by A. R. Braun
Scout gagged and retched, but Mack and Lelila came over and held Muffy’s little ass down so her sex would be in Scout’s mouth. They forced her to swallow after Muffy cried, “I’m gonna come! I’m gonna come!”
The slimy discharge went down, snake venom.
“Oh God, that was the hottest ever!” Muffy turned to face Mack and Lelila as she put her clothes back on. “Can I come over and do that whenever I want?”
“Please do,” Mack answered. His pant bulge let Scout know his penis had snaked into an erection.
Scout wept, feeling like a piece of shit, not worth anything, wanting to die or to never be born.
Bry buckled his pants, frowning at his girl, though a puddle of his white jizz lay at his feet. “I don’t love or respect you anymore. I wanna break up. I can’t believe you did that.”
“Oh,” Lelila mocked, “is twat boy hurt?”
“You can come live with us, Muf’,” Mack said.
Muffy smacked Bry over and over in the face. “You’ll do what I want, when I want, and let me do whatever I want or be a loser without a girlfriend, faggot!”
He started crying.
My hero.
“Get that sissy boy out of here,” Mack said, laughing. “But you, come back over and get even crazier!”
“No probs,” Muffy answered. She looked down on Scout with an air of superiority, the hint of a grin at the corner of her mouth, a stern stare in her eyes, one brow raised, forehead creased. “Bye, sex slave.”
She dragged Bry out of the basement. They clomped up the stairs.
“Show’s over.” Mack rose, taking Lelila’s hand. “Come on upstairs, darlin’. That made me horny.”
“Ooh,” Lelila purred. “You stud.”
“You call yourselves church people,” Scout cried, spitting vestiges of piss out of her mouth. “But you’re all devils!”
Yet they’d left, locking her in again.
Left her to stew in urine and whiteshit.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
This is never going to end.
Scout lay crying on the bed. She didn’t know how much more of a piece of shit they could make her. They’d urinated on her, raped her savagely and made her perform the ultimate abominations over and over.
As the piss and come dried on her face, a rage she’d never encountered took her, and she pulled frantically on the sheets binding her ankles.
Who knows how long they’ll leave me down here before intruding again, so I’ve got to hurry.
With her vision hazy, the washer and dryer, the stereo and the chairs stood as ghosts of the damned, ready to drag her back inside should she escape through the window. She willfully forgot the hell she’d gone through after the last escape; thanks to Muffy, it was easy to do. She strained her muscles. At first, all it did was give her a charley horse. She rested for about a minute and tried again, letting her adrenaline fuel her fire.
They’d forgotten to put the panties in her mouth again. Or they wanted her to savor the flavor of Muffy’s discharge.
Fat chance.
“Father God, Jesus, or whatever you want to be called, please, help me break my bonds and get out of here. If you do, I’ll be the best Christian ever. I’ll become a female pastor.”
Finally, the sheets began to tear.
“Yes,” she said, sotto voce. “Rip, you bastards.”
A bigger problem lay in wait after the sheets ripped. How in the hell was she supposed to get free of being cuffed to the bedpost? No matter. She was so pissed off and fueled by anger, she’d find a way.
After pulling until a cramp took her legs, the sheets binding her ankles tore apart with a craaaatttccchhh. She thought about acting like her legs were still tied, perhaps covering the ripped sheets with the comforter by sliding it over with her legs. Then when the pieces of shit came down, she could karate kick them in the face, but she’d be too debilitated by the fucking headboard. A no-go.
Scout twisted around and bashed at the bedpost with all she had, endeavoring to dislodge it from the bed. The battle wounds and scars she’s encountered fighting the undynamic duo screamed for attention, but she ignored them, focusing harder on breaking her bonds. She pushed and kicked it with everything she had. Owning property before, Scout knew if one wasn’t careful, one would break shit. This was something she wasn’t going to be careful with.
Finally, it came dislodged with a crack, and she had to keep at it to break it completely from the bed. Now faced with the arduous task of dragging the bedpost all around the basement, she looked for something that would snap the cuffs. Bolt cutters perhaps, or a chainsaw? But wouldn’t that make enough noise to bring Mack and Lelila back down?
Hadn’t they said something about a romantic dinner and making love? Now that she thought about it, she could hear the pulsating rap beat upstairs. They were probably through with dinner and getting jiggy with the lovemaking—if one could call it that, the scumbags they were. Perhaps they’d think the chainsaw was somebody pruning their garden a couple houses over, or someone whacking weeds.
She dragged the bedpost slowly, trying not to make too much noise. If I only had Mack’s gun. I could muffle the shots with the comforter. She looked all over, but couldn’t find a chainsaw, then blinked to try to make her vision less blurry and saw the Holy Grail.
Thank God her eyes had adjusted to the night vision. The moonlight peeked into the window.
He had a wall of tools, treating this as an extension of his garage. And hanging apart from the rest were the very bolt cutters she’d daydreamt about.
A rat climbed over her foot and she put her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. A couple more came from behind and tried to bite her ankle. She kicked them away. They reared back for another attack, so she swung the heavy bedpost at them. The vermin fled.
She didn’t know how she’d found the strength to do that. Had to be the adrenaline.
I earned some rat poison. Yeah, right.
Then she worried. Mack and Lelila had to have heard that. Yet the steady beat continued upstairs and no one unlocked the door. Scout had the exciting thought that no one would, not until tomorrow. What a perfect time for those two nutbags to have a romantic evening!
Scout inched over and grabbed the bolt cutters. Her hands shook; sweat slicked her all over. At least she was sweating off the piss and female come. It was tricky work to try to cut the handcuffs with the thing. She had to use one hand and bring it down and underneath. That didn’t work, so she held it above the cuffs and grabbed the bottom level of the handles as best she could.
“Please, Lord God.”
She pushed the handles together, hard. It didn’t want to give way at first, but she kept at it. Finally, it came loose, and all she had were a couple of bracelets. They might come in handy should she have to smack somebody to defend herself on the outside, so she let them be.
Now to break that window.
What would be the best tool for that?
Scout knew she wasn’t mechanically inclined, so she tried to use common sense.
She grabbed a hammer and ran over to the window. She picked up a chair and set it below the boards. She’d been careful not to let it scrape. Then she jumped onto the chair.
Temptation made her want to hurry, to fret, cry out with joy, to PANIC, but she wouldn’t let herself. Time to break the window—but not before impaling a rat endeavoring to make her big toe a meal—she stared out the window at loveliest sight ever, the great wide-open, the gibbous moon spotlighting her flight.
First, she broke the window with the hammer, then had to clear all the stray pieces of glass so she wouldn’t slice herself this time.
What if I’m wrong, if they decide to interrupt their little interlude and come check on me? Taking the remaining pieces of glass from the window could be the factor that gets me caught and sentenced right back to the bed. Worse yet, what if they decide to do to me what Muffy did?
But she couldn’t worry about that now. Her whole body shook wi
th terror as she tapped the pointy pieces of glass lightly with the hammer, which wasn’t getting anything done.
Fuck it.
She bashed them out, listening to that hip-hop beat upstairs. She told herself they were oblivious to what was going on down here. When she had all the pieces of glass knocked out, she ran back over, wrapped a sheet over her hand and swept out the stray pieces.
Her escape hatch was clear.
She covered herself with a bed sheet—no more charging buck naked into the world; they’d think she was nuts and she’d die of embarrassment—and leapt onto the chair and crawled into the night.
***
At first, Scout winced at how she’d become a bit agoraphobic. Then she’d told herself to face her fear or die. Or die of embarrassment as a human toilet. The night was warm, but not baking hot. Thanks to the breeze, her sweat lightly glazed her.
She heaved a heavy sigh, wincing at what she’d just been through.
I’ll need years of therapy.
A constellation looked a bit weird as she squinted at it. No time for that now, so she returned to the task at hand and ignored the stars.
This time, don’t run to any neighborhood people for help. Just flee as far as you can till you find a police station or at least an open business where you can use a phone to call the cops.
Therefore, she tore into the night, lit by the light of the gibbous moon. She leapt the fence and started running, pulling the sheet up and over her feet so as not to obstruct her flight. She stepped on shards of broken bottles or nails here and there, but just grimaced, groaned and kept on going.
She remembered this was the south side of Mowquakwa. Well, at least it wasn’t Cabrini-Green in Chicago, but it still wasn’t the safest place to be.
There could be bigger dangers out there.
Yet all she could think of was getting pissed on—better to get pissed off—so she ran as far as her feet would take her, then turned onto a street and rushed past blocks of tenement houses and, finally, spotted a liquor store.
Her salvation.
She sprinted toward the booze outlet.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Scout blew through the doors of the liquor store, putting her hands over her eyes because the glare of the fluorescents hurt them after being in that dim space for so long. The air conditioner made the place seem like heaven.
Oh my God, this is it! I’m free!
She could’ve wasted time wondering if she should pick up insulin first, but was smart and made her way to the cashier, an obese man with thinning hair, clad in a dark-blue shirt with red stripes and blue jeans.
“Bad Lord, missy,” he cried as she reached the counter. “Get the license number of the truck that hit ya?”
Bad Lord? What does he mean by that?
Scout fought to catch her breath.
“Why you wearin’ a sheet? You a moonie or somethin’?”
“Call … the … police. I’ve been … kidnapped … and raped.”
His eyebrows rose and his mouth formed an o. “Jesus. Wait right here.” He went to the wall-mounted phone and dialed nine-one-one, or at least she thought he did.
Scout surreptitiously glanced behind her, hoping Mack and Lelila weren’t hot on her heels. Had they even noticed she was gone? Were they that lost in their romantic evening?
No one else lurked inside the store. Outside, a couple hoods passed, looking in at her and laughing, the kind of young men that had failed her last time. Not this time.
Mack and Lelila were going to prison for the rest of their lives. Scout sure as hell would report Mack for the two young men he’d killed; she’d tell the police everything.
The cashier seemed to be taking his time explaining.
Hurry up, you fucker! Just tell them to get their asses over here!
Scout couldn’t fathom being free. She didn’t think it would hit her until she was at home, crying onto her mother’s breast.
The cashier had finished with the phone. He pointed toward the doors. “I didn’t call the police. Well, not the old-fashioned coppers.”
Scout’s heart crawled into her throat. She didn’t like the sound of “old-fashioned coppers,” not one red bit. What the fuck was that about?
“Hey asshole!” Mack’s voice.
Scout hoped she was wrong, that it was a routine robbery, but she didn’t want to wait to find out.
“Shouldn’t have called anybody, bitch!” Mack said. “I ain’t sharin’.”
Her nemesis shot the clerk in the eye. Blood and ichor spurted out of his socket as he shrieked. The bullet must have gone through to his brain, for the man dropped like a sack of flour and lay still on the recently-mopped floor, the blood still gushing out of his wound, a demonic drinking fountain. Apparently, the poor guy was working alone, for no one came out of the back of the store.
Scout screamed, turned and gave Mack a wide berth, then bolted for the door.
“Get back here, you fucking cunt!”
Scout burst through the door … and Lelila hit her in the right side of the head with the hammer she’d used to escape.
Out went the lights.
***
Scout woke tied to a chair in the basement, the torn-up bedpost still removed from the bed and laying on the floor near the small tool shelf extension. She knew Lelila had given her a hell of a lump on the side of the head, for it throbbed like crazy. Another pair of Lelila’s panties were stuffed into her mouth. This pair had been stained with piss. Scout gagged and retched.
Oh, my God, these people are invincible. They’re literally getting away with murder. I can’t get away no matter what I do.
Scout was in for it now. She remembered what happened last time she’d tried to get away. She hadn’t been given anything for two days. Anxiety spiked through her veins like poison, making her tremble and sweat.
She looked at the chair she was tied to. They’d secured her with an extension cord, and it had been wound tautly. She could barely move. Scout strained at the restraint, but it didn’t give an inch.
Mack and Lelila walked down the stairs. He held the gun and she held the hammer.
“Got something to say, bitch?” Mack waved the gun at her. “You worthless fuck slave. You ain’t nothing but a cunt with a mouth.” He pulled the panties out of her maw.
Scout spit out the piss taste, gagged, retched and threw up a little.
“Say somethin’,” Mack cried. “Say somethin’!”
Lelila made like she was going to bash Scout’s brains in with the hammer. “She better not say nothin’.”
Scout said, “You’re—getch!—on a serial-killing spree now.” More coughing and wheezing. “They’re gonna find you … sooner or later.”
Mack burst out laughing. Lelila turned her head his way and giggled with him. Scout looked at them, unable to understand how such persons could exist.
He put the barrel of the pistol under her chin and lifted it. “That’s where you’re wrong. People can get away with anything now.”
Scout stared in disbelief. She remembered the “old-fashioned police” and “Bad Lord” bit. “What are you talking about?”
“Never mind.” He lowered the gun.
Lelila stood in front of her and beamed. “Lemme karate kick her in the face and knock her over in the chair.”
“Hold on a minute. I wanted to tell her she’s lost all her privileges for three days this time.”
Scout’s heart sank like an anvil into a bathroom tub filled with blood.
Oh no, oh God, no, I won’t survive three days without my insulin. NO, no, no, no, NO!
Lelila turned her one eye Mack’s way. “Now can I give her a roundhouse kick for tryin’ to escape?”
“Please,” Scout cried. “If I go three days without insulin, I’ll go into a coma.”
Mack shook his head. “That’s your problem.” He nodded toward Lelila. “Give her your best shot.”
Scout wept as she watched Lelila get into a karate stance. “We been wa
tchin a lot of UFC, bitch. Or should I say butch, after what Muffy and me did to ya.”
Scout bawled.
And then Lelila brought her right leg up—perfect form—knee toward the sky, and launched her right foot at the side of Scout’s head.
Tandem head pain exploded, making her dizzy. She saw stars and black dots, then winked out.
***
Scout woke with her left cheek on the floor. Lelila had done a number on her, all right. Rats and bugs scurried here and there, thankfully avoiding her now. She had to get off this floor, had to figure out a way to work herself back upright, for all the good it would do her. She didn’t know how to achieve that, though, so she lay looking under the bed. She’d never noticed it before, but a ton of used condoms had been stuffed under there, along with candy bar wrappers and chocolate soda bottles.
Wonderful.
She had lumps on both sides of her head now. They throbbed in unison with each other, the two drummers in Slipknot. Migraines had nothing on how she felt. As if two people were in competition for how hard they could hit the sides of her head with cast iron skillets.
“Up and at ‘em,” Lelila cried, hoisting her upright. “You’ve got company!”
Scout noticed a drain under her feet, ready to catch any discharge. She could guess what would come next. Then the anxiety of being without insulin, food, a shower and a toilet for three days stabbed through her mind.
Lelila put her hand to the side of her own mouth. “Muffy, come on down! You’re the next contestant on torture the sex slave!” She made fake crowd noises.
Unable to comprehend the curio, Scout watched Muffy run down in a gymnastics costume. The wan girl carried a mat, which she spread out before her.
“For your entertainment, slave slut,” Lelila went on, “Muffy will now perform gymnastics in front of you. Let me add that Muffy wasn’t the best gymnast, couldn’t make the team past grade school. So there will be some off moves and you will catch a foot in the face, perhaps twenty times.”
Scout’s mind lurched.
Muffy grinned from ear-to-ear.
Lelila dropped the hammer and cupped her hands around her mouth. “For the dramatic conclusion, Muffy will defecate on the face of our unlucky participant, who will be licking up her shit … for three days!” Lelila howled with laughter. “After all, she’s not gettin’ anything else to eat.”