by elle`attend
FOR MATURE READERS ONLY
“I count him braver who overcomes his own desires than he who conquers his enemies; for the hardest-won victory is over the self…”
-Aristotle
A single, flawless Marquis-cut diamond of perhaps eight carats lay against the woman’s flushed, gleaming skin, depended from a silver post piercing the thin membrane of flesh just above her navel. It jittered and flashed, shooting lances of spectral colors randomly across the darkened walls of the room with the irregular rise and fall of her abdomen, her breathing harsh, and labored.
She was in every other respect entirely naked.
The angry-looking shiny red slash of a freshly inflicted burn diagonally traversed her otherwise perfectly trimmed and shaped patch of dark-blonde pubic hair. Its twin formed a cruel apostrophe across her left aureole.The sickly sweet aroma of freshly cooked flesh, and burnt hair permeated the air around the small room’s three occupants.
The nude woman inhaled shudderingly as the man snapped a capsule beneath her nose. The stench of ammonia mingled suddenly with the odd barbecue smells, and the sharp tang of sweat, and urine, and human fear, creating a melange of scents as old as sin, and almost indescribable in its horror.
The man struck the woman in the face - once, twice – very quickly, and very hard, with an open hand. Her short platinum hair flew first this way, then the other as her head recoiled with each blow. A cloud of fine droplets of moisture filled the air about her, forming a soft, foggy nimbus that framed and blurred her pale, bruised face for an instant.
She looked up slowly into the man’s dark, brutal face, her eyes filled with contempt.
“Had I known that your mother had lain with a camel, Mustapha Abu, I would have been more delicate in my references to that wronged beast,” she whispered, in perfect, unaccented Farsi.
The musical notes of a woman’s laughter floated toward them from the shadows, arresting the big man’s arm in mid-course as he prepared to strike again at the helpless woman bound to the small rattan cane chair. He turned questioningly in the direction of the sound.
“She seems to know your family quite intimately, my friend,” the woman said, her voice still embroidered with a smile. “But we are unfortunately still very much at a disadvantage in regard to your own, Ms.Analieou.”
“The iron again, I think, Mustapha…”
**********
Dr Beatrix Mackay disgustedly spun the handheld SatLink device across the wide expanse of polished teak, then began drumming her nails on the mirror-like surface of her desktop in frustration.
Four days…twice the time allowed before a ‘red’ alert should have been narrowcast to the other networks… she slammed the palm of her hand down on the folder on the desk before her. The sound made her jump.
Brie was gone…no question about it. The only question left to answer now was how badly her network had been compromised, and how messy the damage control would become. The soft warble of her interoffice communicator cut through her black thoughts.
“Doctor Mackay? Persephone.”
“Yes, ‘Seph,” Beatrix Mackay said, somewhat impatiently.
“All ready to proceed, Doctor.”
“Fine,” Dr. Mackay replied tersely. “Go ahead and begin. I’ll be down directly. I have a few things to wrap up first. I should only be a few minutes.”
A long pause.
“Are you calling the code, Doctor Mackay?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Analieou, Doctor Mackay…Brie.”
“Not yet, ‘Seph,” Beatrix Mackay answered testily, her voice sharp with anger again, a faint note of panic beginning to creep into it as well. “She may still be alright, it may be nothing. She may very well still be alive…”
The edge of hysteria in Dr Mackay’s voice did not go unnoticed by her chief lieutenant. She didn’t like it very much. “If she’s still alive, Doctor Mackay, then she’s been turned. You know it as well as I do. There’d be no other reason not to kill her. It’s what I’d do…it’s what you’d do.”
“That’s enough, Persephone,” Mackay snapped. “Just have everything ready when I get down there. I’ll take care of the Analieou situation.” She banged at a button on the console, breaking the connection.
Dr Beatrix Mackay sat motionless for several minutes longer, staring into space, her eyes tinged with sadness, and some deeper, more primitive emotion, a more personal interior horror. At last she reluctantly reached out for the phone again, and pressed a button on it, then another, marked ‘Secure’.
“Erica, it’s Bea. Get in touch with ME operations at once, please. Tell them to go ‘red’ in the Middle Eastern nets…yes, that’s right…I said ‘red’…Yes, all of them…Brie Analieou is to be terminated on sight…
“With extreme prejudice…”
**********
Four.
The answer is FOUR…
The current pulsed softly, seductively through my body, like the familiar caress of an old and trusted lover. One who would never betray me, my love, my trust, my secret hopes, and dreams…
I blinked rapidly, as the numbers flashed across the screen again, black-on-white, like those numbers you used to see on the leader of the grainy eight millimeter home movies that your grandparents had.
“two…”
I blinked again, furiously, trying to clear the stinging sweat from my good eye.
“plus two…”
My body tensed involuntarily, muscles contracting rigidly in anticipation. I began banging my forehead softly against the metal bar in front of my face in frustration, and rage, a sob burbling up in my chest.
“F...”
“Fuh…fuh…”
I nearly screamed out the response.
“Four, godDAMNIT!! Four!!! FOUR!!! Two and two are FOUR!!!!”
Their was a nearly inaudible pop on the voice activated mic strapped around my throat. I felt the fine, invisible hairs on my body stand on end, moving like a Kansas wheatfield before the first rough kiss of the tornado’s oncoming winds. I bit down fiercely on the hard rubber dowel centimeters from my whimpering, slobbering mouth, and waited. But not for long.
My body became electric.
I have heard it said, often, that one does not remember pain; that the body has no recollection of trauma inflicted upon it. I have never held any brief on the subject myself, one way or the other. Aside from the birth of my two children, my life has been relatively free of anything that could even remotely be considered physical trauma. And by the time that I gave birth to my second child, enough years had intervened to dull that memory. That, and the spinal block I was given when my daughter was born had eradicated any chance I might have otherwise had to test this particular hypothesis.
But I had an opinion now.
Oh, yes, I did.
Smoke rose from the contact pads beneath my palms, and knees, sending tiny curling plumes of acrid, ozone-laced smoke into my eyes, and nostrils. That’s me, I thought in a kind of dazed wonderment. That’s ME that I smell cooking…
I didn’t have long to consider the ramifications of this, however. The circuit having been completed by my body’s acting as a fuse, my attention was now drawn quite forcefully to the monstrous steel pitchfork as it began violating me again, slamming into me with the force of a small punch press. The longer of its twin appurtenances banged repeatedly against my bruised cervix, while the fatter one widened the accomodations in my posterior aperture, one which I had heretofore no experience of in any other than an eliminatory capacity. Punishing electrical shocks wracked my body, as current danced like St Elmo’s fire along the lengths of the steel shafts buried within me.
I was learning.
My body was learning, as well.
The twin horrors pistoned at me with the speed of a berserk assembly line robot, plunging into me again and again, nearly breaking my teeth as I clamped down on the black rubber bit between them. Huge bruises were forming already on my buttocks where the plate on which the shafts were mounted slammed into my tender gluteals. They were the only things that kept those horrible shafts from splitting me in two. I had no trouble screaming now. None at all.
As suddenly as the storm had begun, it ceased. I sagged in relief, held up on my hands and knees by the metal brace beneath my chin, and another at my waist. I was cinched to this last by a leather belt wrapped tightly round my middle, so that the movements of my hips were severly limited, depriving me of any possible way to somehow evade, or accommodate my steel ravagers as they punished my body. Other straps held my knees, and my palms firmly in place on the metal contact plates beneath them.
I was wheezing like a hard-run brood mare, sweat coursing off my body in rivers, puddling in little pools beneath me, except where it fell on the hot contact plates, to be vaporized instantly, sending little whisps of steam up around me. I was astonished at the amount of fluids still left in my body, and cursed them – the moisture simply improved the connection, ensuring that I got the maximum effect from the current when it was applied. I thought of Beatrix Mackay’s throat between my teeth, and bit savagely into the rubber dowel again.
“Five…Five…Five…”
My skin prickled into goose bumps as the seductive, honeyed tones began to drip again from the speakers all around me in the darkness, a voice that could have belonged to the love child of Tori Amos and Billy Idol. Soft, sensuous, but with a low, gravelly, menacing and yet completely provocative undercurrent to it…a totally androgynous voice, and totally, disorientingly arousing. The single, erotically charged syllable made my pussy begin to tingle almost at once, my clitoris pulsing on the beats between each iteration of that nasty, filthy-hot word…
“Five…Five…Five…”
I saw rank upon rank of eager, red-lipped female mouths as they popped that initial consonant, blinding white teeth lightly touching full lower lips, petulant upper lips curling back in challenging, come-rape-me snarls. The steel appliances slipped back into my dripping holes again, slowly this time, so lazily, tantalizingly slowly…
“Five…Five…Five…”
Now those greedy mouths opened invitingly, insatiably, voraciously; pink tongues drawing back slightly into even pinker mouths; enticing, begging to accept the love that they so desperately sought; flesh against wet flesh, grappling in the hot slippery depths of my lost, damned soul…mouths like cunts, my endlessly needy cunt, my dirty, hungry bunghole…little pulses of current danced now along the length of the chromed steel shafts ensconced cozily inside of me, making my slippery membranes ripple, and spasm softly, dancing to their twisted tune…
“Five… Five…Five…”
Now those ripe, greedy lips close again, shark’s teeth kissing swollen lower lip, bleeding now, threatening a sinister edge to any fulfillment, the soft sweet mouth that bites as well as kisses, and hurts as well as heals…salt tears mingling with the bitter-sweet savor of even saltier warm blood, lips wrapping round warm swollen clitorises, drawing them into hot mouths, tongues swirling, painting the throbbing lovebuttons with the vermillion of blood, and lipstick; salt, and love, eliciting their own sweet screams of passion, and denial, and despair…my filthy body clutches hungrily at the shafts now, lures them on, deeper still into my hell..the hot, wet hell of my aching holes…
“Five… Five…Five…”
My body began to shudder uncontrollably, my gluteals and pc pulsating, alternately clenching, and releasing, clenching, and releasing, in a perfect frenzy of syncopation to my chattering teeth, my twitching clit. The long muscles of my thighs began to dance and quiver, and my skin blistered in goose flesh, I was freezing. I was burning up. I was drowning I was on fire so goddamned desperately hopelessly horny that I thought I could see my bloated pussy lips reaching out for their steel lover, see them wrapping around it with an almost audible sucking sound, my torn sphincter mewling about abandonments, and lecherous reconciliations as it acts the part of the not-quite-innocent bystander to these obscene proceedings…
“Five… Five…Five…”
I began to climax. Not slowly, or laboriously; not with great forethought, or foreplay; not with intent, or premeditation…but just come, cum, to cum verb transitive, cum…I had always been so prissy, never catch ol’ VAN saying ‘cum’, how crude, how utterly middle class, uneducated trailer trash cum, cummm, cummmmm cummmmmm …hummm …hummmmmmmmnnn…lips dripping, hips whipping, clit throbbing head bobbing cumcumcumcumcum….
“……….”
The voice stopped, and love fled my world, a void I soon filled with my wails of abandonment. I sobbed like a child. Tears rolled down my cheeks, splashed in fat drops on my sweaty tits, my burned hands, the floor, like the rain in Spain goddamn that arid plain please please please god no more pain no more pain…
“two…”
I opened my drooling mouth, sucking air into my hitching, panicky lungs…
“plus two…”
My screams would have put Faye Wray to shame…
**********
© MEB 2002