Posted by Menagerie on September 21, 2004 at 21:22:14:
THE WRONG PLACE
The billowing gray smoke behind Medb’s eyes slowly receded, as she made the transition to consciousness. She tried groggily to sit up, only to find a weight holding her back—a great weight, around her neck. Still in a weave of day and twilight, her hands wanted to reach up to her throat; they, too, were constrained, heavy, greasy metal clasped around her wrists. Medb gasped; her body reacted violently, lurching blindly forward. She tried in vain to scream; in her mouth, something that…choked. Held down her tongue. Brought the tears to her eyes…
“Well, now!” came a voice. “Welcome back!” The voice was rough, low-class, brimming with mock cheer. Medb raised her eyes; thick, black eyebrows framed glassy eyes, yellow as old wax, tiny brown BB’s peering at her intently.
“I think she’s going to be in the way,” came another voice, sounding kind of cross. “I say we do her now.”
“Plenty of time!” crooned the bumpkin standing before Medb; her eyes focused on the large figure, who abruptly grasped her face in one giant hand. Medb gagged on the thing in her mouth; the drool oozed from the corner of her lips, cold and wet against her cheek. Something cold…she suddenly realized she could feel the damp chill of the dark room on every inch of her skin.
The beast before her straightened, has hand slipping off her face to something behind her head; she felt the deadly pressure on her throat as the iron ring around her neck rose. She swung viciously as if trying to shake free, but her arms only shimmied helpless, caught by the cuffs and the chains that held her wrists a few inches from her waist, linked to the steel belt that encircled her. Medb kicked her bare feet frantically; the large man laughed, caught one slim ankle in his other hand.
“Playing with her, are you?” came the other voice; through the red haze that was sapping her breath, Medb saw a smaller man, sandy haired, pasty faced, almost lacking in features, a marshmallow for a face. “Well, have your fun; I still think she has to go soon.”
Medb was on tiptoe, on one foot, trying desperately to relieve the pressure against her throat. She was only partially aware the big man had his other hand free, and was roughly fondling her breasts and genitals. She danced and swayed, the man’s callused hands harsh against her smooth, moist skin. He still held her other ankle, used it to draw her forward; she saw him snarl, kind of, his stained teeth multicolored in the artificial light. Then the man bent over, and Medb felt excruciating pain as he sank his teeth into her right breast.
Medb uttered a series of short, anguished yelps into her muzzle; twin trickles of blood leaked from either side of the brute’s mouth, down the sides of the injured breast and onto her flat belly. She twisted frantically, but the man had an iron grip on one leg and a hand full of pubic hair, and the collar still stood her up under her chin, made random, bright lights dance before her tightly closed eyes. He let go with a chuckle; Medb tried to find her feet, barely brushing the cement floor. The room was suddenly quiet of all but her futile gasps for breath; she sensed the man standing before her and watching her fight for her life. Finally, he casually reached up, gave the chain more slack; Medb was able to stand, and panted for breath, tears leaking from clenched eyes, arms hanging limply, the short links clacking that bound her wrists to her torso.
“I am going to set that thing off tonight,” Paleface announced, grimly. “She saw us leave after we shot the guard at the ammo site. I want her dead, and fast.”
Medb stood silently, her breath restored. She had been hurrying to Lecture, head down, long legs working, and had crashed into someone in a heavy coat. She hadn’t even planned to look up, just muttered apologies and retrieved her scattered notes and books; the figure in the coat had let loose a torrent of profanity, and that got her redheaded ire up. She glared at him through askew glasses, spat a few choice bad words into his startled, ugly face—and heard, “Clem! What are you doing?” Medb looked over in the direction of the cry, and felt the blow to the head that made her brain explode pink and brilliant black.
It was Clem before her now, wiping her blood off his mouth with the back of his hand, her inner juices coating his fingers. The featureless guy walked up to Clem, pulled a knife from a waistband. “Belly, throat, whatever—just get it done. It’s not like we can take her with us.”
“Maybe parts of her,” blurted the goon. “I’ve not eaten in three days, Charlie. You’ve had us living down her like rats while you put your little bomb together; look at her—fresh meat!”
Clem leaned forward, his face to the side of Medb’s; the sweat beaded in the small of her back, her eyes were averted, almost rolled out of her head, as he caressed her with Satanic words. “We used to do that in Angola, we did—find a native, start a fire, cook a leg, an arm. That’s how we lived. Lemme do it, Charlie.”
“You crazy bastard,” laughed Charlie. He strode up to Medb, eyed her appraisingly up and down. “Kinda skinny, Clem—not much meat there.” His hand, doughy, small, wet, reached out, found Medb’s still healthy breast, tweaked a nipple. She stared down, not daring to look at his face; her heart pounded, her breaths came short and fast. A thin smile flitted across the bomber’s face. “Tell you what, Clem—you do her however you want, but we’re out of here in three hours.”
The hulking man grabbed at Medb eagerly. “Sure, Charlie!” he exclaimed. Again, the hands like steel wool etched painfully into her skin, ran up and down her slender frame; as he held Medb against him, she felt his cock press against her hole through his clothes. He turned, told his grinning cohort, “I think I’ll widen her up, just a big, what you think?”
“She’s your toy,” said Charlie, turning to work on his traffic-stopper again. “Three hours.”
Medb wondered if—no, knew—he was going to rape her; she felt cold, not just from the air of the cellar. The big man left her field of vision; she didn’t dare turn her head, just heard him rustling around off to one side. He returned, proudly holding an old steel post, mounted on a block of cement. The thing was a good three inches across.
“Into you, now, Missy,” he said. “We stretch you out good for Clem, we do.”
The collar caught under Medb’s chin again, took her ceilingward. She clawed at the ground with her toes, but found only air. She tried to cough as her throat constricted, but the foreign thing still filled her mouth; her eyes watered, her nasal passages closed. This is it, she screamed to herself, these bastards mean to hang me, just because I saw them! And then, she felt herself gently lowered, lower and lower—The cold, rounded post found her vagina, pushed the lips apart. What--?
Clem looped the end of the chain, Medb still dangled, the post up against her. He got down on one knee, felt underneath her, pulled the labia apart; helplessly, Medb felt herself slowly sinking, a centimeter at a time, the post into her, then a part of her, stretching the soft tissue out far beyond its capacity, the brutal invasion shouting PAIN PAIN PAIN, her feet flailing out to get the floor, to ease the enormous pressures inside of her…finally her feet were flat on the cold cement, but the metal had reached into her, spread her wide, torn her up. She looked through moist eyes at Clem, the anguish tinged with sadness.
Clem’s eyes were bright. He tugged on the chain; Medb rose again, fought to keep her support, to keep from being held up only by that evil pole stuck in her. He laughed delightedly, a child with a new toy. “Up and down, girlie! Up and down!” Medb helplessly felt the metal grind inside of her, a giant dildo sucking out her innards as it withdrew. One more, long hoist, and the pole popped out of her, taking bits of flesh away from her channel; the steel pole sat grimly, coated with debris from Medb’s own body, as she again gasped for breath.
Now back on the ground, gulping and unsteady on her feet, Medb saw the hoodlum coming for her, his pants around his ankles. She toppled over onto the hard floor, the man smothering her frail body; her traumatized channel could hardly feel him as he entered her, and it was shortly over. Medb lay motionless on her back; her shackled hands flopped feebly. Her head was turned, thick mucus ran from her nose. She barely reacted as the thug loomed over her; only her eyes moved, focused on the knife at his waist.
“I’m thinking a nice leg, Charlie,” was the last thing she heard.