Suffer the Flesh (6 page)

“Hell no. And certainly not you. You’re in classic denial, Zoey. You were investigated before you were brought here. You’ve been miserable, and we can make you happy. We can make you thin.”

Investigated? When? They picked her up shortly after her conversation with Mel. When the hell had they researched her?

He must have noticed the confusion on her face. “Oh, did you think Mel’s approaching you was a coincidence?”

Dry tongue slid across dry lips. Tears threatened to fall. “But it doesn’t work that way …” she whispered. “I’m happy the way I am. I want to go home.”

 “You are home, Zoey. And it really is that simple. We’ve had hundreds of test subjects come through here. Very few were disappointed with the results. Jesus, most women will do anything to be thin. Do you know that a study showed that formerly overweight women would rather lose a limb than gain back the weight?”

Palmed away tears that trickled toward her mouth. “What about the others?”

“What others?”

“The few that you said were disappointed in the results.”

“Oh. They’re—around.” He shook his head. “We’re getting off track. How do you feel about being overweight, Zoey?”

Oh, but was this a trick question? Even if she hated being fat, it didn’t mean she wanted to be fucked thin. “I’m not that big.”

“True, but I know you hate it. I’ve seen your file. We may take extreme measures, but we get results. Our guests are happy. Our overweight guests lose weight; our corporate clients get their research.”

“Corporate clients?”

“Absolutely. This is big business, Zoey. Sexual research is conducted for all aspects of the industry—condoms, lubricants, sex toys, magazines, clothing, the list goes on. Haven’t you ever wondered how they came up with results for an orgasm study?

That was one of my favorites, by the way.”

Nausea repaid a visit, stronger than before, inciting her stomach to riot. She closed her eyes, waiting for the feeling to pass.

“We’re done for today. I wanted you to have some insight into this, Zoey. Maybe you’ll be more cooperative now that you understand the program. I want you to enjoy your stay here.” He lowered his head, studied the papers on his desk.

Session apparently over.

She followed the guard down the stairs.

Back in the cafeteria, James motioned for her to sit with him at his table. “Have a good visit?”

Reluctantly, she sat across from him and stared at her plate. Runny eggs and burnt toast made for a less than appealing breakfast.

“You don’t seem happy, Zoey.”

Her fork clattered on the plate, and she looked up at him, unsure if she was allowed to speak. But his eyes were transfixed on hers, as if anticipating her response.

“This place,” she said through clenched teeth, “is a festering cesspool. This has been the worst experience of my life.”

Tilted his head and lowered his eyes, now addressing the breasts clearly outlined through the fabric of her shirt. “So dramatic, Zoey,” he whispered, glanced up again. “There have only been a handful of women I’ve been really attracted to. I was hoping you would enjoy being here. Spending time with me … how can I change your mind?”

“You can’t.” Her gaze matched his, unwavering, solid, hers aflame with hatred.

“I can try. You’re special, Zoey. Maybe someday you’ll feel the same about me.” He got up and walked across the room.

She chewed a piece of toast. “Not a chance in hell …” she mumbled, deciding he was more delusional and psychotic than she had given him credit for.

A few minutes later he was back. “Come with me,” he said.

Jill, Kim, and several other women Zoey didn’t know by name followed James to Room Eight. The walls were mirrored from ceiling to floor, the floor foam padding. Track lighting adorning the perimeter was soft, calming.

“This is what I call the touchy-feely room. It pisses me off.” He laughed, and traced the corners of his mouth with his finger and thumb. “But I suppose it’s a breather for you ladies. Robin, you’ve done this room before, right?”

Robin, the guard, nightstick on her belt, was small in stature but powerfully built, like a pit-bull. Her long black hair was pulled behind her ears and tied in a ponytail. “Yes, I have.”

James left. Another guard stood vigil by the closed door.

“Shirts off,” Robin said.

No one hesitated. T-shirts were removed and tossed to the side.

Robin leaned against the wall. “Everyone pair up.”

Zoey’s partner was Jill. Thinner than Zoey, with apple-sized breasts, large, dark nipples. Jill’s nudity embarrassed Zoey, the close proximity of her breasts, the sweat shining on her skin. The other women didn’t wait for further instructions and embraced, began to explore one another.

Zoey blushed, looked away from her partner. This was something she’d never done before, had never even considered. There’d been one drunken frat party years ago where she’d kissed another woman, but it was just something she’d wanted to try.

“Lay down,” Robin told her. She bent Zoey’s knees, her feet flat on the floor. Took Jill’s hands, laid them on Zoey’s body. “Explore her,” Robin said. “You’ve done this before. Touch her breasts, caress her.”

Jill obeyed but worked mechanically, eyes squeezed tight, face turned toward the floor.

“You’re doing it wrong. She’s a guest, like you. This is your chance to bring comfort to another prisoner’s life, make her feel good, feel some real happiness. Are you willing to steal that from her?”

Jill started to cry, turned away from Zoey.

“Jill, knock it off. Get it right, or you know what’ll happen.”

Using the nightstick, Robin tapped Zoey’s knees, spreading them.

Jill sighed, and with a hesitant touch began to caress Zoey, to massage her breasts, her ribcage, fingertips tracing delicate patterns on her stomach and abdomen, stroked the tender flesh between her legs. She leaned over, suckled a nipple, trailed her tongue along the same route her hands had traveled.

Zoey closed her eyes and pretended Jill was Barry. He’d dumped her when he said she’d gotten too fat, but that didn’t matter now. Barry with the puppy-dog eyes and hint of facial hair that never grew no matter how hard he tried. Using him in this way was poetic justice for the way he had treated her. Feminine fingers probing her body belonged to Barry. That tongue, laying slow kisses along her stomach, dipping into her belly button, glistening traces of spit on her inner thighs—all Barry. His hands spreading her legs, soft lips separating her clefts. She tilted her pelvis, hot breath on her clit, moist tongue probing, licking, sucking. Arched her back, thrust her hips to the eager mouth, warm wet lips expertly bringing her to climax, exploring deeper and deeper until she came, until she shuddered and spasmed and came again.

The sound of Robin’s voice destroyed the illusion. “Good, Jill. You’re done for now. Go see if Steve wants anything.” The guard at the door smiled as Jill approached him.

Zoey leaned on her elbow, breathing hard, sheen of sweat cooling on her skin. The women were fucking one another, sticky balls of flesh, some taking turns, others lying head to foot. Legs spread, women on top of women, women side-by-side. Robin was removing her clothes, staring at Zoey. Smiled, slowly ran her tongue across her bottom lip.

Zoey was aware of her nudity again, and crossed her arm over her breasts, pulled her knees together. Her head was spinning, that feeling of dread beginning at the base of her skull. “No,” she blurted, “I’m supposed to—” She lifted her arm, waved it in Jill’s direction. But Jill was busy on the other side of the room, Steve the guard enjoying a blow job.

She looked up as Robin reached her, brandishing the nightstick, and slammed it into Zoey’s stomach. She grunted, doubled over. Robin pushed her onto her stomach and beat her with the club. Zoey tried to crawl away but Robin was relentless.

Zoey sobbed, her body bruised, stinging. Robin spread Zoey’s legs, shoved the nightstick in and fucked her with it, yelling with every thrust, smashing it against her uterus, every blow a lightning bolt of pain.

Screaming, Zoey reached down, tried to pull out the club.

Robin backhanded her across her face. “Don’t move!” Pounded harder, faster, until Zoey was hysterical, the pain crippling.

Robin pulled out the nightstick and lay down beside Zoey. Out of breath, her hair liberated from the ponytail and stuck in sweaty clumps to her forehead and chin. “Fuck me,” she said. “Get me off.”

Body trembling, barely able to move, Zoey crawled over to Robin and stared at her naked body.

Robin opened her eyes. “You’d better do me the way Jill did you. You’d better get it right. I want to enjoy this.”

Zoey moaned, lowered her shivering body to Robin’s. With tentative fingers she reached her breasts, massaged them. Licked the nipple.

“You’re about one second away from being fucked up the ass with my nightstick, Zoey. Do it right.”

Sucked the nipple harder, rolled her palm over the other. Caressed Robin’s flat stomach with dry lips, explored the area between her knees. She separated Robin’s legs and positioned herself between them, lowering her head to her crotch. She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t bring herself anywhere near that woman’s mound of pubic hair.

Her thoughts wandered, and she was twelve, at her aunt’s farm. Picking apples from the neighbor’s yard until she and her sister got caught and were chased by a crazy woman with a broom.

Fingers spread Robin’s labia, dipped inside her pussy. Apple trees; white blossoms and powerful, sweet fragrances, fighting the bees for possession of the tart fruit. Wind in her hair, cooling sticky sweat—

Robin grunted. “Use your mouth.”

Zoey bit her lip, drew a breath. Being raped with a nightstick was worse than this. Had to think of that, the only way to get through this.

Zoey grabbed Robin’s ass and lifted it, pulled her pelvis closer to her face. Tongue piercing Robin’s slit, tasting the salty fluids, hot, sticky moisture sheathing her taste buds. Flicked the lingua against the walls, mouth fucking her, hot breath tickling her fine hairs until Robin bucked, moaned, squealed in delight, pounded her fists against the padding.

Lowered her ass to the floor, sat up, leaned back on her palms.

“Was that so hard? Now do Jill. I want to watch.”

Chapter 7

A
lone in the cells, dim sconce struggling like the flame of a dying candle. Surprised that they hadn’t left her seething in total darkness. Body damp, shirt clinging feverishly to her skin. Pushed sticky hair off her chin. Smelled her own ripeness, the unwashed odors of sweat and despair.

Now she had company. He quietly entered the cell and sat beside her on the cot.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen," James said.

“Get the fuck away from me.” Zoey pulled the sheet over herself.

“You must have done something to piss Robin off. She just got a little carried away.”

“Fuck you.” Screw their rules. She didn’t have much to lose by expressing herself—what more could they possibly do to her? Besides, it felt wonderful to vent.

The other cells were empty. She wondered what time of day it was, because she never knew for sure, not in this windowless torture chamber where the clocks indicated numbers but never an accurate time of day. She slept and woke as commanded, but her internal clock had never felt more confused, not even during her frequent trips to and from England to visit then-boyfriend Doug in Ireland.

“I want to go home,” she moaned. “Why can’t I just go home? I don’t belong here. All those other women seem to be handling this, but I can’t.”

The sheet was draped over his leg and he pushed it aside, rested his hands on his lap, leaned against the brick wall. “They’re not all handling it. Some are worse than you. You’re just not seeing it.”

“That’s a small comfort.”

He cocked his head, studied her breasts, and with a tentative, almost-shy gesture, he slowly trailed a finger along her arm. “Big women are beautiful,” he whispered.

Fire burned in her brain. “Then why the hell do you want to make them thin?”

“It’s my gift. My way of pleasing you. I know what you want.”

“You’re still not getting it. The only way to make me happy is to let me leave this place.”

He smiled. “I can’t do that. But you’ll only be here for a few months. Six, tops.”

Six months?
Her jaw muscles worked, mouth dropped open. “What?”

“That’s not so long. You just need to adjust.”

“I can’t! I want to go now.” The frustration grew, a frenzied mass trying to explode through the top of her head.

He stood, stretched his arms overhead. “Stop yelling. Maintain a civil tongue, Zoey.”

But now she was sobbing, her balled-up hands pounding the mattress.

“Last chance to settle down. I do have standards to maintain.”

And she heard him, heard every last word but couldn’t control herself, needed this release.

“I’m giving you three seconds, Zoey. As much as I like you, I can’t make exceptions, can’t deviate from my standards.”