Suffer the Flesh (10 page)

Adult disposable diapers

Oh good god, no
… she wanted to scream, frantically searched for a way out of this one.

Serge kicked his feet and snatched her breast, pulling hard, ruthlessly. “Do it!” he snapped.

It was almost impossible to control her trembling hands. She grabbed a diaper from the bag, lay it on the table. Pulled the powder and lotion closer.

Serge closed his eyes, shook his shoulders as if snuggling into the table. The diaper on his body was secured with Velcro tabs, and she undid them, pulled the front of the diaper down over his crotch, revealing his engorged penis.

And the load of shit in the diaper.

She gagged, covered her mouth with her arm. Her eyes watered. She snatched the roll of paper towels, yanked off a pile of sheets.

There was no way to pretend this one away. No way to imagine old boyfriends or anything that might help her get through this. She just had to finish as quickly as possible.

“You fucking bastard!” she screamed, pounding his face, pulling the diaper out from under him and mashing the shit in his face. Grabbed his testicles and pulled, squeezed, rupturing them, twisted them until they popped, until—

“Zoey?” Kevin said. “Hurry up.”

It felt good while it lasted, her little fantasy. She turned her head away, held her breath. She moved as fast as she could and reached in with the paper towels, wiped the shit off his ass, wrapped it in the dirty diaper and rolled it up, pushing it to the end of the table. Grabbed a moist cloth and wiped him clean, applied lotion and baby powder.

Picked up the clean diaper and spread it.

Cum dribbled out of his dick. He grabbed it, gave it a couple of strokes. “Come here, Zoey.” He patted the table

She bit her tongue, climbed up, and knelt beside him. He slid over until he was centered.

“Sit on my face.”

Slowly she climbed his torso until her crotch straddled his face. She refused to allow the tears to fall, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her distress. She lowered herself, felt his gaseous breath, felt his lips inside her, getting her wet, his head bobbing, following the movement of his tongue. His fingers played with her from behind, caressed her ass, probed her anus.

He pushed her away. “Fuck me, Zoey! Fuck me good.”

She climbed back down his body until she found his cock. Straddled it, lowered herself onto it, thighs trembling. Rode him like the horse that he was, a snorting, foaming beast, his face flushed red with excitement and exertion.

“Harder! Fuck me!”

She pumped harder, faster, sliding up and down on his stiff member until he shuddered, moaned loudly, embalmed her with hot, sticky fluid, gripped the sheet.

Legs aching, she climbed off. She looked up. The other men stood at the head of the table. Once wore a diaper, the other was naked, his diaper in his hand.

The naked one motioned for her to climb down, and he took her wrist and lowered her to the floor, pushed her onto her back. He held his flaccid penis in his hand and hovered over her.

She was expecting him to put it in her mouth.

She wasn’t expecting what he did.

Urine shot out, splashed her breasts. He controlled the stream, directed it up and down her body.

Shocked, she sucked in a quick breath and then shut her mouth, turned her head to avoid getting splashed in the face. Strong stink of ammonia filled her nostrils, permeated the room.

He pissed in her hair. When he finished she looked back, stunned, piss dripping off her head.

He shook out the final drops. “Thank you,” he said, grinning. “That’s all I wanted. I prefer to watch.” He sat in the rocking chair, crossed his ankle over his knee, his cock dangling between his legs.

Arms thrown back, she raised her head toward the ceiling and screamed. Couldn’t stop. Her body shook, chest heaved. Piss tricked down her forehead and stung her eyes.

The visitors laughed.

“Oooh, she’s been bad,” Serge said. “She needs to be punished.”

Fuck!
she thought, wanting to scream again. Wanting to kill them all.

“What do you want to do about it, Frank?” Serge asked.

“I know exactly what I want to do.” Frank moved to the foot of the changing table and dragged out a satchel. Pulled out a whip. “Come here, Zoey,” he said, patting the table.

Her legs were weak, could barely support her. Urine dried on her body, chilling her in the cold room. She approached Frank, climbed up as he instructed. Face down, on her stomach. She expected the strikes to be soft at first and then increase in severity, the way they normally did things around here.

Frank surprised her. The first strike was powerful, sharp, and painful, each blow that followed equally harsh. She screamed and cried, held her hands behind her back, tried to block the blows. Serge grabbed them, pulled them above her head, flat on the table.

Raw, smoldering heat, a swarm of hornets relentlessly stinging her back, her ass, the backs of her legs.

She heard Kevin approach, and the beating stopped. Her flesh was a pit of hellfire. “That’s enough, gentlemen,” he said softly. “I think she—”

“Get the fuck out of here, pipsqueak,” Serge said. Zoey tilted her head, saw Serge shove Kevin’s chest, knocking the much smaller man back a few steps.

The other two laughed.

“What else you got in that bag of tricks?” Serge asked.

Zoey tried to kneel but an enormous hand pushed her down, slapped her tender ass. “Stay put, sweet cheeks,” Serge said.

“Gentlemen,” Kevin said, approaching the table again. “This isn’t part of the agreement. The rules—”

“Fuck the rules, tiny,” Serge said. “You wanna get lost, or you wanna take her place?”

“Hey, look what I found,” Frank said. Zoey felt his hands on her legs, on her ass. “Get on your knees.”

She hesitated, and he smacked her. “Move! Spread your legs.”

On her hands and knees. He pushed something inside her, something that felt like a penis, but she knew from painful experience it was a dildo.

“Guys, please!” Kevin cried. “Don’t do this. I’ve asked you to stop.”

Zoey looked up in time to see Serge rush Kevin, punch him in the face. Kevin went down like a sack of laundry.

Wet fingers penetrated her anus, moved around inside her. She grunted, arms and legs quaking, sweat popping out on her forehead despite the chilled air. The fingers slipped out, were replaced by yet another dildo. Sphincter muscles clenched, tried uselessly to force it out. The two dildos filled her, and the pain was maddening. Her insides were raw, felt shredded. A wave of nausea struck, and she felt weaker still.

“Can you reach from there?” Serge asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” Frank said. “Have her lean forward.”

Serge pushed Zoey’s back until her chest rested on the table, her hind quarters still sticking up.

“Hey, Jeff—you want in?” Frank asked.

“No, thank you. I enjoy watching.

Without warning Frank slapped her with the belt, a direct hit on the dildo protruding from her ass, pushing it further in. Her stomach flipped, bile clawed its way up her throat. She wailed, tried to move away.

Serge leaned on her shoulders, his enormous upper body smothering her, holding her in place. “Don’t fucking move, bitch.”

Another strike on her ass, and another, repeating the blows until she thought she was going to die from the agony. A blast of color danced in the air before her eyes.

The assault stopped.

“Turn her over,” Frank said, short hard gasps.

Serge flipped her on her back. They spread her legs wide, both ankles hanging over opposite sides of the table.

“No good,” Frank said. “Here—try this.” Took her ankles, legs still spread, lifted them toward the ceiling.

Serge grinned, his jowls jiggling. His back now to Zoey’s face, he took her legs and pulled them back, until they were almost at a ninety degree angle to the rest of her body.

“Hold them wide,” Frank said. “And move your head, man. I don’t want to get you by mistake.”

Serge leaned back, his fingers gripping her ankles, his elbows pressed painfully against her chest.

The assault started again. Frank beat her with his belt, each strike smashing one dildo into the other, stripping the tender flesh of her vaginal walls.

Beyond screams now she groaned, rolled her head, eyelids fluttering, trying desperately to remain conscious. Blow after blow, relentless, the blood draining from her head.

Frank stopped, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Hey—where’d that little pipsqueak go?”

“He crawled out of here a few minutes ago,” Jeff said from the rocking chair.

Zoey shivered, praying for help from a god that had long-since forsaken her. Hoping Kevin would hurry back and end this torment. She closed her eyes and waited for relief, either from rescue or death.

“He’s in for a surprise,” Serge said, and they all laughed.

Frank smiled. “Sure is. Hey—we done with this one?”

“Guess so,” Serge said, dropping her legs.

“You want a turn?” Frank asked Serge, offering him the belt.

“No, later. I got a raging boner though. Clear her pussy.”

Frank pulled out the dildo and a stream of blood followed. “Kind of messy in there.

“Yeah, so?” Serge knelt on the table, straddled her, stroked his cock. He bent her knees and then fucked her.

Searing heat. She thought she’d felt more pain than she could handle by now, but she’d been wrong. She got to experience it all over again. Eyes clamped shut, couldn’t watch, unable to react any more, screams and tears wasted effort.

He pulled out just before cumming. He stroked himself and jacked off on her stomach. Slapped his penis against her thigh.

“What is this?” Frank laughed. “A fucking porn movie?”

Serge huffed. “Take her with us?”

Frank said. “I don’t feel like dragging her around. We’ll come back for her. She’s not going anywhere.”

They left.

She didn’t move for a long time. The tears streamed into her hair. When she tried to move her legs, the pain worsened. With a trembling hand she reached behind and pulled the dildo out of her ass. Blood gushed, soaked the sheet. Slowly she turned on her side, her stomach churning with cramps, and curled into a ball. She pulled the blood-soaked sheet over her body.

The clock above the door loudly ticked off the seconds, and the air conditioner’s hum droned on, the only other sounds in the room besides her gentle weeping.

More time passed, and still no one returned. She located a clean corner of the sheet and pressed it between her legs, trying to absorb the trickling fluids. She sat up, her body fighting the movement.

Still no one came.

Using the table for support, she lowered her legs to the floor. They buckled, rebelled against supporting her. She waited for the shakes to stop and stood up. With agonizing slowness she made her way across the room, stopping only to retrieve her T-shirt and pull it on over her head. She wrapped the sheet around her waist, wanting to leave but afraid to. Would they be angry? Was she supposed to wait there, bleeding to death? Would James punish her for breaking yet another
rule
? This had never happened before. Everything was always so orderly, so calculated, run a specific way.

The prisoners (guests) were always given instructions before being allowed to leave a room. So now what? Would she be punished for leaving? Bathroom, had to get to the bathroom.

She crept into the hall, expecting the usual busyness, but the corridor was empty. No guards stationed, no prisoners rushing to their next assignments. She leaned against the wall for support, smearing bloody fingerprints. Gore trickled down her thighs. She fashioned the sheet like a diaper.

No sounds. Voices were nonexistent. On her left, the bathroom was about six doors down. She headed in that direction. Room after room was dark, appeared deserted.

A bit further down was the cafeteria. Zoey approached, planning to head back to the bathroom. The door was open a crack, and Zoey discovered where everyone was.

Chapter 10

Z
oey’s heart slammed against her chest as she leaned in closer to the door, open wide enough for her to hear what was going on inside. Something felt terribly wrong, and instinct told her to stay away.

But she had to know what was happening.

At first she heard laughter, a loud bellow.

“Fuck you!” James yelled. Zoey peered in through the small slit separating the doors.

“No, James. Fuck
you
.”

She didn’t recognize the man who had James by the hair, the man who then punched James in his stomach and dropped him to the floor.

At the head of the room stood the three visitors who had tortured her. Beside them stood three other men.

“My name is Zachary,” the man who had punched James said to the roomful of prisoners and guards—all prisoners now, it seemed. “Call me Zack.” He smiled, crossed his arms over his black T-shirt. “In case you haven’t guessed, James is no longer in charge. Neither are his asshole cohorts. From now on, you’ll all do as
I
say.”