by West, Sam
Sebastian eyed the boy’s flaccid penis with total disinterest. That part of the male anatomy did little for him. When he was with a man, he liked to be the one doing the fucking. Not that he had anything against being sodomised, he couldn’t care less about pain. It was more about the loss of control. Sebastian liked to be the one on top, so to speak.
But he still occasionally appreciated the hard lines of a well-formed, masculine arse and enjoyed a good, hard buttock pounding now and then.
His friend sunk to his knees and with an exasperated sigh, Sebastian pulled the shivering boy to his feet. His cock seemed to look even smaller now he was upright, like it was trying to shrivel up inside his body.
“Do as you’re told, kid,” he ordered, slapping his pert little arse.
The boy’s face screwed up in disgust when the older man’s mouth latched onto his penis and sucked like a hoover. Sebastian watched closely. Men were such simple creatures, he decided. The slightest stimulation would induce an erection, no matter who, or what was manipulating their genitals. Sure enough, the kid was getting hard. Sebastian smiled.
He watched the unfolding scene with bated breath, dying to know what Dick was planning. He didn’t have to wait long to find out. The boy’s scream was so loud and high-pitched that Sebastian had to cover his ears with his hands.
Richard had bitten off the tip of the boy’s cock.
“Oh my, that’s tasty,” he said, chewing and sucking on the lump of meat in his mouth.
The boy howled in agony, blood spurting in great arcs from his severed genitals. He fell to his knees then onto his side, clutching the bloody stump that had once been his cock.
Sebastian giggled. “Oh my, that’s just mean.”
“We haven’t even started yet. Ah, here comes my brother.”
Harlan rushed up to them, clutching the large sports bag which banged heavily against his thigh.
“What did you do?” he panted. “You started without me! It’s not fair.”
“Relax,” Richard said, “you’ll get your turn, don’t worry. Open the bag and bring out the crow-bar and blowtorch.”
Sebastian noted how Harlan’s expression softened slightly on hearing those words. Appeased, he zipped open the bag and quickly found what Richard asked for, handing them to him.
“Good man. Now, cauterise the boy’s penis with the blowtorch. And when you’ve done that, would you mind doing the same to my wife’s missing tit?”
Esther was unconscious, lying in a pool of her own blood. She was weak, both mentally and physically, Sebastian didn’t think she would last long enough to appreciate much of their game. At least the boy was a trooper, he hadn’t passed out yet.
“What else you got in that bag?” Sebastian asked.
“Take a look, son. Everything that the discerning libertine could ever require.”
Sebastian rummaged through the bag and the various metal tools and instruments clanked together. Pliers, chisels, a small handheld saw with rusty teeth, screwdrivers, hammers, a box of nails, gardening shears, secateurs, a rake, and other sharp looking gardening tools whose names he didn’t know.
He picked out a pair of sturdy pliers, turning the object slowly over in his hands. His mouth was suddenly dry and his heart beat extra fast with the possibilities. He had never used such a thing on human flesh before.
Always a first time for everything.
Harlan fiddled with the blowtorch and the blue flame sprung into life. He held it in front of his face and the blue light reflected in his big, brown eyes. The raised scar crinkled like a caterpillar with his smile.
Without further warning he wrenched away the boy’s hands and thrust the flame to his genitals.
Oh, the noises the boy made. It made the tiny hairs on the back of Sebastian’s neck stand up on end and his ears ring. What a glorious spectacle it was, he didn’t know it was possible for a mouth to even open that wide with such cries of agony. The aroma of cooking meat assaulted his nostrils and made his mouth water. Miraculously, the boy was still conscious when Harlan’s task was complete. His groin smoked and his hands fluttered like wounded butterflies over the seared meat.
Harlan repeated the procedure at the gaping wound on the unconscious Esther’s chest but Sebastian and Richard paid her little heed. Both stared down at the whimpering boy.
“He’s strong,” Richard said.
“Yes,” Sebastian agreed, crouching down next to him.
With one hand he stroked a strand of dark hair off his sweat-sheened forehead, the pliers firmly gripped in the other.
Hmm, now what to pull off first…
“She’s completely out of it,” Harlan said when he came back over to them.
“Heat up the end of the crowbar with the blowtorch,” Richard instructed.
That’s when Sebastian noticed that the straight end had been sharpened to a tip. His sick mind was beginning to follow Richard’s equally sick train of thought; that is, to penetrate and cauterise at the same time.
“Are you going to use those, or just look at them?” Richard asked.
“I’m just savouring the moment. Aren’t you going to do anything to him?”
“Not just yet, right now I’m happy to watch you boys play.”
Sebastian picked up one of the boy’s hands. The resistance in his arm was weak when he tried to tug his hand back. He gripped his thumbnail with the pliers and yanked hard. It was remarkably easy to wrench the nail free from the nail-bed. He watched in fascination the blood pooling where the nail had once been.
Not as much blood as I thought there’d be.
No matter. It seemed as though the lad had given up on screaming. Sebastian missed the sound, although it was nice to give his eardrums a rest from the high-pitched noise. He made a funny kind of keening sound instead, like an injured cat near death.
Sebastian turned his attention back to the sports bag, he was sure he’d seen a pair of garden sheers in there somewhere… And there they were. They felt nice and sturdy in his hands.
He placed them at the base of a finger and snipped.
Oh wow, that finger sure came off easily…
“Harlan?” Sebastian said, as the thought suddenly occurred to him, “would you mind following my trail with that blowtorch? Stop him from bleeding out?”
“Splendid idea, my boy,” Richard said.
So Harlan aimed the blowtorch at the severed stump on the hand. The boy’s eyes rolled back in his head. Surely he couldn’t stay conscious much longer…
But Sebastian really hoped he would.
He managed to cut off a nipple, another finger and the tip of his nose before he passed out. Harlan went back to heating the crowbar after he had cauterised the wounds. All three men silently stood over the boy, willing him to wake up so that they could continue. It didn’t seem like it was going to happen anytime soon and they all shuffled from foot to foot impatiently. Behind them, Esther groaned.
“Give me those shears, I’ve been wanting to do this for years…” Richard strode over to his wife and leaned down, pinching her cheeks so that her mouth was forced open. “On second thoughts, I have a much better idea.”
Sebastian watched in fascination when Richard stabbed Esther under her chin at the point where it turned into her neck. He wiggled the scissors in her neck, widening the hole. Her eyes bulged and her fat arms flailed, a strange, gurgling sound escaping her lips. Then Richard rolled up his sleeve and stuck his first two fingers in the incision, his face a frowning mask of concentration.
Sebastian and Harlan burst out laughing when they saw what he had done. He had managed to draw her tongue back and down, passing it through the hole.
“Give us a kiss, baby,” Richard said, leaning over to waggle his tongue against the bloody end of hers. “Mmm, baby, you never tasted so good.”
The boy was coming round, cutting their laughter dead. Sebastian was overcome by the most powerful urge to hurt him, to stamp on him and kick him and give vent to the rage that had accompani
ed his every year of the twenty-five that had thus far comprised his life.
“Is the end of the crowbar nice and hot, Harlan?”
“I should say so, Richard.”
“So drill a cunt for Sebastian, seeing as he has no taste and prefers cunts to arseholes.”
Harlan smirked. “I don’t have a favourite hole, but I think I’m about to.”
Where the boy’s cock had once proudly sprouted, Harlan rammed in the pointed, white hot end of the crowbar. The lad’s arms and legs jerked comically, but his body skated over the slippery, bloody floor with the violence of Harlan’s thrusts.
“How does it feel to be fucked? How does it feel to be a woman?” Harlan shouted down at the boy, his face red and his scar standing out even more because of his exertion. “Will one of you please stand by his shoulders and stop him fucking sliding everywhere.”
Richard obliged his brother, planting his feet either side of the boy’s neck so that his shoulders rested against his ankles. Now Harlan had sufficient purchase to drive the end of the crowbar home. Miraculously, the boy didn’t pass out. The agony must have been unspeakable.
He certainly doesn’t look too happy, Sebastian thought with some satisfaction. It was as if the boy had gone beyond screaming, for no noise apart from a funny sort of whining, heaving sound escaped his lips. Maybe he’s cried himself hoarse.
Sebastian stared down at him with his head cocked to one side. Despite the size of the ballroom, the whole place reeked of cooking human flesh. Once the crowbar had been rammed inside the boy to around the length of thirty centimetres, Harlan withdrew it in one swift movement. He got down on his elbows and peered up the hole he had just made.
“Nice,” he said. “Hardly any blood. Richard, you are a genius.”
“I know. Sebastian, would you like to be the first to fuck the boy’s new cunt?”
“And you don’t mind? You did choose this one, after all.”
“I hate cunts, even pretend cunts. Don’t you worry, I’ll have my fun with him after you and Harlan.”
Sebastian didn’t have to be asked twice. Even better, the gruesome attention the boy had received seemed to bring him round; he found his voice and screamed out his agony into the vast room and the heartless fuckers within it.
Sebastian pulled down his trousers and got busy fucking the boy’s new hole.
14.
Molly sobbed into the pillow, in that moment just wishing to die and get it over with.
No. She must not think like that. She was still alive, wasn’t she? She still had a chance to escape…
Molly and the others had been separated, she didn’t know what had become of them. All she knew was that she was upstairs, alone in a spartan, but still beautiful bedroom fit for a princess. The bed was four-poster and piled high with soft blankets and cushions. Everything was clean and bright, and a chandelier hung from the high ceiling. A large, plastic bottle of water had been left on the bed, which she greedily gulped down. The bed was the only furniture, apart from a plastic bucket at the foot of the bed which looked completely out of place with the rest of the room. She presumed that it was supposed to be the chamber-pot. Tough luck if it wasn’t; she had already pissed in it.
Molly was exhausted. The guard had roughly pushed her into this room less than an hour ago and ordered her to get some rest before locking her in. She had gone straight over to the window and opened the shutters with every intention of hurtling herself out of it – that is until she saw how high up she was. Then she saw the guards patrolling outside and her insides shrivelled.
The next thing she did was to hunt around for some kind of weapon. She had visions of herself attacking the next armed man that came into the room…
But how, exactly, was she supposed to do that? Come at him with a pillow and wrestle the rifle out of his hand? Or perhaps knock him over the head with the plastic bucket?
Exhaustion was beginning to take its toll. And now here she was, lying on the bed under the wonderfully soft blankets, hating herself for just giving in to her body’s desperate need to rest, yet fully understanding she was fit for nothing if she didn’t.
She didn’t know she had fallen asleep but she must have done. A far away, high pitched screaming played in an endless loop as the soundtrack to her nightmares but whether it was real or imagined, she didn’t know. Molly drifted in and out of an uneasy sleep, not wanting to fall into too deep a state of unconsciousness for fear of leaving herself vulnerable.
She didn’t know if minutes or hours passed in this way, but when the door creaked open, she sat bolt upright in bed. One of the mean looking bastards with a rifle entered the room.
“Up,” he said. “You are required in the ballroom.”
She stared up at him, her eyes still heavy with sleep and her vision blurred. How long had she been out of it? The room was definitely darker, like it was dusk. Swinging her legs out the bed, she covered her breasts with her arms. She knew that the action was pointless, but she wasn’t a broken woman yet, she still had her dignity.
As soon as she set foot outside the room with the tip of the rifle digging into her bare back, she bumped into Mike, he too being escorted downstairs by a guard. She went right up to him and pressed her body against his as they walked across the wide landing.
“Next chance we, get, we kill them,” she whispered in his ear. “If we attack together, we stand a chance.”
“You read my mind,” he whispered back, “I’d rather die trying than live through this.”
“The first opportunity?”
“The very first.”
“Oi! Stop whispering you two, stop touching.”
A guard roughly grabbed her upper arm and dragged her away from him, but not before their eyes locked in shared respect and understanding. She saw the fight in his eyes and she allowed herself to feel hope.
Escape or die trying.
Molly padded naked down the spiral, wrought-iron and marble staircase, back into the ballroom from hell. Things certainly hadn’t improved since her last visit.
Her and Mike were the first to arrive. Esther and Tim had never left. The hosts greeted them, all three sitting at the table and drinking wine. Richard was smoking a foul smelling cigar. Behind the heavy odour was something else, something far worse. Looking at the grizzly scene before her, it didn’t take a genius to work out what.
Burnt flesh.
“I trust you slept well?” Richard enquired.
Molly barely heard him. Tim and Esther were propped up against the wall nearest to the table. Esther’s eyes were wide open and lifeless. And was that her goddamn tongue sticking out of her neck?
But fuck her if Tim wasn’t still alive. His eyes rolled back in his head over the bloody mess that had once been his nose. His slight body was peppered with blackened wounds, and his penis had been severed, a gaping, raw hole where his manhood had once been.
It was however, the sight of their stomachs that drew her attention. It took a moment for her to work out what was wrong with what she was seeing, but when she did, she doubled over and dry heaved.
Oh Jesus, that’s so fucking sick.
Esther and Tim had been cut open from groin to sternum, then crudely stitched up again with thick, black thread. But that wasn’t the problem. The problem was the two lengths of greyish rope that connected them through their sewn up gashes.
She glanced over at Mike, who was also staring at the spectacle open-mouthed.
“We took our fill of their bodies, and when we were done, we scooped out their intestines and swapped them round. My fat cunt of a wife died instantly, but the boy still lives, amazingly. We’re waiting to see how long it takes for him to expire. Please, won’t you both sit down.”
Molly felt light-headed and her legs wobbled precariously.
“Molly,” Mike said, barely above a whisper.
The sharpness in his voice reminded her to be strong, and she took her seat at the table. Escape or die trying.
One by one, the r
est of the guess were escorted back into the room, all of them taken to their original seats. The two empty places that Tim and Esther used to occupy only served to remind her how close to death she really was.
The two girls looked like they had been patched up pretty good. They were conscious, anyway. Evangeline’s shin had been bandaged and the redhead whose name she did not know seemed alright, even if she did now walk with a limp.
“Before dinner is served, do you know what I feel like doing?” Harlan asked.
“What? Pray tell, dear brother of mine,” Richard replied.
“Kicking someone the fuck to death.”
“Just don’t take Molly.”
There Sebastian goes, dragging me into it again…
“Take the redhead, I’m sick of the sight of her, I don’t know what possessed me to pick a girl. I should’ve left that to you, Sebastian.” Richard said.
You fat pig, Molly thought.
Molly was experiencing a whole new emotion. Anger. She held onto the feeling, knowing that it would serve her well.
“Please leave me alone,” the redhead said.
She sounded like she didn’t have half as much fight in her as she’d had earlier. Harlan ignored her feeble protests and dragged her out the chair before throwing her to the ground behind Molly. She screamed and tried to scramble to her feet but Harlan kicked her down, his foot connecting with her head.
“Anyone care to join me?”
Sebastian got to his feet, but Richard didn’t.
“I am saving my energy, I am older and I like my torture to have a little more finesse. But each to their own, this is a party, after all.”
To Molly’s shock, Bethan stood up.
What the hell’s she doing?
Joining in, that’s what.
Was she doing it to try and win back her husband’s favour? Or was she just as sick in the head as they were? Her bare feet didn’t seem to put her off, she kicked the girl all over her body with as much vigour as her husband and Harlan.
Oh God, they’re going to kill her.
Molly’s gaze locked with Mike’s across the table. His gaze flickered over to the ballroom’s double doors, then back to her again. Immediately, she saw what he was getting at; there were no guards in the room.