by Sam West
*****
Candy squealed into the man’s hand; the one who had been in the passenger seat and who had done all the sweet-talking to get her here. The one she had fancied the most. His hard body pressed into her back, and she bucked and writhed in his grip.
The fat clown – the one who had stuck his masked face in hers – clapped his hands together in glee.
Her stomach turned to ice and her bowels turned over when the glint of the big kitchen knife in his hand caught her attention.
“We got ourselves a firecracker, here boys!” the fat git said, his voice muffled by the mask.
The skinny, shorter clown behind him was silent, his head cocked to one side with the dead eyes of the mask boring into her. He too held a knife, but his was much smaller.
“Let me go!” she cried into the hand covering her mouth, but the hand pushed down harder, mashing her lips painfully into her teeth and muffling her screams. “Just fuck off!” she screamed, not letting the pain quieten her.
Fucking clowns, she thought in despair. They were all the rage right now; everywhere she seemed to go lately there was some cunt dressed up in a clown suit. Fucking Manchester. Fucking cunts.
Wet heat soaked her knickers and ran down her inner thighs, before cooling on her skin. It took her a moment to realise that she had pissed herself and mortification mingled with the terror.
“Dirty fucking bitch,” complained the man holding her. “She’s pissed on my fucking jeans.”
“You’re getting changed now anyway, ain’t ya? What’s your problem?”
“Yeah, I am. Steven, you’re cameraman while I get changed.”
Steven. The skinny clown is called Steven. Oh God, I know too much about them, they’re definitely gonna kill me.
She renewed her struggles, but to no avail. The fat clown closed the gap between them, his horrible mask in her face again. The painted red lips were pulled upwards into an impossibly wide rictus of a grin and she could see his eyes through the small eyeholes.
They were small, blue and as mean as hell.
His bare, podgy hands – one of which still gripped the knife – cupped her jutting hipbones and before she knew it, his hands were underneath her skirt, tugging at her wet knickers. She went to kick him, but the man behind her lifted her up off the ground, his forearm painfully crushing her chest.
“Tape,” the fat one in the yellow clown suit said, effortlessly sliding her sodden knickers down her legs.
The skinny clown in the red suit – Steven – held out a roll of black electrical tape which the fat one grabbed. The man behind her set her feet back down on the floor and removed his hand from her mouth.
As soon as she opened her mouth to draw breath to scream, the fat clown shoved in her knickers. The bitter, ammoniac taste of the fabric made her gag, and her nostrils flared. Her eyelids fluttered closed.
Don’t be sick, don’t be sick…
If she puked, she would choke to death on her own vomit. Her tongue curled up at the base, but she fought it with all her might.
When she opened her eyes again, the fat bastard held out the opened roll of tape and slapped it over her mouth.
Her screams sliced into her throat and snot bubbled in her nose.
I can’t breathe, oh God, I can’t fucking breathe.
The pressure on her back and chest lifted and for a fleeting moment she was free. Instinctively, her hands fluttered to the tape covering her mouth, clawing at the edges of it with her fingernails.
That was until pain exploded in the left side of her head.
Bastard punched me, she thought incredulously.
She lurched drunkenly away from him, the backs of her knees connecting with the edge of the sofa so that she fell neatly down onto the cushions in a sitting position. She went to stand up, the tears rolling freely down her cheeks and blurring her vision. Sharp pain blazed in her scalp and she screamed into the gag until it felt as if her own voice was tearing strips out of her vocal chords. Pain needled her scalp and her head was jerked sideways, the already throbbing side of her face smacking onto the – thankfully upholstered – arm of the sofa.
The sharp pain in her scalp brought fresh tears springing to her eyes, but he didn’t let go of her hair, applying pressure to the side of her head and keeping her pinned down.
It felt like she had been pinned there for a half an hour, but it was probably less than five minutes. Time enough for the two guys that had brought her here to get changed into their clown suits, too and come back downstairs to join the party.
One of the taller clowns with wide shoulders and a buff body that not even a crappy costume could disguise, spoke up:
“Well, lads, what say we let Steven kick off with the filming? You gonna hold that thing steady, or what?”
The skinny clown nodded, pointing the mobile phone down at her, the small knife still dangling casually from his fingers.
What the fuck is this shit?
“Come on then, let’s make this thing look good.”
She felt herself being lifted up off the couch, strong arms holding her from behind. She squirmed in the man’s grip, but he held her steady with one arm around her neck and the other wrapped around her chest.
She found herself staring at two clowns, one tall and muscled, the other shorter and fatter. The taller one held a claw-head in his hand and the short fat one still gripped the same kitchen knife with the serrated edge.
“No!” she screamed, but it came out incomprehensible as the fat clown proceeded to saw off her flimsy, street-walker clothes with the knife.
She had been prostituting herself for a full year now and feelings of sexual degradation were her natural state. But this, being naked right here, right now, humiliated and chilled her to the core.
Her clothes lay in ruins at her feet, her body offered up to the bastards before her. The cold edge of the knife pressed into the meagre flesh of her stomach, hard enough to make her flinch. Frantically, she shook her head, but it had no effect. There was no pity here, just a cold, hard lust that she had never experienced before at such a high level.
Without warning, the knife bit into her flesh, drawing upwards. Even in her terrified state, she could tell that the cut was not deep, but fear sunk deep into her very soul, radiating coldness through her entire being.
“Fuck, I’m horny,” said the tall clown with the hammer – one of the bastards that had picked her up in the van. “I’m going first, lay the bitch down.”
The hands holding her steady moved to her shoulders and shoved down hard, pushing her to her knees on the plastic sheet covering the carpet. The jolt of it reverberated up her body, knocking her sick and making her jaw clack together. Before she knew what was happening, she was flat on her back with her arms stretched high above her head, and the fat bastard of a clown was standing on her fucking hands. For the first time she noticed that he was barefoot – they all were – but it did little to lessen the pain of having someone stand on her hands.
She screamed hoarsely into her piss-soaked knickers and the tape covering her mouth, tears of agony streaming from her eyes. She bucked and twisted and writhed, desperately trying to free herself, but she was pinned down as surely as an insect under a microscope.
It hurt. It fucking hurt a lot. Agony coursed from her hands down her arms, flooding her body with adrenalin and pain. She felt sure that every bone in her hands had to be broken, crushed flat by the weight of the fat bastard above her.
Dimly, she was aware of her thighs being prised apart, and when she glanced down her body she saw that the broad-shouldered clown was kneeling between her spread legs, his cock in his hand. Without further ceremony, he shoved inside her dry vagina.
A horrible screeching sound echoed in her brain and for a moment she thought it was her own, discordant, frantic thoughts reaching boiling point. As the clown continued to hump inside of her, she became aware that the sound was not, indeed, coming from her own head, but from the TV. The sound of a woman screaming t
o some screeching, death metal soundtrack filled the room. The coldness of the sound, the sheer evil of it, seeped into her bones, setting her adrift on a tide of despair.
The man fucking her didn’t take long. His semen squirted hotly inside of her, and a half-formed thought about STDs passed fleetingly through her mind. She never fucked without rubbers. Another thought hit her simultaneously:
I ain’t ever gonna get the chance to fuck with a rubber again.
For a second, the pressure lifted from her hands. The shift in the pain when they were released was almost as awful as the pain of them being stood on. A blur of arms turned her over onto her stomach, then she felt herself being hauled up onto all fours. She rested there on her knees and elbows, hyperventilating into her gag.
Oh fuck no please, came the jangled thought as another pair of feet stood on her forearms. She heard something crunch just below the elbows. Or it might have been her mind snapping. Either way, pain flared in her arms and the world around her dimmed. She welcomed it, but alas it did not last as her consciousness was dragged rudely back.
Through the haze of unspeakable pain, she felt hands on her rump. She knew exactly what was coming before it happened. How she hated anal. She hated the ripping, tearing sensation of a cock excavating her lower colon, and any woman that said otherwise was a fucking liar. She still did it sometimes, especially of late. It had occurred to her that she had been crossing a lot of self-imposed, sexual lines lately. It was fair to say that her recent shedding of inhibitions was in direction correlation to her growing need for drugs.
But this wasn’t something she wished to dwell on now. Now, all she cared about was surviving. She had inadvertently stumbled into her very own hell, and any sexual ‘lines’ were about to be blown to smithereens.
Sure enough, the hard cock shoved inside her anus. It hurt, but it wasn’t like it was her first time taking it in the backdoor and it paled into insignificance compared to the agony in her hands and arms.
It was the flat-out humiliation of it that cut her to the core, this blatant disregard for her as a person. That she was the plaything for a bunch of psychotic arseholes, that they had no regard for her very life.
The thrusting in her rectum grew harder and more erratic and before long she felt the all-too-familiar spurt of hot come shooting up her lower colon. Laughter reached her ears, cruel sounding and empty.
She was aware of the clowns shifting position around her. Feet no longer pinned her arms to the plastic sheet covering the floor, but the pain was relentless; from the elbows down she was ablaze in agony. She flopped forwards, headbutting the floor, her arms about as sturdy as jelly.
Another set of hands grabbed the sides of her bony hips, holding up her rear end for entry; an onslaught to her vagina this time, rough and quick. It took under a minute for her face and tits to stop sliding back and forth over the plastic. She didn’t care which clown had just fucked her, she just wished for this horrendous blur of pain to be over.
Her wish was granted, but not in the way that she wanted. She was flipped over onto her back and four clown masks leered down at her. They blurred before her eyes, and then there were eight.
Am I being punished for being a whore? I’m only twenty! I’m too young to die.
Fleetingly, she thought of her estranged mother; the woman who had chucked her out when the child benefits had stopped.
I’m never going to see her again.
That was Candy Kane’s final, coherent thought before the real pain set in.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Steven was embarrassed that he hadn’t lasted long, like, a minute, tops. The guys were going to think he was a real loser. But he’d make up for it when it was his turn to play. He’d make sure that he would earn back their respect.
Mark – he knew it was his brother because he recognised his broad, bare feet – was going to town on her with a pair of pliers. It was quite a sight to behold, and despite the fact that he had just finished fucking her, he found he was hard all over again.
I want to go again. I want to show ‘em how long I can last and what a stud I am.
Instead, he made sure to hold the camera steady. He was perfectly aware that there were countless apps they could use to ‘smarten up’ their movie when it was done, including one that removed any evidence of shaking, but he wanted it to be perfect off the bat. He so wanted to make his brother proud.
He, Curly and Dairy watched in silence as Mark kneeled by the girl. Curly was standing on her hands again; her hands looked red-raw and mashed flat by his fat feet. The only noise in the room was the snuff porn playing on the TV and the girl’s pathetic whimpering. Steven held his breath and he could sense the others doing the same.
It was different tonight from last night. Last night was messy and crazy but this was premediated and organised. The air was heavy with their evil, with their desire to hurt. To kill.
She was already in a right old mess. Her stomach was sheened in blood where Curly had cut her before, and her hands and forearms were already blooming a dark red and looked lumpy and misshapen. Her breasts had flattened against her chest with the way her arms were pulled above her head like that, and Steven thought of Julie’s breasts, remembering how they had looked this morning, braless and heavy. For the briefest of seconds it wasn’t this skank lying on the floor, but Julie, and his cock was rock hard again.
What’s he gonna do to her?
His silent question was answered when Mark placed the pliers over the girl’s left nipple. Her eyes bulged over the gag and her back arched in a way that should have been physically impossible. Mark placed a hand flat between her almost non-existent tits and pushed her back down. Keeping his hand there to hold her steady, he held her stiff nipple between the serrated metal jaws. She had big nipples for the size of her breasts and Steven’s mind flitted to Julie’s tits once more. He wondered if she would have big, puffy, dark brown nipples like this girl. He hoped not, he hoped they would be a little smaller, a little pinker.
Her nipple seemed to get bigger and harder under the cold touch of the pliers, like it was begging to be pinched off.
Mark squeezed the handles together and instantly the bud of her nipple bloomed with blood. He felt her screams down his spine. She sounded inhuman, reminding him of the undead or possessed children in the countless horror films he had seen.
Mark tugged and pulled with the pliers, eventually working the bud of her nipple free. He held it up to the light, slowly turning the pliers round in his hand, examining the small nub of flesh.
Steven stared at her mutilated tit, licking his lips. It was funny; seeing the torture porn film yesterday where the girl had her nipple ripped off had made him feel uneasy, but seeing a girl’s nipple get ripped off for real was a turn on. He guessed that the film yesterday had made him uneasy because it had challenged who he really was. It was the fact he had been turned on that made him uncomfortable, rather than the act itself.
Mark placed the severed nipple on her stomach and her eyelids fluttered, her eyes rolling back in her head.
“Don’t pass out on me, bitch,” Mark said, his voice muffled by the mask. “We haven’t even started.”
He slapped her sharply across the face, first one side, then the other. Her eyes appeared to focus once more, and she shook her head from side to side. Steven watched mesmerized as Mark shuffled down her body, making sure to keep the phone carefully trained on the action.
Mark titled his clown-head to one side as he inspected her vagina, kneeling between her splayed thighs. He ran the tip of the metal jaws down her labial folds, before clamping down on her clitoris.
That seemed to wake her up from whatever lethargy she had fallen into. She thrashed like hell, trying to kick Mark which spurred Dairy into action. He grabbed the girl’s ankles, standing behind Mark and holding her feet aloft. Steven snorted laughter, stepping back to get the entirely of the shot in frame. It looked really funny.
“Mate, if you nip off her clit, she’s gon
na go into shock and probably die before we’re ready,” Dairy said.
Mark hesitated, but he didn’t clamp down with the pliers. Then he shrugged.
“You could be right. Okay, I’ll let someone else have a go. Who wants to go next?”
“Me. I want to go next,” Steven found himself saying as he rubbed the crotch of his clown suit.
All three of them turned to look at him.
“Again?” his brother laughed, taking the phone out of his hand. “God, what I’d give to be fucking eighteen again. Fucking go for it.”
Steven didn’t have to be asked twice. This would be the first time he had ever fucked anyone face on – he had enjoyed fucking doggy-style, but it would be nice to see the expression on her face as he played with her one unspoiled tit…
Dairy let go of her feet and he took Mark’s position between her legs.
“Mmph- mmph,” she said. “Mmph-mmph.”
It was almost like she was trying to say ‘Steven’. He smiled, and freed his cock.
Just as he was about to enter her, a flash of light briefly illuminated the flimsy blinds in the window, and his blood ran cold.
Mark went over to the window and tugged off his mask, shoving the blinds to one side to peer out.
“It’s alright, the stupid bitch next door just took the turn too wide pulling in.”
“Did she see you?” Curly asked.
Mark shrugged. “Hard to tell. Maybe.”
“She would’ve seen your fucking costume,” Curly said.
“I took the mask off, you dumb fuck.”
“No, not your mask, your fucking pom-poms.”
Mark looked down at himself, his eyebrows shooting up like he was actually surprised to see them there down the front of his suit. “Oh, yeah.” He pulled his mask back down over his head and stepped over to the girl. “Never mind about the slag next door, we’ll talk about her later. Let’s just get on with this, shall we?”
Which was fine by Steven. In one hand he held the knife and in the other, his cock. Through the eyeholes of his mask, his eyes locked with hers as he penetrated her vagina. Slowly, he withdrew all the way. He held the position for a second, marvelling at the spongy feel of her massaging the glans of his cock. Not being able to contain himself a second longer, he drove in ball-deep. At the same time he drove in the knife just above her trimmed patch of dark pubic hair.