Monica O'Rourke: Suffer the Flesh

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.”

Alone 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.”

Three seconds came and went, and so did James. She collapsed on her face and sobbed into the pillow.

Clanking metal woke her—how long had she been asleep?

The cell that had been a stark gray was now without a source of light and had become as dark as a starless night sky. The light poured in from the end of the hall, and a stream of women flowed inside, entering their cells. Their voices sounded like sighs, the beating of tiny insect wings.

Zoey crept across the floor and wrapped her fingers around the bars, peered into the now-blackness of the cell beside her own. “Kim? You there?”

Conversations were minimal, their voices sounding tired. The sweet musky scent of sweat mingled with blood hung on the air, thick and pithy.

“I’m here.” Kim was beside her, on the opposite side of the bars.

“Anything going on?”

“No surprises, if that’s what you mean. We were wondering what happened to you.”

“After that bitch Robin attacked me, they brought me back here.”

“You okay?”

“I guess.” Zoey sighed, expelling the weight of the world from her lungs.

“Get some sleep. I’m exhausted. They really wore me out.”

“I know how you feel, Kim. Try to rest.”

She sobbed, her shoulders hunched into the bars. “I can’t take any more, Zoey. I want to go home. I just want to die.”