“I’ll explain everything to you. What do you remember?”
The air was cooler the farther down they walked, headed toward the light at the end of the hall. The corridor was lined with cells, all empty, all dark.
“I don’t remember anything,” Zoey said. Cold bare feet slapped the concrete.
Dr. Chambers nodded for the officer to leave. “In here, please.”
She led Zoey into a small medical exam room beside the cells.
“You were brought in unconscious. Do you remember anything at all?”
“No. Nothing really.”
“We believe you might have been sexually assaulted but wanted to wait until you were awake before doing the exam.” She patted the table. “Up here, please.”
This wasn’t a good idea. Zoey didn’t remember a sexual assault, and she didn’t feel as though she’d suffered through one. Leaving seemed like a better idea. She could see her own doctor. And if she’d been assaulted, why did they have her in a cell and not a hospital? In a dark, dirty—
“Zoey?” Dr. Chambers took her elbow, and Zoey, still stunned, still overwhelmed, climbed onto the gynecological exam table.
“Feet here.” Chambers lifted Zoey’s feet, guided them to the metal stirrups. A soft material was draped around her ankles.
Zoey sat up. “No, I don’t think—”
Ignoring her, near Zoey’s head now, Chambers took Zoey’s hands and lifted them above her shoulders. “Hold on to the grips.”
“The what? Please … I want to get down.” More soft material draped around her wrists. Zoey craned her neck. The doctor was securing Velcro bindings.
“What are you doing?” Her lip trembled. The room suddenly felt bitter cold.
Chambers didn’t respond. She took a pair of shears and sliced the front of Zoey’s shirt from neck to crotch.
“What are you doing?” she repeated, heart palpitating, body trembling. Tried to move but her wrists and ankles were securely fastened. Chambers disappeared behind her. “Dr. Chambers? Dr. Chambers!”
The doctor returned.
“Please let me go! Let me out of here! What—”
Chambers jammed a gag into Zoey’s mouth, the small rubber ball pressing her tongue, and secured the elastic around her head. “You make entirely too much noise.” She draped a sheet over Zoey.
Crying made breathing almost impossible with the gag in her mouth. She retched, sucked air through her nostrils.
“Be right back.”
Fear shrouded her, smothered her breath. Her temples throbbed. This was impossible. This wasn’t happening.
Chambers returned with the cop. Only now he wasn’t a cop.
Now he wore a white coat as well.
“Set up the legs,” he told Chambers. “I’ll start with the breast exam.”
There was always that remote chance that this was still legitimate, that for some reason they needed to bind and gag her to effectively do this type of exam. It was possible that they would release her, tell her they were sorry, send her home now, time to go home, over now, it was all a mistake.
Chambers held a plastic tube fitted with braces. Pried Zoey’s knees apart. The tube acted as a block, kept her legs widely separated, her knees resting in the braces. He removed the sheet, separated the material of the torn shirt, exposed her full breasts.
Zoey’s eyes bulged and she panted into the gag.
His hands were large and soft, and they expertly roamed her breasts, gently
squeezed the nipples, pressed the tissue in a move that was more medical than sexual assault. “She’s fine.” Then he reached across her chest, toward the tray just beyond her sight. Pulled it closer. The contents of the tray made her scream into the gag. Picked up two clamps, rubber-tipped devices that looked like scissors. Fastened them to her nipples and turned the knob, increasing the tension. Pain shot through every nerve ending in her
breasts, tore through the rest of her body. Flailed wildly on the table, tried to pull her hands out of the straps, threw back her head and screeched uselessly. Eyes pleaded with him, begged him for help, for compassion.
He smiled. “It only gets better, honey. Trust me.”
Chambers snorted, grinned. “Ready down here.”
“What about the gag?”
“What about it? You want to listen to her screams?”
“You know I like it,” he said, caressing Zoey’s tender breast.
Chambers shrugged. “Do what you want. But if she gets too loud, I’m not staying.”
Sobs choked her, and her face was flushed with sweat, wet with tears.
He leaned into her. “I’m Ted, by the way. Listen, Zoey, I want to take off your gag. I don’t care if you cry, I don’t care if you scream in blessed agony. In fact, I like that. But what I won’t tolerate is mindless blabbering, begging and shit like that. Understand?”
She nodded.
“I’m not sure that you do.” He reached out and flicked a clamp, sending a pulsing wave of agony through her breast. “I can make it unpleasant for you, Zoey. I can cause you a great deal of pain. If you say one word—one word at all—the gag goes back in and I apply even tighter pressure to your tits. We clear?”
Yes, it was clear.
“Good. I think we understand one another. And Zoey, for the record, screaming and crying are perfectly acceptable.”
Chambers sat by the desk, crossed her arms over her chest.
He unhooked the gag and pulled it out of her mouth. Gasped, sucked air. Her first inclination was to talk, to scream, to beg him to stop. But she believed what he’d said and stopped herself before any words came out of her mouth.
He walked toward her feet, stood between her legs. “Hang on,” he said, sliding the table in beneath her so that her butt now rested on the edge. Rolled the table beside her head toward the lower part of the table.
His fingers were inside her anus first, lubricating it. Then inside her vagina. More moisture, more lubrication.
She squeezed her eyes shut, tried to pull her legs together but the tube between her knees made it impossible. Her sight was obscured and she couldn’t see what he removed from the tray.
“Oh—you want to see? Okay.” He held up a long, thin vibrator.
She puffed out her cheeks, knowing she could handle that, if he planned to rape her with that thing.
Instead, he slowly inserted it into her anus. Words formed on her lips, almost escaped, but “no” came out as “Nuhhhh …”, and he glanced up, smiled, shook his head, slapped a piece of surgical tape over her anus.
“So far so good. Having fun yet?”
She wished she would go numb. Wished she would drop dead on the table.
“Here’s where it gets trickier.” He picked up a metal tool. “Speculum.” He lubricated it and pushed it inside. The vibrator rested against her colon, pressed against her vagina, and the speculum spread her, collided with the bulge in her anus. Searing
pain consumed her, and her legs spasmed, the too-large speculum feeling as though it were tearing her apart.
“Just having a look, Zoey.” He prodded her thighs and then she felt his fingers fiddling with the speculum, and her body fought against it, tried to reject the foreign object. Muscles flexing, clenching, stomach churning.
Ted glanced at Chambers across the room. “I think … this speculum might be a little too big.” But he pushed harder, forced it further in, and Zoey groaned, body straining against the pressure, eyes squeezed shut against the pain. She quivered with relief when he finally removed it.
“Good,” he said quietly. “There’s hope for you. You just might survive your stay with us.”
Droplets of sweat trickled between her breasts and down the lumps and folds of her belly. She looked down at Ted. Stiff penis in hand, he worked it, stroked it. Shocked, Zoey stared at the ceiling, counted the network of tiles. Never expected to see that. As bad as this was, she never expected that he would—
Felt his hands on her knees but refused to loo
k. Stared instead at the wall, at the picture hanging there, Geddes babies in a bathtub, cherubic smiles, soap bubble beards. Maybe he’d stop, maybe he wasn’t going to—
The tube between her legs was removed. He rammed her with his cock, and she screamed, “God, no!” and as the words were out of her mouth she was sorry, wished she could take it back, hoped he didn’t mean what he’d said.
He fucked her hard, smashed brutally against her cervix, every thrust bringing a new bout of pain. Leaned into her, removed the clamps from her nipples. Her body was a contradiction—relief for her breasts, agony everywhere else.
But he squeezed her nipples hard, pulled them toward him. She tried to follow, lifted her ribcage as far as she could but he yanked until she thought he was trying to rip them off her body.
She wailed. He pulled and twisted, his thrusts increasing in speed and intensity, faster and faster until he moaned, grunted, leaned into her for an eternity. He lay on top of her and then pushed against her stomach, lifted himself up. He pulled his penis out of her and slapped it against her thigh, emptying the last droplets of cum, wiped the sweat off
his forehead.
“Did you think I was kidding?” he asked breathily. “You’ll want to learn one thing around here, Zoey. When someone says something, you’d better listen. You’ll do a lot better if you remember that.” He pulled up his pants.
Chambers stood up and approached them. “Nice, Ted. A little rough on the tits I thought. But nice.”
He laughed. “Yeah, well.”
“All right,” Chambers said. “Who’s next?”
From the shadows behind Zoey’s head two men appeared. She struggled against the restraints, a feral response, born of reaction and not reason. The two men had already pulled out their penises and were stroking themselves.
“Hey!” she screamed. “No!” Looked from face to face, searched for a sign of sanity and found none.
One stepped between her legs.
“Hang on a sec, John,” Ted said. He stuffed the gag back inside her mouth and then reapplied the nipple clamps. “She’s being punished for talking. The only time those clamps come off is to cause more pain.”
“You got it,” John said. “Hey—what’s this? I wanted to fuck her ass.”
“Not yet,” Ted said. “Pick another orifice.”
Her legs were pried apart and she was raped.
Half an hour later, Zoey was dragged back down to her cell.
Chapter 3
She lay in the dark, quivering, her vagina twitching and spasming like a separate life form, no longer part of her body. She wondered what she’d done wrong. Something terrible to justify this happening to her. Punishment for some heinous act that she couldn’t recall?
Because that was how this felt—like punishment.
Whispers in the dark. Church whispers, airy breaths sharing secrets. Was someone in her cell? No. Even in the darkness she knew she was alone. The cell was small, and she would have detected another presence.
“Huh-h-h’lo …” she whimpered.
The sound again. Tiny whisper, a puff of air. “Over here.”
Zoey’s knees trembled as they tried to support her weight. Every part of her body ached. Wary of the pain, she stood, hobbled the few feet to the corner of the cell. Pressed her face against the bars.
“We’re not supposed to talk to you yet,” the voice muttered. “Do as they say and you’ll be okay.”
“Who are you?” Her fingers wrapped around the cold steel.
“What’s happened to me? Why are they doing this?” The only response to her questions was a series of hushes, warnings to be quiet, from what sounded like a half dozen voices.
“Please,” Zoey sobbed, “tell me.”
No one answered. Zoey stumbled back to her cot.
Heard them talking to one another, quietly at first, their voices rising in sound and pitch. No one talked to her.
Back pressed against the stone wall, knees drawn up to her chest. She stretched the T-shirt over her legs. That frustrated ache in her heart was back, that bizarre hollow feeling that made her want to scream and cry, the feeling of dread and despair. The not knowing that made this worse. How much worse could it possibly get? She’d been raped. Not once but repeatedly. What else could they possibly do to her? Trying not to think about it didn’t work. It couldn’t get worse than gang rape, could it? It was impossible to imagine anything worse.
The overhead lights blazed on, white filaments blinding her, and she blinked the vision back into her eyes. Movement down the hall as women poured through the cell doors that had clanged open.
An announcement from the end of the corridor: “Everyone out. I won’t say it again.”
She remembered the last time she had disobeyed and rushed after the others as they filed down the hall, her body bewailing every step.
Dressed like Zoey in long gray T-shirts, shoeless, none of the women spoke. Her jailers, torturers, dressed in black, leaning against the wall at the head of the crowd. They brandished whips, and some slapped the handles into their palms. One wielded a billyclub.
A guard grabbed Zoey’s arm on her way out the door. “You’re new. Do what you’re told and you might survive your stay here.”
“My stay?”
The woman who had spoken was around Zoey’s height but was about forty pounds lighter. How easy it would be for Zoey to overpower her … but she didn’t like the odds. The outside corridor was crowded with these guards.
The woman poked a finger into Zoey’s collarbone. “Never speak unless given permission. Understand?”
Zoey swallowed, nodded.
“This is where you eat, and where you get your assignments.”
Assignments? So many questions … she pleaded with her eyes, begging to speak, was ignored.
The room was arranged cafeteria-style, banquet tables with seats for ten. She was ushered into a food line and handed a tray. She sure as hell didn’t have much of an appetite. In the corner of the room sat the medical team that had gang-raped her. Blood drained from her head and she staggered back, grasping the edge of a table. Her legs trembledand then betrayed her, dropping her to her knees on the linoleum. Her tray clattered
to the floor, the food spilling.
Two men flanked her, grabbed her arms, pulled her back to her feet. When they looked in the direction she stared, they laughed. “You’ll get used to it, sweetheart.” The man, so young, such a baby face, deceitfully cherubic, playfully slapped her cheek. “Sit down. I’ll bring you some food.”
At the table, she searched faces, women with hair plastered to their scalps, appalling welts on faces and forearms and legs, pus oozing from gashes, swollen lips and cobalt bruises mottled on cheeks, beneath eyes. They spoke to one another but ignored Zoey, even when she tried to join in their conversations.
Another tray of food was set in front of her, but the contents were unappealing. She drank the coffee.
The man who brought her the tray sat beside her, crossed his leg over his knee. “Hi, Zoey,” he said, toothy grin. “You’ll be seeing a lot of me. I’m James. I run the place.” When he extended his hand, she hesitantly shook it, revulsion exploding on her flesh. “Just do what you’re told and you’ll be okay.”
She blinked. He was the third or fourth person to say that to her. Just how long were they planning to keep her there? Where in hell was she?
“I’m going to give you your first assignment. First give me your wrist.”
She hesitated and then slowly extended her hand toward him. He slipped a leather bracelet over her wrist and snapped it shut. “See? It’s not always about pain. I’ll tell you something else, Zoey—don’t ever hesitate like that again. Not everyone is as understanding as I am. Clear?”
Lines of communication had been reduced to a series of head jerks, and she nodded.
“Good! First assignment—report to Room One. You have ten minutes.”
The room began to clear. Women limped into the hallway. She stu
died the bracelet. Simple leather. Metal ring suspended on the outside against the back of her hand. The ends were clamped shut; this thing wasn’t going anywhere. Room One then.
Christ. The trembling started again. Where was everyone going? She wondered what would happen if she just stayed there. He’d given her ten minutes. What if she took twelve? Fifteen? Two hours? The dread of wondering what was in Room One … was it worse than the punishment waiting for her if she disobeyed?
Legs weak, protesting against carrying her, she followed the group, in search of Room One.
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.
Suffer The Flesh Page 2