

James snapped his head back, fire blazing from his nostrils. “Anyone pukes, they fucking eat it!”

Handing the Ripper and his heavy utility gloves to Tony, James said, “Get them out of here. Clean them up and put them in the cells.”

James faced the prisoners. “Any questions?”

* * *

Everyone had been told to report to Room Twelve.

The pace in the corridor was rushed. No one wanted to risk being late, to have the flesh torn from her body … as much as she dreaded whatever waited for her in Room Twelve, Zoey hurried to get there.

She followed the crowd as they gathered outside the door. All the prisoners were there—fifteen now, the three who had been punished now missing—and were told to form a line. One-by-one they were weighed. Zoey had lost twenty-six pounds.

She was told to go inside.

“Hey, Zoey.” The young guard took her hand, led her to an area of the floor covered with mats. “You’re supposed to have fun today, and I’ll be helping you along.”

He was upbeat, chipper, a goddamned boy scout. “My name’s Kevin.”

Yeah? Who the hell cares
? The frustration felt when she’d made the decision to give up was almost as painful as the idea of the resignation itself. If Zoey had felt anguish at her inability to fight back before, it had become worse, since she was
unable
to fight, unable to save herself, unable to allow herself basic assumed rights. Zoey decided to do as they demanded. Maybe things would get better somehow … maybe this would keep her whole, prevent them from shredding parts of her body away with a medieval torture device.

She slumped against the wall, eyes buried in the back of her wrist, and sobbed. Waited for the inescapable beating, the whip strokes across her back, the tearing metal hooks rending her flesh into unrecognizable pulp.

Body shaking with her sobs, she couldn’t stop. Weeks of frustration and pain washed away with the tears, acid rain that somehow was cleansing.

“Come with me,” Kevin whispered in her ear, and led her away, her vision blurred, her eyes sore and puffy.

She prayed that her punishment wouldn’t be too severe, that she would survive it, and that it would end quickly.

Kevin brought her to a locked door behind the bathroom, a room off-limits to the prisoners. Inside was a sauna whirlpool, which smelled of chlorine and salts.

“The guards use it. It’s …” He smiled, shrugged. “Relaxing.” He led her up the few short steps to the edge of the pool. She stared at the steaming water, wondering if she was about to be boiled alive.

Kevin stripped, tossing his clothes and weapon in a pile by the door.

Zoey stood motionless at the top of the steps, arms crossed over her breasts.

Approaching from behind, he moved her arms, gently pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it with his own clothes.

He leaned into her, pressed his lips into the back of her head. His fingertips traced her arms, moved further to caress her ribcage, her abdomen. Tenderly he lay kisses on her shoulders, trailed his tongue along the musky, sweaty perfume of her skin. Lifted her hands over her head and stretched her body taut and starting at her elbows followed her silhouette with butterfly kisses and pretend touches.

He motioned her forward and they stepped into the bubbling water, and like a thousand lovers’ touches the water stimulated her legs, her pelvis. Kevin turned her and they faced, and he took a nipple between his lips and held it in his mouth, his breath as steamy as the water. Took it between his teeth, and she felt it harden. He grasped her buttocks and pulled her closer, rubbing his groin over hers, his stiffening cock probing, searching areas, as if waiting for permission to receive him.

His mouth roamed from breast to collarbone to neck, licked her chin, discovered her lips.

But he pulled away, moved his cock so that it rested against her thigh. She wanted to touch it, wanted to feel it inside her, had not felt that way since she’d been brought to this wretched place. But something was different now. She needed the closeness, the tenderness of the man’s touch. Needed the comfort of its delicate strength. Ached to feel it inside her, the velvety softness, the feeling of fullness, of
wanting
.

His fingertips barely dusted the surface of her skin, the endless length of organ alive and screaming and waiting for further touches, waiting for him to complete her.

With cupped palms he poured water over her hair and carefully washed away dried blood and semen from her body. She reached down and took his cock in her hand, but he pulled away, took her hands instead and laced his fingers into hers, bent his head and again found her lips. The water washed over them as they went down to their knees and rested, eyes closed, at the edge of the pool, the only sounds the light humming of the heater and the water lapping at the pool’s edge.

“Better?” he whispered, breaking the magic spell, bringing her back to reality, but she nodded, held him tighter. His tongue probed between her lips and darted against her tongue. Slowly he entered her, and she willingly took him.

A short while later he smiled. “Come on then,” he said, leading her out of the pool.

They returned to the room where they had started. Zoey was strangely relaxed, and felt close to Kevin, felt as if she could trust him. It might have been a blind need to trust someone, anyone—she didn’t know. But whatever the reason, his touches had been salvation, his manner a respite in the nonstop horror that had become her life.

All around them, couples were locked in embraces, some just starting, others fucking, twosomes and threesomes, a few foursomes.

Another man came over and knelt beside Zoey and Kevin. “Hey, can I play?” He smiled.

Zoey felt that comfort zone quickly dissolve.

Kevin took Zoey’s hand in his. “Zoey, this is Todd. Okay if he joins us?”

She wondered why he had even bothered to ask. As if she had a real choice. She shrugged.

“Trust me,” Kevin said.

“I guess I have good timing,” Todd said. “What were you about to do?” His fingers traced the edge of Zoey’s shoulders, barely-there strokes. “How about if I start down here?”

Kevin gently pushed Zoey onto her back. Todd bent her legs, spread them. Gently slipped his fingers between her labia and pushed them inside her. Rosebuds bloomed on her cheeks, and her breath caught in her throat, surprised by the tenderness of his touch. Muscles tensed, expecting the pain that seemed inescapable.

“She’s really tight,” Todd said. “Loosen her up.”

Kevin cupped her breast, rolled the nipple between his fingers. He kissed her, fervent breath on her cheek, her lips, his tongue filling her mouth. He guided her hand to his rock-hard erection, glistening with pre-cum.

Todd spread her wide with his thumbs, exposing her hypersensitive clit. Nerve endings sparked wildly, filling her with intense pleasure. The contradiction of feelings tore her apart. She despised this place, despised what they had done to her, but this … this felt good. Accepting this, allowing herself to
feel
, was something she had a difficult time accepting.

Kevin moved in closer, lifted his engorged shaft to her mouth, tried to guide it between her lips. At first she refused, turned her head, but then turned back to him. Propped herself up on her elbow.

He slid his cock inside her mouth. She sucked, licked the shaft, wrapped her mouth around his balls.

Todd had gotten her wet, incredibly wet, warm juices puddling between her legs, and he eased himself into her.

The men pulled out, guided her to her hands and knees, and Todd slipped in from behind. Kevin guided himself into her mouth, and she accepted him.

“Are you cumming?” Todd cried shortly after, strokes increasing, and she moaned, so damned close now, breath fast and furious, a tidal wave of pleasure. She’d cum before, even when being raped, but she’d despised it, had felt torn about experiencing anything enjoyable, about feeling anything at all when she’d been so brutally fucked.

But now—now she was allowing herself happiness, accepting the inevitability. Her brain had shut down, and all that remained was primal heat, the need to feel closeness, a gentle touch.

Todd came and she groaned, her shuddery orgasm intense and powerful, her legs trembling on wave after wave of ecstasy.

Kevin exploded inside her mouth, groaned in blissful agony.

The three lay tangled in a sweaty heap, chests rapidly rising and falling, the heady scent of spent sex in the air.

The respite didn’t last long. She was passed from group to group, enmeshed in the orgy, accepting her fate in the room, knowing it might never be this good again in this awful place.

Somehow, it had become bearable. Somehow she’d
made it
bearable. Praying for death was easy, but she had chosen to fight for life instead, a new way of life, a way that she had slowly been forced to accept.