Monica O'Rourke - Suffer the Flesh

Jessica sobbed, twisting in the cuffs, her hands spread on the floor in an attempt to relieve the pressure.

Zack took away the shirt that had pooled around her head. “I wouldn’t want you to miss seeing anything.”

“And you,” he said, approaching Tamara, “what did you think you were going to do? Save everyone? Is that what you are, a savior?” He stroked her chin, and she yanked her head back. “Well, savior , you’ll meet the same fate as our last Savior.”

Large wooden beams were dragged to the center of the room. Behind that, another man carried a large rubber mallet and a box of carpenter nails.

Tamara moaned, sank to her knees. Zack laughed. “Here’s your chance for martyrdom, savior.”

“What about him?” Jeff pointed toward James. “I thought he was going to be crucified.”

Zack pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Shrugged. “Plan B then. We’ll think of something. I didn’t bring enough wood to do two, and she deserves it more than he does.”

Zack then addressed the rest of the men. “Go back to what you were doing. No need to stop enjoying yourselves. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

One by one they returned to the women.

Zoey studied the room. In the corner sat the former guards, hands and feet bound. They weren’t going to be any help. Even if they weren’t bound, she doubted they’d be useful.

Beside Jessica now, Zack licked two fingers and thrust, fucked her with them, jamming them deep. Then he added another finger, then a fourth, twisting and turning his hand until it disappeared. He grinned, seeming to enjoy her screams, her spastic jerks.

Brutally raped her with his fist, left it in there as he spoke to Jeff. “Still too much blood. She’ll die too quickly if we cut now.”

Jeff nodded.

“Hey, go fuck something, would you?”

Jeff snorted, grinned, walked toward the massacre.

Jessica’s blood dripped off Zack’s hand when he pulled it out.

A plan, she needed a plan, but Zoey’s mind wasn’t cooperating. If she went in shooting, there was no telling who she might kill. The idea to wait until the men went to bed crossed her mind, but Tamara and Jessica would probably be dead by then. And there was no telling when these men would need to get some sleep. It seemed as if they were wired, and with all the drugs they kept boasting was roaming their systems, she wasn’t surprised.

Crying wasn’t much help, but she couldn’t control it. This was too much, it wasn’t fair! How was she supposed to help those women?

Zack’s voice pulled her out of her crying jag. He was testing Jessica’s blood flow again with his fist, and said to the man with the mallet, “This is taking too goddamned long, Doug. How long does it take blood to drain to the head?”

Doug hoisted the mallet over his shoulder like a lumberjack. “I don’t know, Zack. What about that dinner you mentioned? We can eat, do her when we get back.”

Zack clapped him on the back. “Guys, listen up.” Some of the men looked, a couple were too busy. Zack waited for them to finish. A minute later he had everyone’s attention. “Let’s grab something to eat. When we come back, we’ll have our crucifixion and our sawing ceremony. I need two of you to stay here and stand guard.” He lit another unfiltered cigarette.

“Why?” Frank, the one who had beaten Zoey with the belt in the nursery, asked Zack. He pointed at Tamara. “You worried about that one? Put a fucking bullet in her brain, man. Or at least chain her up somewhere.”

“She’s escaped once already. I’m not taking any chances.”

“Then why don’t we do the crucifixion first?” Serge asked, patting his fat stomach. “It sure would give me an appetite.”

Zack didn’t answer for a moment. Took a drag of his cigarette, shrugged. “Why not? It’ll get her out of the way. Line up the wood.”

Men dragged the planks to the center of the room, and from the floor, Tamara began to scream.

“Shut up!” Zack yelled, kicked her in the stomach with his boot. Tamara doubled over and fell on her side.

Serge yanked her shirt off. Rolled her onto her back, her enormous breasts sliding to the outsides of her chest. He yanked his cock a few times, spread her legs. He raped her to the sounds of pounding nails, fucked with the rhythm of hammer strikes. She didn’t move. Didn’t scream or try to push him off, as if she had given up.

Serge pulled out, looked up at the circle of men surrounding them, and climbed off, using her stomach for support.

They grabbed her arms and feet and dragged her to the boards, now nailed together in the shape of a cross, and centered her on it.

Arms stretched across the wood, palms up. Small pieces of plywood were laid on her hands.

“No…” she groaned.

“Hold her. Doug? Let’s go.” Zack squashed his cigarette beneath his boot.

He gripped the mallet like he was choking up on a bat and then raised it overhead. A carpenter nail was held in place, and Doug swung, pounding the nail through her flesh and into the wood.

Tamara screeched, her body bucking. Several men held her in place, sat on her flailing body. Another swing of the mallet and the nail was buried. Sprays of blood covered Doug, the floor, the man holding the nail.

He moved to her other hand, pounded in the nail.

Ashen complexion, a luster of sweat covering her body. No more screams; the shock had taken over.

Several other women were crying and screaming, begging them to stop.

Tamara’s legs were pushed together, ankles placed one on top of the other. Doug pulled a spike out of his pocket, handed it over. A small piece of wood was laid on top of her feet, and the spike was pounded in. They reinforced her wrists and ankles with rope, securing her firmly to the cross.

“Gonna need help with this,” Frank said. “We have to lift her.”

The men groaned.

“Couldn’t you find someone smaller to crucify?” Serge bitched.

“Oh, but she was okay to fuck, right, Serge?” Zack said.

Serge turned away.

Four men leaned over, grabbed the cross by the arms. One footed the base while the others lifted, pushing it upright. They dragged it to a nearby support beam and propped it.

“Now we can eat,” Zack said. “I still want one guard in here. Volunteers?”

“I’ll stay,” Serge said. “Fuck, Zack, it’s better than eating whatever you’ve cooked.”

Zack laughed. “Good man. Someone want to go get Ralph?”

Zoey’s heart stopped when Zack looked up at her. “Hey, Ralph?” Filled with terror, wondered if he could see her through the glass.

“Ralph? Can you hear me up there?”

She didn’t know what to do.

“Ralph?”

She banged on the glass. Zack nodded.

“We’re going to grab dinner. Come on down.”

“He can eat with me,” Serge said. “Keep me company.”

Zack looked up again. “You mind waiting? Bang on the glass if you’ll wait to eat with Serge.”

Zoey banged on the glass.

“Good. Hey, Serge, think you can find something to keep yourself busy?”

Serge smiled, shrugged. “I’ll think of something.”

Zack pointed at Jessica. “Do me a favor and check her once in a while. See how the blood flow is coming along. I want to start sawing when we get back.”

The women had been deserted in awkward, painful positions, limbs stretched and contorted, genitalia burned or whipped beyond recognition. Head slumped forward, blood and pus oozing from grisly wounds, Tamara moaned nonstop.

Zoey hefted the pistol and reached across the panel to grab her prisoner’s gun.

Huddled at the head of the stairs, gun aimed at dead air, Zoey waited. Ralph’s gun was on the floor beside her, not even a waistband to tuck it into, only the T-shirt on her back. Ralph’s pants might have fit, but she wasn’t about to untie him to remove his clothes.