by West, Sam
Now that was really fucking stupid…
She sobbed slightly at her own idiocy. The lie was stupid. She was stupid. And now she was going to die for being so fucking stupid.
“What’s your name, bitch?”
“Jane,” she said, not even sure why she was bothering to lie.
Wordlessly, he got up and left the bedroom. It didn’t take a genius to work out where he was going.
He’s gonna knock on one seventy’s door and ask if Jane’s in, and then he’s gonna come back here and kill me. Unless there actually is someone called Jane living there, and her husband opens the door and by some stroke of luck he says that Jane’s at work…
The tears rolled down her cheeks at her farfetched flight of fancy.
Wildly she looked around the pokey room for anything that might help her whilst tugging violently at her restraints. A wave of hopelessness so intense washed over her that for a moment she couldn’t even breathe. There was nothing she could do, she was doomed.
She lay there staring up at the ceiling, her head throbbing and her shot away foot singing in agony.
After an agonising, five minute wait, the shaven headed figure of her captor reappeared.
“You’re a lying slag, ain’t cha?” he said by way of greeting.
All Pam could do was sniffle and gurgle on the tears and snot that ran down the back of her throat.
This was it. This was how she was gonna die. There would be no happy ending for her. As if there ever could’ve been.
He came over to her and sat back down by her head. She flinched when he reached out to lightly trail his fingertips over one saucer sized, fear hardened nipple.
“You do know you’re gonna die in this bedroom, don’t you?” he said conversationally.
The gentleness of his touch was somehow more terrifying than the threat of violence. Her mountainous breast quivered at his touch, along with every other last inch of her. His fingers grew firmer, squeezing and kneading the squidgy flesh like dough.
“I was gonna fuck you in the alleyway, but Vince stopped me, remember? I’ve always had this weird thing for ugly birds, you know?”
Pam didn’t.
“Please don’t kill me.”
He kneaded her breast harder, making her flinch.
“I’m gonna fuck you real good. And then I’m gonna fuck you over. And when I’ve done that I’m gonna go downstairs and get Vince and he’s gonna help me kill you.”
I somehow doubt that.
“Please, don’t kill me,” she managed to choke out. “I’ll do anything you want.”
“You’re damn right you will.”
He let go of her breast and climbed between her spread, fat thighs. To her horror he grinned up at her before burying his face in her pussy.
“Mmm, you smell bad. I love it when they’re ugly and fat and stinkin’.”
Instinctively Pam tried to shuffle sideways away from his probing mouth and tongue, but the movement sent a fresh jolt of fiery agony shooting through her foot as he was kneeling on the spreader bar.
She cried out through gritted teeth, digging her fingernails so hard into the fleshy meat of her palms that thin slivers of blood ran down her wrists.
“Relax, baby,” he said through a mouthful of her pussy. “Robbie’s gonna make you feel real good.”
He lapped between her legs, sucking on her fleshy labia and sinking his teeth into them. She squirmed beneath him, sure he was about to bite off her pussy folds.
Instead he homed in on her clit, which he began to tongue in earnest. Her vagina felt slimy with his slobber and she inside she recoiled in disgust.
What have I done to deserve this?
He sat up suddenly, kneeling between her legs and leaning over to grab her mammoth breasts. She cried out when he slapped one, then the other. Then the blows rained down on her chest in earnest. Red palm prints streaked her pale flesh, and she involuntarily jerked with each slap so that her busted foot pulled against the spreader, sending new jolts of agony pulsing through her. It came as no surprise to her when Robbie stopped abusing her breasts to unbutton the fly of his designer jeans.
His entirely average sized, hard cock sprung free through the gap, sticking out at a right angle from his body.
As scared and disgusted as she was, it was still nothing she wasn’t used to. More than anything, she just felt weary of such debasement. She was accustomed to being treated like a human punch bag and a bunch of orifices in which Wayne could dump his sperm. She smiled humourlessly. If there was one thing she was good at, it was taking a beating and a rough fucking.
He shuffled forward slightly so that he was no longer kneeling on the spreader bar and bent her knees, cocooning himself within the circular shape her legs made. He remained upright on his knees and positioned his cock at the entrance to her vagina.
He pushed in, and Pam saw red. She’d had enough of men using her. Even though the pain in her foot was excruciating, it was temporarily blotted out by an all-consuming rage. The stupid boy, gripped by lust, didn’t think for a second that she would use the spreader bar as a weapon given the state of her foot.
But use it she did. She lifted up her feet and brought the bar crashing down across the middle of his back. He toppled forward on her with a cry, crushing her and knocking the air out of both of them. Again and again, Pam brought her feet crashing down onto his back, the bar bouncing repeatedly off his spine.
“You fucker,” she screamed.
Now he was a dead weight on her torso, his head heavy on her chest. He was still alive because she could hear him groaning and making funny little gurgling sounds. She brought her feet up as high as she could and rocked her torso backwards, lifting up her flabby arse off the bed a few times before she had gained enough momentum to swoop the bar over his head and hook it under his chin.
With a final, almighty shove she kicked her legs out straight and swivelled to the side slightly so he tumbled onto the floor with a heavy thump. There was a nasty crack that sounded to Pam much like the noise a head might make bouncing off the unforgiving floorboards.
He made no sound on impact and Pam let out a loud cry of victory.
Yes! I’ve killed the fucker, she thought in jubilation.
Now that the adrenalin had eased, the pain gripped her foot in earnest.
“Mother fucker,” she howled up at the ceiling.
She took deep breaths but the pain was intolerable, it was far beyond anything she had ever before experienced. She whimpered and sobbed, but it was like the sounds weren’t coming from her anymore. The ceiling turned a grainy black and white and she felt like was in the bowels of a ship on rough sea.
I’ll just close my eyes for a second, breathe through the pain...
The blissful, numbing blackness claimed her, wiping out all further thought.
When she opened her eyes again, it was dark in the bedroom. She was deeply disorientated, she was sure she had only closed her eyes for a second, but how could that be when it was dark? Ever so gently, she tried to wriggle the toes of her left foot. This was met with a blast of agonising pain that shot up her leg, followed by a reawakened throbbing. She had to try not to move, that was the only way she could control the pain.
Slowly, her eyes grew accustomed to the dark. The curtains were thin and cheap, and even though she was on the thirty sixth floor, London was never truly in darkness. Weak, watery light filtered in through the window so she was able to make out the various objects in the room.
She realised she was shivering. It was cold in here, and she was naked, not to mention probably in shock too. Being careful to keep her foot as relaxed as possible, she lifted up her head and listened, concentrating hard on the sounds of the night. She couldn’t hear the sound of her would-be rapist breathing. Not that she even knew if he was still in the room, seeing as the bed obscured the view of the spot on the floor on which he had fallen.
A chill crept through her. What if he was still alive and had left the room when she was out of it and h
e was going to come back and torture her to death?
No. Not possible. You heard the noise his head made when it hit the floor. He’s deader than dead…
She shuddered. This was seriously fucked up. Her foot wasn’t the only thing that hurt. Her head throbbed merrily with the numerous bashings it had received and her breasts ached too. She wondered what time it was, how long she had until morning when the Djinn would come and save her and she could wish all her aches and pains away.
If he even comes.
He has to come.
No, you don’t have the lamp in your possession, Robbie might not even be dead… Maybe the Djinn doesn’t come if you fail a task.
She whimpered. She could die right here on this bed, her rotting corpse remaining undiscovered for weeks on end.
And fuck, was she thirsty. The inside of her mouth felt like sandpaper and her throat was constricted and sore. What she would give for a glass of water right now…
She forced her mind off liquid. She should try to sleep through this nightmare and then in the morning the Djinn would come and everything would be fine.
She closed her eyes and tried to banish all thoughts from her fevered brain.
The night passed slowly, and most of the time she couldn’t tell if she was asleep or awake. Dreams that made no sense plagued her. Flashbacks from her childhood; her long dead father beating her, her long dead mother, drunk. Getting her head flushed down the toilet at school. All the boyfriends that had abused her over the years. Voices in her head, whispering, all the bad people that had done bad things to her, laughing at her now that she was broken and tied to the bed.
She ached all over, running both hot and cold in turn. Horrible nightmares flooded her brain. At one point, she was convinced that Robbie had sat upright on the floor and was trying to drag his body up onto the bed. She had screamed, and then she was aware of her eyes opening. There was no Robbie on the edge of the bed.
All night the whispering voices flowed and ebbed, mocking her, as they always had.
CHAPTER THREE.
“Good morning Pam.”
Pam opened her eyes to a morning that was not quite yet broken. She wasn’t even aware that she had fallen asleep, but obviously she had, for the faceless Djinn towered over her in the half light.
“Thank God,” she croaked.
She felt like shit and her head was swimming, the pain in her foot unspeakable.
Maybe he’s a hallucination, maybe you’re so near death you’re seeing things. Oh God, please make him real…
“This is the point where I would, under normal circumstances, grant you your third wish. But I am afraid I am not entirely convinced you have completed your second task to my satisfaction.”
“I have done what you asked. The muggers are dead and the lamp is in this apartment somewhere. Just please, untie me and I’ll get it for you.”
The Djinn sighed. “This is all rather unorthodox. The deal is you complete your task before you get your wish.”
“I’ll get you your lamp. Please! Just give me a chance to find it.”
It hurt to speak and she was so thirsty, every word felt as if she were expelling razors through her constricted throat. She was shivering uncontrollably too, her body gripped by fever.
“OK, fine, seeing as you’ve made such a genuine effort to finish your task, I’ll give you this one chance to redeem yourself. You have ten minutes to find the lamp. And if you don’t, you fail.”
She understood him all too well. Failure was certain death.
It took a moment for her to realise that her wrists and ankles were no longer shackled. The cuffs and bar had disappeared as if they had never been. If she wasn’t in such a sorry state, then she might have thought that that was a pretty neat trick.
She screamed out in blazing agony when she hauled herself into an upright position. She swung her good foot onto the floor, no longer giving a shit that she was naked. Her bad foot remained sticking out on the bed in front of her, grotesquely swollen, bent, and laid out in a tacky puddle of red.
I can’t fucking move it.
You have to, you stupid bitch. If you don’t he’s going to kill you.
In just a few short minutes she would be well again if only she could find that lamp…
A steely resolve overtook her, the strong survival instinct that lies buried in every human being, that, until this moment, she had no reason to call upon.
Ignoring the body on the floor, she limped over to the wardrobe. It seemed as good a place as any to look first. The inside of the wardrobe was as neat as the rest of the bedroom and yielded nothing.
Where next?
Ignoring the agony she was in that made her want to curl up on the floor and die, she proceeded to systematically open up every cupboard and drawer.
Still nothing. Just neatly folded clothes and underwear.
Fuck.
She limped through the bedroom door, aware of the faceless, but still watchful gaze of the Djinn. She found herself in a living room with a kitchen tacked onto the far wall much like the one she had killed his friend in.
How long did she have left?
Get a fucking move on.
She made a beeline for the cupboard under the sink, figuring that was where she usually ended up dumping unwanted vases and container type objects that she didn’t use.
“Thank God,” she sobbed in relief, her gaze immediately settling on the dull bronze of the lamp.
She grabbed it with trembling hands and hugged it to her naked chest, the tears of relief falling freely.
“Congratulations Pam,” the Djinn said from behind her, making her jump. “Today appears to be your lucky day. Pray tell me, what is your third wish?”
Her wish, in that moment, was a no brainer. All she wanted was to be pain free. There was no way on earth she would be able to carry out whatever task he might chuck at her today feeling like this.
Because it was bound to be gruelling and ugly.
“Make me well,” she rasped through dry, cracked lips.
“Done,” he said, without a second’s hesitation.
The effect was so sudden, so extreme, that a shrill cry escaped her no longer dry lips. Her scrunched up, clenched tight body unfurled and the lack of pain was such a rush she almost toppled over. Intense relief and joy washed through her and she felt like she was soaring high. She had never experimented with drugs before, not even pot, but she could imagine that this feeling was on a par with what a junkie might experience from a shot of heroin. Even her raging thirst had gone.
Right at that second, she felt able to take on the world.
“It is time for you to hear your next task,” the Djinn intoned, effectively injecting a sense of foreboding into her euphoric bubble. “It will arguably be your biggest challenge yet, but once you have completed it, I believe that everything else I ask of you will be plain sailing. And as you are obviously now aware, I will grant your wishes before you complete the task, if I deem it appropriate.”
Pam was staring down in fascination at her repaired foot. It was as good as new. It was a miracle. She lifted her head to briefly gaze upon his shimmering, faceless face before it got too much and she was forced to look away.
“What must I do then?” she asked when he fell silent.
“You must debase yourself, Pam. You must engage in six acts of sexual depravity. My list is quite specific. Number one. Perform fellatio on a tramp, swallow his sperm and lick his arsehole clean. Number two, solicit for sex on a street corner and allow the person to fuck you for cash. Number three, engage in a gangbang with three or more men whereby each man involved in the gangbang must come. Four, have sex with a dog where you are obliged to get the dog to fuck you. Five, a man or men must piss and shit on you, and six, you must swallow the ejaculation of sperm a total of at least six times, not including your incident with the tramp but if you swallow sperm during your gangbang, that may be counted.”
“What? You can’t be fucking serious?”
<
br /> “Deadly.”
“I can’t do those things. That’s just so, so…”
“Sick? Depraved? Debauched? That is the whole point.”
“But I can’t.”
What he was asking of her was outrageous. It was preposterous, it was wrong, it was…
The answer to all my problems. I can be rich, I can be beautiful. I can live the life I’ve always wanted to lead...
But Christ, could she really do those things?
Deep down, she knew the answer. Men had never been nice to her, what difference would one more day make?
“I can give you a moment to think about it. Perhaps you would like the pain back in your foot to remind you of the alternative. The pain, of course, will only be short lived because you know the alternative if you fail to complete your tasks.”
Pam didn’t want to die. She wanted the life he dangled before her nose. She thought of her shitty life and her resolve hardened.
“I need more details. Like, can these tasks overlap? I mean, if I have to get a guy to piss on me, can it be during the gangbang or is this a separate task?”
I can’t believe I even asked that, yet alone intend to actually do it.
“The tasks can be performed in any sequence and in any combination. All you have to do is make sure you complete them all by midnight tonight. You can have this now, too,” he said handing her the new bankcard. “You can draw money out at any cashpoint or use it as plastic, whatever you wish. The number is six, six, three, three. Don’t forget to keep the lamp safe at all times. If you lose it again, you fail.”
“Wait,” she said, taking the offered card and turning her back for a second to retrieve a ballpoint pen and an old supermarket receipt from the top of the fridge. “I need to write this down, I don’t want to screw it up… Fuck!” The Djinn was gone. “No!” she cried to the empty spot where he had been just a second before. “Don’t go. Fuck!”
Hastily, she scribbled down everything she could remember on the old receipt.
6633.
No. 1. Suck off tramp. Swallow sperm. Clean arse with tongue.
2. Be prostitute, fuck one person for cash.