Suffer the Flesh (9 page)

Hours later she returned to her cell, aching, exhausted, semen leaking out of her cunt like a bad infection. The sheet provided little warmth or protection but it felt good against her skin, felt familiar, like home.

Chapter 9

S
unshine on her face, warm, gleaming, and smells of flesh gently baking, of wildflower perfume.

She tasted the heat on her tongue, felt it on her skin. Opened her eyes to the brilliance of the sun spotlighting the endless meadow, tall grasses bowing, poppies dancing, a rush of movement when the wind picked up. Splashes of color, a backdrop for the trees and underbrush.

Laying on her cot, eyes pinched tightly shut, Zoey woke but tried to stay lost in the dream. Remembering summers in the country, afternoons at the lake, of dipping her toes in the chilled mountain water in the brook behind their house. Playing tag with her sister and the neighborhood kids.

If she opened her eyes now, the image would be lost. It had already begun to falter. The afternoon sun faded behind her eyes until it was nothing but a blackened smudge. Zoey stared at her eyelids and tried to retrieve a dream that had died a slow and painful death.

She opened her eyes, knew they were open because she felt her lashes dust the tops of her cheekbones, but she saw nothing. No windows to sneak in dribbles of sunlight, no overhead or wall lights to create shadows in the corners of the cell. No way to know the time, to know to try to go back to sleep, or stay awake. Perpetual nothingness in a stygian blackness.

“Anyone else up?” she whispered.

“Yeah. I am. Janice.”

“Do you think it’s time to get up?”

“I have no idea. Try to sleep.”

Zoey nodded, which answered no one.

“I’m awake, too,” said another voice. “Heather.”

“Marie? Are you awake?” Zoey was worried about her, and the other women who had been severely beaten with the cat o’ nine tails. “Marie?”

“I’m here,” she said, sounding tired, in pain.

“You okay?” Zoey asked.

“Not really. Can’t lay on my back. They bandaged me up, but it still burns.”

“Me too,” Sandra said. “This was a bad one. Bastard. I swear to god I’m going to kill him one of these days.”

“Hey—you all know what today is?” Janice asked. When no one responded, she said, “I’ve been counting off the days. We’re having company.”

“Oh, shit no,” Heather gasped. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure. They always do right after their little feel-good orgy.”

“What are you talking about?” Zoey asked.

There was silence, as if no one wanted to talk about it.

Another voice spoke up, and this one Zoey recognized as Kim. “They bring in people from the outside, to watch. And … other stuff.”

“People? What people?” Zoey felt a ray of hope. Maybe one of these people would help. Maybe—

“A group of goddamned perverts, that’s what they are,” Sandra said.

The hope exploded in Zoey’s chest. “What do they do?”

“Anything they want,” Heather said. “They pay good money for it.”

“You sure that’s today?” Zoey cried. “Maybe you’re wrong.”

“Once every other month. The first Saturday. And unless I’ve been counting wrong, today’s Saturday.” Janice sounded almost excited.

“God, Janice, it sounds horrible,” Zoey said, sinking into her pillow, wishing she’d never asked. Wiggled her fingers in front of her face. Nothing.

A short while later the bolt was thrown, and the main door opened. Overhead lights blared to life.

“Rise and shine,” the guard named Matthew said. Moments later the buzzer sounded, unlocking the cells.

Adjusting to the harsh light was painful, and Zoey squinted, her lids fluttering.

In a single line they headed toward the bathroom to shower, to wash away the dirt and sweat from the day before, to clean dried cum and crusted blood from their bodies. They weren’t allowed to shower at night and were forced to sleep in the filth and fluids that clung to their bodies like second skin.

Guards watched them shower.

“Do a good job now,” Tony said. “We’re having visitors.”

They were handed clean towels and T-shirts as they left the shower area.

At breakfast, Zoey pushed her food around on the plate and was experiencing a new breed of anxiety. “Is it bad?” she whispered to Kim, sitting beside her. “These people?”

Kim nodded. “Sometimes. Depends on who you get.” Eggs spilled off her fork. “Or how many.”

The eggs suddenly looked revolting, quivering mounds of embryo. Something else had been bothering her. “Kim … I should have had my period by now. Do you think I might be …?”

“No, and you won’t get your period. They put birth control in the food.

Eyebrows raised. “What?” She glanced down at the food. “But sometimes I skip a meal. What if—”

“They put it in all the food, at every meal. The chance of getting pregnant is almost impossible.”

“Comforting.”

Janice sat across from them, dropping her tray on the table in disgust. “Good morning. My, don’t you all look sparkling clean?”

Kim smiled. “Special day. We even got the good soap.”

“Eat up, Zoey,” Janice said. “You’ll need your strength.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. It’s making me nauseous.” The coffee went down okay, but she refused to put those eggs near her mouth. “Janice, how long have you been here?”

“Five months, more or less. I was pretty big when they brought me in here.”

“I guess you must have been,” Zoey said, pushing her tray to the center of the table. “You’re thin now.”

“Almost. A few more pounds.”

Zoey planted her face in her palms and rested her elbows on the table. “What do you suppose happens?”

“When?” Janice chewed on a piece of bacon and pushed her too-long blonde hair off her face.

“You know, after you’re done. After you—”

“What? Lose the weight? They let you go.”

Zoey stared at Janice. “Just like that?”

“That’s what they say,” Kim said, shrugging.

Zoey said, “But why would they?”

“Because no one talks. Because this is far-reaching, Zoey.” Janice picked up her toast, took a bite. “You don’t know what goes on outside this place.”

“How do you know?” Zoey asked.

Janice shrugged. “Like I said, I’ve been here a while. I hear things. The guards say things, other subjects who have been here a long time.”

“Subjects?”

“She means prisoners, Zoey,” Kim said. “Janice has a unique perspective.”

Janice used her toast like an extended finger and pointed across the room. “See that guard by the door? That’s Robin. She used to be a subject.”

Zoey’s jaw dropped. Robin was the one who had brutalized her with a nightstick. “My god … you’re kidding. They made her stay?” She wondered how a former prisoner could perpetuate the torture.

Janice laughed, spraying crumbs across the table. “Not at all. She chose the job.”

Robin leaned against the door, arms crossed over her chest. She yawned.

Zoey looked back at the women at the table. “She chose it? Why?”

“Not everyone hates it here, Zoey. Some of us actually enjoy it. Usually.” Janice grinned, forked eggs into her mouth.

Zoey glanced at Kim. “What about you?”

“Me? I’m just killing time. I’m anxious to leave. Unlike Janice here.”

Janice licked her lips, wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “What can I say? I like to fuck. This place is like Nirvana for me. At first I hated it, being forced to do this stuff. But then I decided to pretend it was my choice. I got into it, you know? After a while it got better. And now … well, now I just go out there and enjoy myself.”

“You’re seriously disturbed, Janice.” Zoey shook her head and dropped her napkin on the plate. “What I want to know is how these guys get it up every time, over and over.… It’s not natural.”

“They’re juiced up. They take stuff to keep them hard. Viagra I guess, other stuff.” Janice smiled and glanced across the room.

James had entered, and all conversations stopped as if severed with a knife.

“Good morning,” he said. “I’m sure you all know by now that today is Visiting Day. For those of you who don’t know what that is, let’s just say it’s a chance for you to get acquainted with some new blood. I expect you all to be on your best behavior.”

He looked from woman to woman, as if inspecting them. Haunted faces stared back.

“Let me make one thing clear. These people are not here to rescue you. They know you’re not volunteers.
They don’t care
. Understand? If I hear that any of you asked for help, you won’t be able to walk for a month. You will do whatever they tell you. Some will only want to watch, but there aren’t many who don’t want to be hands-on. So to speak.” He stuck out his tongue, tittered at his little joke.” Breakfast is over. Get your assignments.”

* * *

Zoey stood outside Room Eleven, fingers trailing the chipping paint. Chewed a loose bit of skin on her lip, filled her lungs.

She entered the room.

A playpen in the corner, large enough to hold a dozen sleeping children. Full size rocking chair beside it. A banquet table in the center of the small room, covered with sheets; bottles of lotion, creams, baby powder were assembled near the edge. Mobiles of toy boats and grinning clowns hung from the ceiling, danced in the air-conditioned breeze.

Someone cleared his throat, and Zoey spun around. Four men, including the guard Kevin stood hidden in the shadows.

A man stepped forward, ample flesh covering his tall frame. He wore a diaper and nothing else.

Zoey took a half step back.

“Go ahead, Serge,” Kevin said. “You’ve done this before. Tell her what you want.”

Serge waddled toward her, belly and jowls jiggling. “Take off your shirt.”

Zoey pulled off the T-shirt and dropped it to. The room was colder than the others, and her nipples hardened.

Serge smiled, licked his lips. “Nice. Nice one, Kevin.” He took Zoey’s hand and led her into the nursery. He lowered her to her knees, followed her to the floor, and lay his head in her lap.

Kevin
. Why did Kevin have to be here?

“Lean down.” Serge pulled her closer. Reached up, fondled a breast. “Lower.”

Her chest was over his face, and he guided a breast into his mouth and sucked. The other breast he yanked, rough then gentle then rough.

Kevin had stepped out of the shadows, was standing outside the nursery area. “Serge is your baby, Zoey. He’s hungry. Make sure he gets plenty of milk.”

She rolled her eyes, groaned. Any hope she might have felt walking into the room, any thought of recruiting their help slowly dissolved until it faded into nothing.

Serge sucked harder, pulled it into his mouth, slid it in and out and lightly chewed on the nipple, made suckling noises. The other he held in a savage grip, twisting and yanking on the nipple. He switched breasts, now tasting the one he had abused.

Spasms of pain, tiny needle gashes inflicted by barracuda teeth.

He guided her hand to his swollen phallus, and she wanted nothing more than to rip it off his body. He released her breast and his hand roamed until it found her pubis and stroked the short, curly hair. He hooked a finger into the top of her vagina and yanked her toward him. She gasped, lifted her groin, and he pushed his fingers inside her, rubbed his thumb over the clit.

He pulled her breast out of his mouth. “Now do me.”

She looked up at Kevin. Had no idea what he wanted.

“Suck his breasts, Zoey,” Kevin said, establishing eye contact with her, and he mouthed
I’m sorry
and shook his head.

Ragged breaths. She pulled her hair back and leaned into him, twisted his nipple with her lips, tiny hairs embedded in her teeth. She imagined herself chewing it right off his body and spitting it back in his ugly hairy face.