Suffer The Flesh

by Monica J. O'Rourke

  Kim nodded. “Sometimes. Depends on who you get.” Eggs spilled off her fork. “Or how many.”

  The eggs suddenly looked revolting, quivering mounds of embryo. Something else had been bothering her. “Kim … I should have had my period by now. Do you think I might be …?”

  “No, and you won’t get your period. They put birth control in the food.

  Eyebrows raised. “What?” She glanced down at the food. “But sometimes I skip a meal. What if—”

  “They put it in all the food, at every meal. The chance of getting pregnant is almost impossible.”

  “Comforting.”

  Janice sat across from them, dropping her tray on the table in disgust. “Good morning. My, don’t you all look sparkling clean?”

  Kim smiled. “Special day. We even got the good soap.”

  “Eat up, Zoey,” Janice said. “You’ll need your strength.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t. It’s making me nauseous.” The coffee went down okay, but she refused to put those eggs near her mouth. “Janice, how long have you been here?”

  “Five months, more or less. I was pretty big when they brought me in here.”

  “I guess you must have been,” Zoey said, pushing her tray to the center of the table. “You’re thin now.”

  “Almost. A few more pounds.”

  Zoey planted her face in her palms and rested her elbows on the table. “What do you suppose happens?”

  “When?” Janice chewed on a piece of bacon and pushed her too-long blonde hair off her face.

  “You know, after you’re done. After you—”

  “What? Lose the weight? They let you go.”

  Zoey stared at Janice. “Just like that?”

  “That’s what they say,” Kim said, shrugging.

  Zoey said, “But why would they?”

  “Because no one talks. Because this is far-reaching, Zoey.” Janice picked up her toast, took a bite. “You don’t know what goes on outside this place.”

  “How do you know?” Zoey asked.

  Janice shrugged. “Like I said, I’ve been here a while. I hear things. The guards say things, other subjects who have been here a long time.”

  “Subjects?”

  “She means prisoners, Zoey,” Kim said. “Janice has a unique perspective.”

  Janice used her toast like an extended finger and pointed across the room. “See that guard by the door? That’s Robin. She used to be a subject.”

  Zoey’s jaw dropped. Robin was the one who had brutalized her with a nightstick. “My god … you’re kidding. They made her stay?” She wondered how a former prisoner could perpetuate the torture.

  Janice laughed, spraying crumbs across the table. “Not at all. She chose the job.”

  Robin leaned against the door, arms crossed over her chest. She yawned.

  Zoey looked back at the women at the table. “She chose it? Why?”

  “Not everyone hates it here, Zoey. Some of us actually enjoy it. Usually.” Janice grinned, forked eggs into her mouth.

  Zoey glanced at Kim. “What about you?”

  “Me? I’m just killing time. I’m anxious to leave. Unlike Janice here.”

  Janice licked her lips, wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “What can I say? I like to fuck. This place is like Nirvana for me. At first I hated it, being forced to do this stuff. But then I decided to pretend it was my choice. I got into it, you know? After a while it got better. And now … well, now I just go out there and enjoy myself.”

  “You’re seriously disturbed, Janice.” Zoey shook her head and dropped her napkin on the plate. “What I want to know is how these guys get it up every time, over and over.… It’s not natural.”

  “They’re juiced up. They take stuff to keep them hard. Viagra I guess, other stuff.” Janice smiled and glanced across the room.

  James had entered, and all conversations stopped as if severed with a knife.

  “Good morning,” he said. “I’m sure you all know by now that today is Visiting Day. For those of you who don’t know what that is, let’s just say it’s a chance for you to get acquainted with some new blood. I expect you all to be on your best behavior.”

  He looked from woman to woman, as if inspecting them. Haunted faces stared back.

  “Let me make one thing clear. These people are not here to rescue you. They know you’re not volunteers. They don’t care. Understand? If I hear that any of you asked for help, you won’t be able to walk for a month. You will do whatever they tell you. Some will only want to watch, but there aren’t many who don’t want to be hands-on. So to speak.” He stuck out his tongue, tittered at his little joke.” Breakfast is over. Get your assignments.”

  * * *

  Zoey stood outside Room Eleven, fingers trailing the chipping paint. Chewed a loose bit of skin on her lip, filled her lungs.

  She entered the room.

  A playpen in the corner, large enough to hold a dozen sleeping children. Full size rocking chair beside it. A banquet table in the center of the small room, covered with sheets; bottles of lotion, creams, baby powder were assembled near the edge. Mobiles of toy boats and grinning clowns hung from the ceiling, danced in the air-conditioned breeze.

  Someone cleared his throat, and Zoey spun around. Four men, including the guard Kevin stood hidden in the shadows.

  A man stepped forward, ample flesh covering his tall frame. He wore a diaper and nothing else.

  Zoey took a half step back.

  “Go ahead, Serge,” Kevin said. “You’ve done this before. Tell her what you want.”

  Serge waddled toward her, belly and jowls jiggling. “Take off your shirt.”

  Zoey pulled off the T-shirt and dropped it to. The room was colder than the others, and her nipples hardened.

  Serge smiled, licked his lips. “Nice. Nice one, Kevin.” He took Zoey’s hand and led her into the nursery. He lowered her to her knees, followed her to the floor, and lay his head in her lap.

  Kevin. Why did Kevin have to be here?

  “Lean down.” Serge pulled her closer. Reached up, fondled a breast. “Lower.”

  Her chest was over his face, and he guided a breast into his mouth and sucked. The other breast he yanked, rough then gentle then rough.

  Kevin had stepped out of the shadows, was standing outside the nursery area. “Serge is your baby, Zoey. He’s hungry. Make sure he gets plenty of milk.”

  She rolled her eyes, groaned. Any hope she might have felt walking into the room, any thought of recruiting their help slowly dissolved until it faded into nothing.

  Serge sucked harder, pulled it into his mouth, slid it in and out and lightly chewed on the nipple, made suckling noises. The other he held in a savage grip, twisting and yanking on the nipple. He switched breasts, now tasting the one he had abused.

  Spasms of pain, tiny needle gashes inflicted by barracuda teeth.

  He guided her hand to his swollen phallus, and she wanted nothing more than to rip it off his body. He released her breast and his hand roamed until it found her pubis and stroked the short, curly hair. He hooked a finger into the top of her vagina and yanked her toward him. She gasped, lifted her groin, and he pushed his fingers inside her, rubbed his thumb over the clit.

  He pulled her breast out of his mouth. “Now do me.”

  She looked up at Kevin. Had no idea what he wanted.

  “Suck his breasts, Zoey,” Kevin said, establishing eye contact with her, and he mouthed I’m sorry and shook his head.

  Ragged breaths. She pulled her hair back and leaned into him, twisted his nipple with her lips, tiny hairs embedded in her teeth. She imagined herself chewing it right off his body and spitting it back in his ugly hairy face.

  “Oh, yes …” he groaned. “I feel it … it’s coming …” His face scrunched, as if in pain, and then he smiled. A putrid odor suddenly filled the room. She retched, covering her mouth with her hand.

  Serge sat up, pushed himself to his knees. Took her hand and together t
hey stood. “Come. You have to clean me now.”

  “Wha—”

  He backhanded her across the face, and she cried out. She had hesitated for a second, and he clearly hadn’t liked that.

  He led her to the banquet table and climbed on, lying on his back.

  Oh no. The smell was stronger now, and it was coming from Serge. She looked at Kevin, her eyes begging, body filled with a pervasive dread at what she was expected to do. This was impossible. How could they expect her to do this?

  Kevin dropped his gaze to the floor. “You know what he wants, Zoey. The diapers are on the floor in the bag there.”

  Adult disposable diapers

  Oh good god, no … she wanted to scream, frantically searched for a way out of this one.

  Serge kicked his feet and snatched her breast, pulling hard, ruthlessly. “Do it!” he snapped.

  It was almost impossible to control her trembling hands. She grabbed a diaper from the bag, lay it on the table. Pulled the powder and lotion closer.

  Serge closed his eyes, shook his shoulders as if snuggling into the table. The diaper on his body was secured with Velcro tabs, and she undid them, pulled the front of the diaper down over his crotch, revealing his engorged penis.

  And the load of shit in the diaper.

  She gagged, covered her mouth with her arm. Her eyes watered. She snatched the roll of paper towels, yanked off a pile of sheets.

  There was no way to pretend this one away. No way to imagine old boyfriends or anything that might help her get through this. She just had to finish as quickly as possible.

  “You fucking bastard!” she screamed, pounding his face, pulling the diaper out from under him and mashing the shit in his face. Grabbed his testicles and pulled, squeezed, rupturing them, twisted them until they popped, until—

  “Zoey?” Kevin said. “Hurry up.”

  It felt good while it lasted, her little fantasy. She turned her head away, held her breath. She moved as fast as she could and reached in with the paper towels, wiped the shit off his ass, wrapped it in the dirty diaper and rolled it up, pushing it to the end of the table. Grabbed a moist cloth and wiped him clean, applied lotion and baby powder.

  Picked up the clean diaper and spread it.

  Cum dribbled out of his dick. He grabbed it, gave it a couple of strokes. “Come here, Zoey.” He patted the table

  She bit her tongue, climbed up, and knelt beside him. He slid over until he was centered.

  “Sit on my face.”

  Slowly she climbed his torso until her crotch straddled his face. She refused to allow the tears to fall, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her distress. She lowered herself, felt his gaseous breath, felt his lips inside her, getting her wet, his head bobbing, following the movement of his tongue. His fingers played with her from behind, caressed her ass, probed her anus.

  He pushed her away. “Fuck me, Zoey! Fuck me good.”

  She climbed back down his body until she found his cock. Straddled it, lowered herself onto it, thighs trembling. Rode him like the horse that he was, a snorting, foaming beast, his face flushed red with excitement and exertion.

  “Harder! Fuck me!”

  She pumped harder, faster, sliding up and down on his stiff member until he shuddered, moaned loudly, embalmed her with hot, sticky fluid, gripped the sheet.

  Legs aching, she climbed off. She looked up. The other men stood at the head of the table. Once wore a diaper, the other was naked, his diaper in his hand.

  The naked one motioned for her to climb down, and he took her wrist and lowered her to the floor, pushed her onto her back. He held his flaccid penis in his hand and hovered over her.

  She was expecting him to put it in her mouth.

  She wasn’t expecting what he did.

  Urine shot out, splashed her breasts. He controlled the stream, directed it up and down her body.

  Shocked, she sucked in a quick breath and then shut her mouth, turned her head to avoid getting splashed in the face. Strong stink of ammonia filled her nostrils, permeated the room.

  He pissed in her hair. When he finished she looked back, stunned, piss dripping off her head.

  He shook out the final drops. “Thank you,” he said, grinning. “That’s all I wanted. I prefer to watch.” He sat in the rocking chair, crossed his ankle over his knee, his cock dangling between his legs.

  Arms thrown back, she raised her head toward the ceiling and screamed. Couldn’t stop. Her body shook, chest heaved. Piss tricked down her forehead and stung her eyes.

  The visitors laughed.

  “Oooh, she’s been bad,” Serge said. “She needs to be punished.”

  Fuck! she thought, wanting to scream again. Wanting to kill them all.

  “What do you want to do about it, Frank?” Serge asked.

  “I know exactly what I want to do.” Frank moved to the foot of the changing table and dragged out a satchel. Pulled out a whip. “Come here, Zoey,” he said, patting the table.

  Her legs were weak, could barely support her. Urine dried on her body, chilling her in the cold room. She approached Frank, climbed up as he instructed. Face down, on her stomach. She expected the strikes to be soft at first and then increase in severity, the way they normally did things around here.

  Frank surprised her. The first strike was powerful, sharp, and painful, each blow that followed equally harsh. She screamed and cried, held her hands behind her back, tried to block the blows. Serge grabbed them, pulled them above her head, flat on the table.

  Raw, smoldering heat, a swarm of hornets relentlessly stinging her back, her ass, the backs of her legs.

  She heard Kevin approach, and the beating stopped. Her flesh was a pit of hellfire. “That’s enough, gentlemen,” he said softly. “I think she—”

  “Get the fuck out of here, pipsqueak,” Serge said. Zoey tilted her head, saw Serge shove Kevin’s chest, knocking the much smaller man back a few steps.

  The other two laughed.

  “What else you got in that bag of tricks?” Serge asked.

  Zoey tried to kneel but an enormous hand pushed her down, slapped her tender ass. “Stay put, sweet cheeks,” Serge said.

  “Gentlemen,” Kevin said, approaching the table again. “This isn’t part of the agreement. The rules—”

  “Fuck the rules, tiny,” Serge said. “You wanna get lost, or you wanna take her place?”

  “Hey, look what I found,” Frank said. Zoey felt his hands on her legs, on her ass. “Get on your knees.”

  She hesitated, and he smacked her. “Move! Spread your legs.”

  On her hands and knees. He pushed something inside her, something that felt like a penis, but she knew from painful experience it was a dildo.

  “Guys, please!” Kevin cried. “Don’t do this. I’ve asked you to stop.”

  Zoey looked up in time to see Serge rush Kevin, punch him in the face. Kevin went down like a sack of laundry.

  Wet fingers penetrated her anus, moved around inside her. She grunted, arms and legs quaking, sweat popping out on her forehead despite the chilled air. The fingers slipped out, were replaced by yet another dildo. Sphincter muscles clenched, tried uselessly to force it out. The two dildos filled her, and the pain was maddening. Her insides were raw, felt shredded. A wave of nausea struck, and she felt weaker still.

  “Can you reach from there?” Serge asked.

  “Yeah, I think so,” Frank said. “Have her lean forward.”

  Serge pushed Zoey’s back until her chest rested on the table, her hind quarters still sticking up.

  “Hey, Jeff—you want in?” Frank asked.

  “No, thank you. I enjoy watching.

  Without warning Frank slapped her with the belt, a direct hit on the dildo protruding from her ass, pushing it further in. Her stomach flipped, bile clawed its way up her throat. She wailed, tried to move away.

  Serge leaned on her shoulders, his enormous upper body smothering her, holding her in place. “Don’t fucking move, bitch.�
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  Another strike on her ass, and another, repeating the blows until she thought she was going to die from the agony. A blast of color danced in the air before her eyes.

  The assault stopped.

  “Turn her over,” Frank said, short hard gasps.

  Serge flipped her on her back. They spread her legs wide, both ankles hanging over opposite sides of the table.

  “No good,” Frank said. “Here—try this.” Took her ankles, legs still spread, lifted them toward the ceiling.

  Serge grinned, his jowls jiggling. His back now to Zoey’s face, he took her legs and pulled them back, until they were almost at a ninety degree angle to the rest of her body.

  “Hold them wide,” Frank said. “And move your head, man. I don’t want to get you by mistake.”

  Serge leaned back, his fingers gripping her ankles, his elbows pressed painfully against her chest.

  The assault started again. Frank beat her with his belt, each strike smashing one dildo into the other, stripping the tender flesh of her vaginal walls.

  Beyond screams now she groaned, rolled her head, eyelids fluttering, trying desperately to remain conscious. Blow after blow, relentless, the blood draining from her head.

  Frank stopped, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Hey—where’d that little pipsqueak go?”

  “He crawled out of here a few minutes ago,” Jeff said from the rocking chair.

  Zoey shivered, praying for help from a god that had long-since forsaken her. Hoping Kevin would hurry back and end this torment. She closed her eyes and waited for relief, either from rescue or death.

  “He’s in for a surprise,” Serge said, and they all laughed.

  Frank smiled. “Sure is. Hey—we done with this one?”

  “Guess so,” Serge said, dropping her legs.

  “You want a turn?” Frank asked Serge, offering him the belt.

  “No, later. I got a raging boner though. Clear her pussy.”

  Frank pulled out the dildo and a stream of blood followed. “Kind of messy in there.

  “Yeah, so?” Serge knelt on the table, straddled her, stroked his cock. He bent her knees and then fucked her.

  Searing heat. She thought she’d felt more pain than she could handle by now, but she’d been wrong. She got to experience it all over again. Eyes clamped shut, couldn’t watch, unable to react any more, screams and tears wasted effort.