Suffer the Flesh (3 page)

“Just having a look, Zoey.” He prodded her thighs and then she felt his fingers fiddling with the speculum, and her body fought against it, tried to reject the foreign object. Muscles flexing, clenching, stomach churning.

Ted glanced at Chambers across the room. “I think … this speculum might be a little too big.” But he pushed harder, forced it further in, and Zoey groaned, body straining against the pressure, eyes squeezed shut against the pain. She quivered with relief when he finally removed it.

“Good,” he said quietly. “There’s hope for you. You just might survive your stay with us.”

Droplets of sweat trickled between her breasts and down the lumps and folds of her belly. She looked down at Ted. Stiff penis in hand, he worked it, stroked it. Shocked, Zoey stared at the ceiling, counted the network of tiles. Never expected to see that. As bad as this was, she never expected that he would—

Felt his hands on her knees but refused to look. Stared instead at the wall, at the picture hanging there, Geddes babies in a bathtub, cherubic smiles, soap bubble beards. Maybe he’d stop, maybe he wasn’t going to—

The tube between her legs was removed. He rammed her with his cock, and she screamed, “God, no!” and as the words were out of her mouth she was sorry, wished she could take it back, hoped he didn’t mean what he’d said.

He fucked her hard, smashed brutally against her cervix, every thrust bringing a new bout of pain. Leaned into her, removed the clamps from her nipples. Her body was a contradiction—relief for her breasts, agony everywhere else.

But he squeezed her nipples hard, pulled them toward him. She tried to follow, lifted her ribcage as far as she could but he yanked until she thought he was trying to rip them off her body.

She wailed. He pulled and twisted, his thrusts increasing in speed and intensity, faster and faster until he moaned, grunted, leaned into her for an eternity. He lay on top of her and then pushed against her stomach, lifted himself up. He pulled his penis out of her and slapped it against her thigh, emptying the last droplets of cum, wiped the sweat off

his forehead.

“Did you think I was kidding?” he asked breathily. “You’ll want to learn one thing around here, Zoey. When someone says something, you’d better listen. You’ll do a lot better if you remember that.” He pulled up his pants.

Chambers stood up and approached them. “Nice, Ted. A little rough on the tits I thought. But nice.”

He laughed. “Yeah, well.”

“All right,” Chambers said. “Who’s next?”

From the shadows behind Zoey’s head two men appeared. She struggled against the restraints, a feral response, born of reaction and not reason. The two men had already pulled out their penises and were stroking themselves.

“Hey!” she screamed. “No!” Looked from face to face, searched for a sign of sanity and found none.

One stepped between her legs.

“Hang on a sec, John,” Ted said. He stuffed the gag back inside her mouth and then reapplied the nipple clamps. “She’s being punished for talking. The only time those clamps come off is to cause more pain.”

“You got it,” John said. “Hey—what’s this? I wanted to fuck her ass.”

“Not yet,” Ted said. “Pick another orifice.”

Her legs were pried apart and she was raped.

Half an hour later, Zoey was dragged back down to her cell.

Chapter 3

S
he lay in the dark, quivering, her vagina twitching and spasming like a separate life form, no longer part of her body. She wondered what she’d done wrong. Something terrible to justify this happening to her. Punishment for some heinous act that she couldn’t recall?

Because that was how this felt—like punishment.

Whispers in the dark. Church whispers, airy breaths sharing secrets. Was someone in her cell? No. Even in the darkness she knew she was alone. The cell was small, and she would have detected another presence.

“Huh-h-h’lo …” she whimpered.

The sound again. Tiny whisper, a puff of air. “Over here.”

Zoey’s knees trembled as they tried to support her weight. Every part of her body ached. Wary of the pain, she stood, hobbled the few feet to the corner of the cell. Pressed her face against the bars.

“We’re not supposed to talk to you yet,” the voice muttered. “Do as they say and you’ll be okay.”

“Who are you?” Her fingers wrapped around the cold steel.

“What’s happened to me? Why are they doing this?” The only response to her questions was a series of hushes, warnings to be quiet, from what sounded like a half dozen voices.

“Please,” Zoey sobbed, “tell me.”

No one answered. Zoey stumbled back to her cot.

Heard them talking to one another, quietly at first, their voices rising in sound and pitch. No one talked to her.

Back pressed against the stone wall, knees drawn up to her chest. She stretched the T-shirt over her legs. That frustrated ache in her heart was back, that bizarre hollow feeling that made her want to scream and cry, the feeling of dread and despair. The
not knowing
that made this worse. How much worse could it possibly get? She’d been
raped
. Not once but repeatedly. What else could they possibly do to her? Trying not to think about it didn’t work. It couldn’t get worse than gang rape, could it? It was impossible to imagine anything worse.

The overhead lights blazed on, white filaments blinding her, and she blinked the vision back into her eyes. Movement down the hall as women poured through the cell doors that had clanged open.

An announcement from the end of the corridor: “Everyone out. I won’t say it again.”

She remembered the last time she had disobeyed and rushed after the others as they filed down the hall, her body bewailing every step.

Dressed like Zoey in long gray T-shirts, shoeless, none of the women spoke. Her jailers, torturers, dressed in black, leaning against the wall at the head of the crowd. They brandished whips, and some slapped the handles into their palms. One wielded a billyclub.

A guard grabbed Zoey’s arm on her way out the door. “You’re new. Do what you’re told and you might survive your stay here.”

“My stay?”

The woman who had spoken was around Zoey’s height but was about forty pounds lighter. How easy it would be for Zoey to overpower her … but she didn’t like the odds. The outside corridor was crowded with these guards.

The woman poked a finger into Zoey’s collarbone. “Never speak unless given permission. Understand?”

Zoey swallowed, nodded.

“This is where you eat, and where you get your assignments.”

Assignments? So many questions … she pleaded with her eyes, begging to speak, was ignored.

The room was arranged cafeteria-style, banquet tables with seats for ten. She was ushered into a food line and handed a tray. She sure as hell didn’t have much of an appetite. In the corner of the room sat the medical team that had gang-raped her. Blood drained from her head and she staggered back, grasping the edge of a table. Her legs trembledand then betrayed her, dropping her to her knees on the linoleum. Her tray clattered

to the floor, the food spilling.

Two men flanked her, grabbed her arms, pulled her back to her feet. When they looked in the direction she stared, they laughed. “You’ll get used to it, sweetheart.” The man, so young, such a baby face, deceitfully cherubic, playfully slapped her cheek. “Sit down. I’ll bring you some food.”

At the table, she searched faces, women with hair plastered to their scalps, appalling welts on faces and forearms and legs, pus oozing from gashes, swollen lips and cobalt bruises mottled on cheeks, beneath eyes. They spoke to one another but ignored Zoey, even when she tried to join in their conversations.

Another tray of food was set in front of her, but the contents were unappealing. She drank the coffee.

The man who brought her the tray sat beside her, crossed his leg over his knee. “Hi, Zoey,” he said, toothy grin. “You’ll be seeing a lot of me. I’m James. I run the place.” When he extended his hand, she hesitantly shook it, revulsion exploding on her flesh. “Just do what you’re told and you’ll be okay.”

She blinked. He was the third or fourth person to say that to her. Just how long were they planning to keep her there? Where in hell was she?

“I’m going to give you your first assignment. First give me your wrist.”

She hesitated and then slowly extended her hand toward him. He slipped a leather bracelet over her wrist and snapped it shut. “See? It’s not always about pain. I’ll tell you something else, Zoey—don’t ever hesitate like that again. Not everyone is as understanding as I am. Clear?”

Lines of communication had been reduced to a series of head jerks, and she nodded.

“Good! First assignment—report to Room One. You have ten minutes.”

The room began to clear. Women limped into the hallway. She studied the bracelet. Simple leather. Metal ring suspended on the outside against the back of her hand. The ends were clamped shut; this thing wasn’t going anywhere. Room One then.

Christ. The trembling started again. Where was everyone going? She wondered what would happen if she just stayed there. He’d given her ten minutes. What if she took twelve? Fifteen? Two hours? The dread of wondering what was in Room One … was it worse than the punishment waiting for her if she disobeyed?

Legs weak, protesting against carrying her, she followed the group, in search of Room One.

Chapter 4

D
own a corridor painted in soft beige tones, simple art prints adorning the walls, Zoey slowly passed door after door. Most were marked in number only and began with Number Twelve. The numbers descended, even on one side, odd on the other, spaced

widely apart. She was likely on the right track, with Room One at the far end of the corridor. Her bowels felt rubbery as she slowly made her trek down the endless hallway, studying the layout, searching for a way out. A few doors were labeled more bizarrely. Room Six—BDSM. Room Five—Surveillance. Room Nine … her head snapped back when she read the sign on Room Nine.

Room Four—Punishment.

Punishment
? Her breathing slowed, and her hands felt clammy.
Jesus god almighty, they’ve to be kidding!
Where was the exit? Maybe she could get out, could find a stairwell somewhere. She passed Room One, kept going toward the end of the hall. No doors, no sign of an exit. She wrapped her arms around herself. No alternative it seemed. She backtracked to Room One and stared at the closed door. Reached up … pulled her hand back.

Couldn’t do this, couldn’t bring herself to knock. The corridor was deserted—maybe now was the time to search for that way out. There had to be an exit. But what if she disobeyed? What would they do to her? Even worse, what if the exit was on the other side of that door? Maybe they were going to let her leave.

She tapped, and no one answered. Knock again or turn and get the hell out of there? She tapped again. Tried the knob, which turned easily in her hand. Poked her head inside the dark room.

“You’re two minutes late.” A male voice. Soft. Familiar.
James
.

The breath she’d been holding poured out of her lungs. A smile formed on her lips. He’d been kind to her, in a way. She trusted him as much as she was able to trust anyone in this place. He’d looked so gentle, his blonde hair falling over one eye, downy like swan feathers.

“Come on in, Zoey.”

She entered the room, her eyes fighting to adjust to the darkness.

“Close the door.” He cleared his throat. “This is Room One, the Introduction room. I gave you more than enough time to get here, Zoey. It’s a one minute walk from the cafeteria, yet you managed to be late anyway. I was kind to you, was I not?”

She nodded.

“Speak when I ask you a question. I can’t hear your head rattle, Zoey.”

“Yuh-yes,” she whispered, her heart thudding, sweat trickling down her neck, down the back of her knees. Tried in vain to make him out but there was no light, nothing to focus her eyes on.

“You’ve been bad. Haven’t you, Zoey?”

Bad? No!
What was he saying?

“Answer me.”

“Bad?” Her voice cracked.

“You’re learning some hard lessons. But you have to learn to do as you’re told. We can’t have chaos around here.”

That now-familiar dread returned. She felt rather than saw them approach. Hands on either side of her grabbed her arms. She screamed, tried to pull away.

James calmly said, “You’re only making it worse. Do as you’re instructed. Do you understand?”

“Yes!” she sobbed. Gave up the fight, waited for them to lead her. Her T-shirt was lifted over her head, and she stood naked in the darkness, arms and hands trying to shield her body. Then her arms were lifted above her head, her wrists pushed into shackles,

clamped shut.

The lights began to slowly brighten, as if on a dimmer switch. The room was crowded with guards flanking the perimeter.