Flesh Factory: An Extreme Horror Novel

BOOK: Flesh Factory: An Extreme Horror Novel


























ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced or used in any way without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in book reviews. The characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.







Dear Reader,


‘Flesh Factory’ contains strong sexual content. Yes, I know I’m not exactly known for my subtlety and literary morality, but this one pushes the envelope.

And to all you lovely ladies out there, I don’t hate you. I can hand on heart say that in real life, I fully support the feminist cause. As much as I quite enjoy the reviews calling me a mentally-ill woman-hater, I respectfully beg to differ. I can honestly say I was pleased when Playboy magazine covered up. I am absolutely offended by the objectification of women in the media, I think it perpetuates an unrealistic, plastic, air-brushed, (not to mention strange-looking) ideal that makes women feel like shit and encourages men to treat women like lumps of meat. It is a direct cause of marginalisation of women in the work-place and I despise the unhealthy fixation so deep-rooted in society of judging a woman on her looks.

The thought of my daughter growing up in this social media culture with its institutionalised sexism at its core leaves me sick with dread. This is real horror, not the stuff I write.

That said, Flesh Factory contains far more sex than my previous efforts. We’re not talking the savoury kind of sex either. But then, what do you expect from a book called ‘Flesh Factory’? It does exactly what it says on the tin.

This is
, folks, and I have a passion for writing horror that pushes boundaries. So if you don’t want to read graphic sex scenes and you find the idea of a heroine with latent, masochistic tendencies deeply offensive, then please give this book a miss.

Still here? Good, then I think you and me are going to get along just fine.


Sam West.












Rohan Sanders slowed the car to a crawl when the headlamps illuminated the lone girl walking towards him on the quiet country road. It was as if she had been delivered to him by God himself.

Or the Devil.

Thin, petite and probably malnourished, she looked like a druggie. She wore cutoffs and a tight white t-shirt. Even from this distance Rohan could see she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her tits were tiny, her nipples large and straining against the flimsy fabric in the cool summer evening. She had a tatty looking rucksack slung over one shoulder and her bony arm stuck out at a right angle from her body, her thumb sticking up hopefully.

It’s your lucky night baby,
Rohan thought.

He stopped the car when she was parallel to the passenger door and wound down the window.

“Can I give you a lift?” he asked, leaning over the seats.

Her head popped into view.

“Where you headed?” she asked.

Her hair was super short, cradling her scalp in a pixie cut style in an unnatural shade of blueish-black. There were dark rings under her big brown eyes set in the thin, elfin face. He guessed her age to be mid to late-twenties, judging from the fine lines fanning out from the outer edges of those pretty eyes. If it weren’t for the nose-ring, blotchy skin and lack of meat on her, she would have been pretty damn beautiful.

“I’m going to London,” he said.

She paused for a moment, openly assessing him. Rohan breathed a sigh of relief when she eventually nodded. He knew he had what could be described as a trustworthy face, which is why he was so good at his job. His natural, golden-blonde hair flopped pleasingly onto his forehead and his big blue eyes held a childlike, guileless quality that belied his twenty-eight years. His nose was ever so slightly upturned in the classically handsome, clean-cut face, further enhancing his boyish charms.

“Me too,” she replied.

Thank God he had said London.

“Get in. It’s not safe for a girl on a road like this at night. What you doing out here anyway?”

“Last guy I hitched with, he got fresh. I told him where to go and he threw me out the car.”

“Bastard,” Rohan sympathised. “There’s some real jerks out there.”

“Yeah, there sure are.”

“Are you getting in or not?”

He watched the indecision flash across her expressive, doe-like eyes, and then she was getting into the car next to him.

“Thanks for this,” she said after a minute or two of driving in silence.

“Hey, it’s no problem. Do you have a name?”


“It’s nice to meet you, Isobel. I’m Rohan. So what’s your story then? You homeless or something? Or have you just lost your wallet?”

“Bit of both. I had a row with the guy I was living with and I walked out with nothing.”

“That’s too bad. Why London then? Are you going to stay with a friend?”

She looked like she was about to burst into tears and Rohan mentally ticked off another box. The ‘No-One-Gives-A-Flying-Fuck-About-Her’ box. So far so good.

“No, there’s no one I know in London,” she said sadly.

“So what are you going to do?”

“I guess I’ll just figure it out when I get there.”

“What about family or friends? You ain’t got no one you can go and stay with for a while?”


Hell, this one was just too easy.

“That’s a shame. So who was this guy you walked out on? He your boyfriend?”

She paused for a second, telling him all he needed to know. He’d seen and heard it all a thousand times. The guy in question was obviously her pimp.

“I guess. You sure do ask a lot of questions don’t you?”

“Let’s just say I have an inquisitive nature. How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”


That was a fair bit younger than he thought. That was good. Less chance of her having a severe STD or being too fucked up on drugs. It wouldn’t take much to restore her to her peak of beauty and health. The Factory would pay well for this one.

“So why did the guy you were hitching with really chuck you out the car?”

“I told you. He was hitting on me.”

“It’s because he pulled over and just went for it, right? He wasn’t gonna pay for it.”

Despite the dark, he saw he had hit the nail on the head from the way she twisted her head to look out the window and wring her hands in her lap.

“I guess,” she said so quietly he hardly heard her, obviously hoping that he would open his wallet in exchange for a quick fumble.

Rohan indicated left, pulling into an empty layby.

“Hey, what are you doing?” she protested.

“Relax will you,” Rohan said, bringing the car to a halt. “I’ll pay, just name your price. And I’ll only do whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Fifty pounds.”


She looked surprised when he opened up his wallet and produced two twenties and a ten.

“A blowjob please.”

He said it with a boyish smile, a smile that had always got him what he wanted in the past, and it didn’t fail him now. The girl unclicked her seatbelt and shuffled sideways, undoing the fly of his jeans. A puzzled look passed over her face like a cloud when she held his flaccid cock in her tiny hand. When she dipped her head in his lap he reached under into the side compartment of the driver’s door, his fingers curling round the hypodermic needle.

He injected her shoulder with practiced ease before she even had a chance to wrap her lips around his penis.

The girl instantly went slack, her head flopping in his lap.

He rearranged the girl in the passenger seat, making it look like she was taking a nap and started the car for The Factory.












Hope Hill shivered on the street-corner. She had been stood here for ten minutes now, and so far no cars had stopped for her on the busy ringroad.

Why am I even doing this,
she thought despairingly.

Because you’re desperate, that’s why. Because if you don’t get that money together yesterday your little brother is dead meat…

Just up ahead, she noticed a car indicating to pull in, stopping a few feet in front of her. She dithered for a second.

It’s stopped for you, you doofus, get over there!

She tottered over to the parked vehicle on impossible high heels that she really should have practiced walking in earlier. She figured that the owner of the vehicle probably thought she was pissed.

The passenger window was wound down and she leaned over, holding her waist length red hair off her face like she was peering through a curtain.

“Hey,” said the young male driver.

“Hey,” she replied, taken aback by the guy’s appearance.

He was not what she was expecting at all. With his floppy blonde hair and handsome, boyish face, he could have the pick of any women he wanted.

“Are you getting in or not?” he asked pleasantly.

She hesitated for a second.

Then she thought of her brother and got into the car. She had to do this, end of.

“I charge one hundred for a blowjob and two hundred for sex, with a condom of course. I don’t do anal and if we go back to yours I charge extra.”

Her heart was beating so hard when she spouted her carefully rehearsed speech that she thought he might hear it. She twisted her hands nervously in her lap, staring down in disgust at the ridiculously short hemline of the clinging black dress.

Come on, come on, get with the programme, you can do this…

“You seem a little nervous.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, you’re real twitchy. Are you on a downer?”

A downer? What on earth does he mean?

And then she got it. He meant drugs.

“A downer. Yeah.”

My whole life is a bloody downer right now.

“Why don’t we drive a bit while I mull over your offer.”

“Fine. But time is money. I charge thirty pounds for prevarication outside the act itself. And all the while you’re deciding I don’t wish to leave the ringroad, I don’t want you driving away from the city.”

He turned his head sharply to look at her. “You’re not on a downer are you? I do believe you’re nervous.”

“Nervous? Me? Not at all.”

“I haven’t met a prostitute yet that says she charges for prevarication. You haven’t done this before, have you?”

“Of course I’ve done this before, I’ve done this a thousand times. Hey, where are you going?”

“Relax will you, I’m just finding a park,” the man said as he drove down a residential side-street.

He pulled into the first available space and stopped the car.

When he turned to look at her properly, her resolve crumpled.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”

“I gathered that. That’s why we’ve parked.”

“I’m sorry to waste your time.”

Hope grasped the door handle, ready to slink back home with her tail between her legs and pretend that this had never happened. She would just have to find the money another way. Or simply offer her life in place of her brother’s.


Something in the tone of his voice gave her pause to stop.


“Have you really never done this before?”

“Does it show that much?”

The man smiled and she was once again struck by how handsome he was. His eyes were so wide and innocent, yet she detected such sadness behind them too.

“Yeah. You’ve had a narrow escape, you know that, right?”

She laughed softly, humourlessly. “Perhaps. Is that why you look so sad?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your eyes. They are so sad. Have you done this one too many times? Because you don’t have to. You could always stop.”

“You’re very judgemental for a woman that was about to fuck for cash.”

“Yes, you’re right. But I didn’t, did I? Not do it, that is. You know that saying, you’d rather die than do something? Well, I guess I’m about to put that to the test. It was nice to almost meet you.”

She opened the door and swung one long, pale leg out of the car.


For the second time she paused and turned to look at him. For some reason the sight of him made a lump form in her throat. He just looked so god-damn sad, like his heart was breaking.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

She paused, unsure if it was wise to tell.
Oh, what the hell,
she thought bitterly.
I’m pretty much a dead woman walking anyway.

“Hope. Hope Hill.”

He smiled in the darkness. “Hope. There’s hope for you yet, Hope Hill.”

“I somehow doubt it. What’s your name?”

He paused for a second, as if he too was contemplating the wisdom of sharing his name.


“Well Rohan, next time you go picking up streetwalkers, just remember this for me. Sex without an emotional connection makes us no better than animals. It makes us dangerous, viscous, soulless. But if you love someone, sex is transcendental. It will make you a better person. Love will save you Rohan and I hope that one day you find it.”

“That’s quite a lecture, coming from an almost-whore.”

“Just think of it as my dying words.”

“Don’t go,” he said, but it was too late.

Hope left Rohan behind in the car and was on her way home.

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