THE TORTURED (9 page)

She began to moan as she sucked faster and faster, trying desperately to please him. She began to groan as she sucked, the sounds of their moans echoing through the garage. As he moaned, he pulled his hands from her breasts and pulled his hard cock from her mouth. As she looked up into his eyes in disbelief, he forced his cock between her breasts and squeezed them together.

“Meghan, I’m going to fuck your big titties, don’t you dare move,” Ryan demanded.

As Meghan arched her back, Ryan thrust against her chest, his cock sliding between her fleshy boobs, the tip escaping through the uppermost portion of Meghan’s breasts as he forced himself between them.

She watched as his cock slid between her breasts.

As Ryan fucked her chest without reservation, he began to feel his cock swell, and his breathing become labored. He placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled his cock from between her breasts. As he stepped away from the rear of the car, he moved his hands to her armpits and lifted her from the car.

“Ryan, what are you doing?” Meghan asked as he pulled her from the car and held her suspended above the garage floor.

“Straighten your legs,” he demanded as he turned her body to face away from him.

As she straightened her legs, he lowered her to the floor, until her feet touched the concrete. Once her feet were on the solid floor he released his grasp from her armpits, and lifted up on her hands, which were still handcuffed behind her back. As he lifted, to relieve the pain, she bent at her waist.

As her waist bent, he pressed her head into the trunk of the car, and lifted on her cuffed arms.

“Get your head in the trunk, you cute little bitch,” Ryan demanded.

As Meghan allowed Ryan to pull up on her hands, and force her into the trunk, she felt his hands on the waist of her pants. His hand fumbled for the clasp in the front. As soon as he found the zipper, she felt her pants fall to the floor, and her panties being pulled down past her thighs.

“You’re not going to…” Meghan began to speak.

“Not one word, Meghan, keep your mouth shut. You’re mine,” Ryan said as his hand pressed into the middle of her back, forcing her into the trunk.

Meghan felt the tip of his rigid cock begin to penetrate her. As she felt the shaft enter her wet pussy, she began to moan. As he forced his length into her, she immediately began to reach orgasm.

“Oh God, I’m,” she began to moan.

Ryan’s hand slid past her chin and covered her mouth firmly.

“Not a word or I’ll tape your mouth again,” he growled as he forced himself in and out of her now dripping wet pussy.

As she screamed, her voiced echoed through the trunk of the car and into the garage.

“What the fuck, Meghan? Were you having a bad dream?” Elena asked as she shook Meghan’s shoulders.

“You were screaming,” Elena continued. 

Confused and feeling sexually aroused, Meghan woke up and looked around the room. She wiped her lip, and realized she had been slobbering as she was dreaming. Embarrassed, she slowly stood and looked at Elena. She looked at her hand and wiped her mouth again with her forearm.

“I’m exhausted. I was dreaming. Sorry, what did I say?” Meghan asked.

“You didn’t
say
anything, you just started screaming. Shellie fell asleep a little bit ago. You were out for quite a while,” Elena paused and studied Meghan’s face.

“You look like shit,” Elena chuckled.

Meghan looked down at her sweats and straightened the waistband. As she tugged the wrinkles from her tank top, she looked back up at Elena with a feeling of guilt settling in her mind.

“Do you think Ryan is attractive?” after Meghan spoke, she wished she would have worded her sentence differently.

“What the
fuck
?” Elena scrunched her brow and looked at Meghan, confused.

“What you mean,
attractive
?” Elena took a step back and crossed her arms as she developed a more disgusted look on her face.

“Yeah, never mind,” still feeling embarrassed, Meghan attempted to dismiss the question.

“No, what you mean?” Elena asked before Meghan had even finished her sentence.

“I just was wondering. I don’t know - we kind of talked about it before. It’s no big deal,” Meghan looked down and focused on her tank top again as she tugged the wrinkles from the fabric.

“I didn’t say it was a
big deal
. It’s just fuckin’ weird. You wake up and wanna know if I think the sickening prick that’s gonna cut us in pieces is a good looking guy. You know, I kinda like you. But you’re
weird
. You asked questions about him when you first got here. What the fuck?” Elena, with her arms still crossed, leaned back and squinted her eyes as she spoke.

“I’m sorry, I was just dreaming, and I got kind of distracted and confused,” Meghan admitted.

“What? You were dreaming about
him
?” Elena asked as she uncrossed her arms and held her hands up in question.

“No,” Meghan lied, “I was just dreaming, and I was confused. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. If we’re talking about him, I wanna talk about trying to poke out his fuckin’ eyes,” Elena gestured jokingly toward Meghan’s eyes with her finger as she spoke.

Meghan raised her hand defensively, rubbed her eyes and wondered if her attraction to Ryan was really as odd as it seemed to be. Setting the abductions and killing aside, she felt as if he was an attractive man, had attractive qualities, and behaved in an attractive manner – at least what she had seen of him. She began to wonder if they had met under different circumstances whether she would be attracted to him. After pondering her thoughts for a moment, she was certain she would be.

Meghan stood before Elena knowing that she had entertained fantasies about rape since before she and Mark were together. Through somewhat of a moral inventory, she initially dismissed it to her desire for affection from Mark, and him not acting on that desire. She felt worthless, lacked self-esteem, and began to fantasize even more as the years passed.

This fantasy wasn’t something she constantly thought of, or even desired with a degree of frequency. But it lingered. It lingered, and from time-to-time, she masturbated to the thought of being raped. This masturbation led to additional and more frequent mental desire - and the desire led to more repeated masturbation. She learned through interest that developed in her
kink
that four out of ten women have deep seated rape fantasies. After learning of this statistic, she dismissed her feelings as
normal.

At this particular moment, Meghan felt far from normal.

“What are we going to do?” Meghan asked Elena as she rubbed her eyes.

“We can’t make a
plan.
It won’t fuckin’ work. Not in this stupid room. He’ll open the door,” Elena motioned to the door, clearly frustrated.

“He’ll see us, and he’ll shut the fucker. Probably come back and make us his new stain on the floor,” She turned from Meghan and began to walk the perimeter of the room as she spoke.

“So, if you have any ideas, I’ll listen. I think we should just try and jump him when he comes,” Elena continued.

“What time is it,” Meghan rubbed her eyes again, trying to clear her head of the thoughts of Ryan that lingered from her dream.

“I looked a minute ago, it was like seven. You don’t want the music on do you?” Elena asked.

“No. I want to think. At night, right? Seven at night?” Meghan responded

“Yeah. Night,” Elena nodded as she walked around the room slowly. As she walked, she ran her fingers through her hair and thought.

Elena was confident that Shellie would be next. Although Shellie had not actually committed to die next, she was receptive to her family being taken care of should either she or Meghan live through this nightmare. As Elena walked, she began to contemplate the inevitable.

She would not, regardless of circumstances, forfeit her life. Elena had too much pride, too much fight, and too much will to live. If Ryan wanted to kill her, it would be during a fight – a rejection of his will. She filtered her hair through her fingers, and looked at Shellie – still sleeping on the bench.

“How you think this fucker found us?” Elena asked Meghan as she passed by Shellie.

“I don’t know, we talked about it. He’s obviously got something for brunettes,” Meghan said as she sat on the bench opposite Shellie.

“Seriously? That’s your fucking answer? He likes brunettes?” Elena scoffed.

Meghan looked up at the ceiling, rested her elbow on her knee, and placed her hand on her chin. Ryan must have an attraction to them, she thought. If he were attracted, why, she wondered, would he find value in killing them one at a time. She began to wonder if it was an attraction or a form of hatred.

“Why don’t you think he just killed us all at once?” Meghan asked.

“What? That didn’t make sense. I’m Mexican, you’re from here. Use your words, Meghan,” Elena chuckled.

“How come he didn’t just kill us on the street? Or bring us here and kill us? Why didn’t he do that? You think he wants to torture us?” Meghan reasoned.

“Maybe. I don’t know,” Elena stopped and turned to face Meghan.

“What you getting’ at?” Elena asked.

“I’m thinking. Why would a guy pick us all up, bring us here, and then pull us out one at a time to kill us?” Meghan stood from her seat and slipped her feet back into her sandals.

“Because he’s fucking
crazy
?” Elena answered with a sarcastic tone.

“Didn’t you see Silence of the Lambs? And that Spider movie. Along Comes a Spider? People kill just because. They cut off your hands and toss you in the street. Just because.
Because they’re weird.
Because their momma didn’t breast feed them. Or their dad spanked them too late in life,” Elena became frustrated as she spoke.

“No doubt he’s crazy. I just wonder why,” Meghan shrugged her shoulders.

“Why?” Elena raised her hands.

“You think if you figure it out - tell him what you think - and you’re right, that he’ll let you go? He won’t. He’ll cut your throat for bothering him. He’s fuckin’
crazy
,” Elena rubbed the thighs of her sweats as she spoke.

“I’m getting nervous. So, you really got that money? The money you told Dana you had? For taking care of her family?” Elena asked.

“Uh huh,” Meghan responded as she walked toward the bathroom.

“Don’t sound too convincing to me,” Elena responded as she walked toward the bathroom door.

“I don’t know what you
want
me to say. Mark inherited it, we divorced, and I got half. It was a pretty simple procedure. I have never remarried or anything,” Meghan finished speaking, turned on the faucet, and rinsed her face in the sink.

As Meghan dried her face, Elena leaned on the doorway of the bathroom. Greed, she began to think, caused and solved many of problems that the world faces today. People are driven by greed to do things they would not normally do.

“So, you think you could buy our way out of this?” Elena asked as Megan hung her towel over the towel bar on the wall.

“I don’t know, it’s
possible
. I suppose it’s worth a try. It sure isn’t going to do me any good if I’m dead. All of this is just, well, weird. I thought after Dana left…I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. I thought after Dana left that this would end. Or it’d never get to us. But he’s going to come back. He is. Over and over.  And we’re going to have to kill him or figure out a way to stop him - or change his mind,” Meghan wiped her hands on her sweats as she walked toward the doorway.

“Now you’re thinking. We have to kill this fuckin’ guy. We do.
You and me.
Because little miss
hueva
over here,” Elena motioned toward Shellie.

“Isn’t gonna last very long,” Elena turned back to face Meghan as she spoke and looked down at the floor.

“Ryan’s coming back, and he’s got one more to kill before he starts killing
us
,” Elena said as she slowly looked up into Meghan’s face.

And at that moment, as the two women stared into each other’s eyes, the thought of dying – for the first time, began to become real.

CHAPTER TEN

EVER DO ANYTHING SHADY?

TEN.
Entering the parking lot, Ryan made note of Ami’s car parked in the employee parking area. His heart began to race as he thought of her new hair color, and the tattoo that she had attempted to hide behind her hair. As he parked he turned down the music. Quietly, he closed his eyes, relaxed, and thought of what he may want to discuss with Ami. As he sat and relaxed, he began to think of his father and the advice he received from him as a child.

“You’ll never amount to anything but a pile of worthless shit, do you understand me?” his father asked.

“Yes sir,” the 11 year old Ryan responded.

“Repeat it,” his father demanded in a harsh tone.

Standing naked once again, Ryan began to whimper. He wanted to get dressed, go upstairs, and be with his mother. He didn’t want to repeat it. When he repeated it, he felt as if he would never be like the other kids. Often, he wondered how long he’d actually live before his father killed him. He was certain his father wanted to, only time and his father’s patience preventing it from happening.

“If I have to ask you one more time,” his father paused and reached into his pants pocket.

“I am a worthless pile of fat shit. I will always be worthless. I will never amount to anything,” Ryan said as he fought back the tears.

“Again,” his father demanded.

“I am a worthless pile of fat shit. I will never be…I mean I will never amount to anything. I will always be worthless,” Ryan lowered his shoulders and looked at the floor.

“When you slump, it’s apparent just how fat you really are. Again,” his father demanded as he circled Ryan.

“I am a worthless pile,” Ryan paused and began to cry.

Ryan reached up and wiped his eyes. He bit his bottom lip, stopped crying, and began to speak again.

“…of fat shit. I will always be worthless,” Eleven, naked, hungry, tired, and humiliated, Ryan looked at the floor and cried.

“Oh Christ, Ryan. You think if you cry that God can hear you? God doesn’t listen to fat kids. God is so fucking ashamed of you. You create problems for God because you even exist on his earth. God is beyond ashamed of your disgusting fat little ass. God fucking hates you. Do you have any fucking idea how I know that?” his father barked.

“No sir,” his bottom lip quivering, Ryan fought back tears as he responded.

Daily, Ryan wished God would listen. He hoped that God listened to him as he said his prayers at night. He had already lost fifteen pounds, and when he looked into the mirror, the reflection he saw was not overweight.

“Because God talks to me. When I pray, God listens. Do you know why he listens to me?” his father bellowed as he stood at Ryan’s side.

Ryan turned and looked at his father, “No sir. I don’t know why.”

“Because I am not a fat pile of sickening shit. God hates fat kids, and God hates you. Make no mistake about it. God hates you. If you don’t believe me, pray for me to give you mercy. Pray for that. And when God doesn’t answer you, when he brings you down to the basement again for a fat inspection, you’ll know,” his father explained as he shook his head slowly and looked at Ryan’s naked body with disgust in his eyes.

“I imagine I will not be able to eat that fabulous dinner your mother prepared. Do you know why?” his father asked as he walked around Ryan, studying his body as he did.

As Ryan’s father circled, Ryan hesitantly responded, “Why father?”

“Holy shit!” his father screamed.

“Father?” he paused and shook his head in disbelief.

“You want to call me father? I do not claim your fat fucking ass. Call me father again, and I will cut you. Sir. That’s the word that better fall out of your fat mouth. Sir. Call me father again, I’ll take a finger. At least if I did, you’d lose a few ounces. Jesus, Ryan, looking at you is making me sick,” his father stood with his hands on his hips and shook his head.

“I won’t be able to eat that meal, Ryan because I will vomit. As sure as today is Wednesday, and God and I both know it is, I will vomit that roast your mother has so graciously prepared. I will vomit the roast. Now, do you know why I will vomit the roast?” his father asked.

“No…” Ryan’s voice cracked as he tried to speak.

“Sir,” the tears streamed down Ryan’s cheeks as he spoke.

“Because you have upset my stomach, Ryan. You have made me sick. I am sick at my stomach. I will be incapable of swallowing, enjoying, and keeping your mother’s wonderful food in my stomach. Because you won’t lose weight. One more question. One more, then I must get away from you. Jesus. I may vomit right here. I just may. Ryan, does God love you?” his father stood directly in front of him, and stared at Ryan’s bare crotch.

‘No sir,” Ryan whispered.

“Louder,” his father demanded.

Ryan straightened his shoulders and responded, “No sir,”

As Ryan spoke, he began to believe his response.

“Because?” his father asked.

“Ryan straightened his stance further, looked straight ahead at his father, and responded, “Because I am a fat, worthless, sickening pile of blubber. I am worthless, and I will always be worthless. God hates me, God doesn’t listen to my prayers, and he never will.”

“You’re correct for once in your life. Son of a bitch. Maybe you do know more than how to solve math problems. Well, sleep down here. I am going to try and choke down your mother’s dinner. If you’re quiet, and I have no reminder that you exist, I may be able to hold it down. Say a little prayer that I am able to eat my dinner,” his father said as he turned toward the stairs.

“Oh wait,” his father said as he walked.

“Never fucking mind. Don’t say a prayer. I’ll just risk it. God doesn’t listen to little fat kids. Worthless piles of vile shit. Fat kids that no one will ever want. I don’t want to take a chance pissing off God any more than he already is. Just keep your fat mouth shut,” Ryan’s father paused and coughed.

“I’ll do you a favor and tell your mother you’re exercising,” his father continued as he disappeared up the stairs.

Ryan waited for the footsteps of his father to fade away, picked up his clothes, and got dressed. Now sitting on the edge of the couch and staring at the wall, he began to second guess his self-worth, his purpose on earth, and his faith in God.

Now sitting in the parking lot, Ryan looked at Ami and wondered. As he bit his quivering bottom lip, he rubbed his hands on his slacks and stared through the glass structure into the coffee shop. Filled with admiration for Ami, Ryan struggled with the thought of going inside the establishment and risking rejection.

Ryan turned his left wrist and checked the time. The watch provided a reassurance that he was, in fact, successful. He glanced back into the coffee shop and watched as Ami smiled at the customer she was assisting. Nervously, he looked back down at his watch and checked the time again. After pressing the shirt cuff over the dial of the watch, he opened the door of the car and began to walk inside.

“Good morning, Ryan,” Ami offered with a smile as Ryan walked through the door.

“Good morning Ami,” Ryan responded as he raised his arm and looked at the face of his watch.

“The usual?” Ami asked as Ryan approached the counter.

“Yes, thank you,” Ryan responded as he reached into his pocket.

Ryan removed a ten dollar bill and held it in his outstretched arm as Ami pressed the keys on the register. As Ami reached for the bill, Ryan admired the tone and color of her skin. As she took the bill from his hand, he contemplated touching the skin of her hand.

“Here’s your change, Ryan,” Ami said as she attempted to hand Ryan the six dollars and various coins.

“Drop it in your tip jar,” Ryan said as he searched Ami’s neck for a glimpse of the tattoo.

“You’re too kind. I hate to even ask but. Well never mind,” Ami lightly shrugged her shoulders in embarrassment as she dropped the money into the jar.

“What? Ask, Ami. I have no secrets,” Ryan assured her as he placed his wallet back into the pocket of his pants.

“Well,” Ami started with a tone of embarrassment, “what exactly do you do? You know, for a living. How do you make your money?”

Ryan crossed his arms and admired Ami’s striking appearance. Hesitantly, he responded and waited for her acceptance.

“I invest money,” Ryan responded.

“In what?” Ami asked as she started wiping the countertop with a rag.

Ryan thought about his investments - his means of making money. He had, as an adult, become obsessed with making money. His successes were a reassurance that he was, in fact, worth something. He was not worthless. He was intelligent, and was a person that was able to plan, prepare, and implement just about any plan to make more money. With his arms crossed across his chest, he turned his wrist and glanced at his watch.

“Well Ami, it depends on what presents itself,” Ryan responded.

“Do you ever do anything shady?” Ami stopped wiping the countertop and waited for Ryan to respond.

Ryan began to feel uncomfortable. His hands began to sweat. He thought of the women in the room in his basement. He recalled the internet discussions with his Japanese investors regarding the abductions and the game they were going to play – all for financial gain. He began to perform the mathematical calculations in his head regarding one of the women actually choosing death over dismemberment.

Slowly, Ryan inhaled a breath through his nose, uncrossed his arms, and pushed his hands into his pockets.

“Define shady,” Ryan laughed dryly.

Ami looked puzzled. She studied Ryan, smiled, and tilted her head as she reached under the counter and dropped the towel onto the bottom shelf of the cabinet.

“Well, some people will do
anything
for money. You know, they’ll do whatever it takes to make a buck. You’re young and obviously successful. I just wondered if you got your successes from weird stuff. I was joking really,” Ami responded as she stood and wondered what it was that Ryan invested his money in.

How he succeeded to the degree that he did.

“No,” Ryan responded, “I don’t. I primarily invest in stocks and some real estate.”

Ami reached toward the bar and retrieved Ryan’s drink from the barista.  As she handed it to him, she smiled and spoke.

“Interesting, very interesting,” Ami responded.

Ryan smiled and reached for the drink. He had hoped to talk about other things, but accepted the conversation as sufficient as he accepted the cup. He raised the cup to his mouth and took a slow sip.

“Taste good?” Ami asked cheerily.

At this instant, Ryan felt as if some things tasted good in his mouth, and some things did not. He lowered the cup as he continued to admire Ami.

“The coffee? Yes, it tastes fabulous,” Ryan assured her.

But you must excuse me.

I have women to torture.

For profit.