Flesh Factory: An Extreme Horror Novel (5 page)

He shoved aside the all-too-true thought and yanked the jumper off her body. She might have been naked when she came in, but it was still satisfying to disrobe her. With practiced ease he quickly snapped her wrists into the restraints while she was still winded and pliant. That done, he kicked her ankles apart and cuffed those too.

He stood back and admired his efforts. This was always his favourite part, where he stood back and assessed the girl, deciding what to do next within the parameter of his instructions.

Just break her,
Mick had said.
No lasting damage, not physically. Fuck with her mind, leave her body intact. A little internal bruising is alright, no permanent stretching, no lacerations
.
Just rough her up a little, give her a small whipping and a big scare. Have some fun with the tourniquet
…

God, she was so beautiful. A goddess.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just want this nightmare to stop…”

Her voice trailed off, but she had stopped sobbing, which Rohan was thankful for. It really pissed him off when they cried when he hadn’t even
started
on them yet.

You’re going to save her, remember?

“You have to trust me, Hope, I want to help you. We’re going to escape, together. You do trust me, don’t you?”

She nodded, but she still looked terrified. The chances were she was just trying to appease him, that she didn’t mean it. Another flash of irritation made his heart beat faster and his stomach somersault.

“They’ll be down soon, to check on us. We’re going to have to make this look good.”

His reached for the whip hanging up next to the X-frame, and smiled.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Hope was terrified. Her head reeled with the situation she found herself in, held captive by a madman who claimed he was going to
help
her. She didn’t believe him, but he was all she had. What had she been thinking, attempting a runner? If she fucked this up, then her brother was dead.

But I can’t let myself be raped and mutilated in a fucking torture chamber
…

The tears continued to well behind her eyes but she forced them back. She had to be strong, she had to
think
. No matter what, Mick seemed to want her alive – alive and whipped, albeit.

The torture chamber made her feel dizzy if her gaze settled on any one apparatus or instrument for more than a few seconds. It was beyond her realms of comprehension. She had heard of places like this, even seen the occasional picture but the reality was quite something else. Thick, clunky chains hung from the walls and high ceiling, screwed into the uneven stone surface. The equipment down here looked so
strange
, it put her in mind of a cross between a medieval torture chamber and her old school gym. The racks and stocks she recognised for what they were. As for the other iron and wood instruments of varying size, she didn’t have a clue. All she knew was that the sight of them disturbed her beyond words.

The far end of the basement looked like some kind of fucked up operating area, complete with an operating table on wheels.
A gurney,
she thought, suddenly placing what it was called. She averted her eyes from the terrifying surgical tools on the shelves that comprised the entire back wall.

Smaller objects were displayed amongst the funny looking equipment; objects that could only be described as instruments of torture. Things with sharp teeth, vices, iron claws. Things that reminded her of bear traps and old fashioned gardening tools.

She took all of this in in a matter of seconds, but now Rohan had her full attention once more. In his hand he held a whip with flayed ends, and he was standing before her with his legs apart. His smile was far from friendly, and she suddenly understood why he was known as ‘The Breaker’; the fact alone that he had such a sweet face and he was capable of inflicting such pain and misery was enough to sour everything she thought she knew about the world.

“Did you know that you are a natural sub?”

His words didn’t make sense, she was concentrating on keeping her breathing regular and not hyperventilating. She made a concerted effort to concentrate on what he was saying.

“What’s that?”

His grin widened.

He’s so pretty, how can he be so evil,
came the unbidden thought.

“A submissive. Doms and subs? Sadomasochism? BDSM? As in bondage, dominance, sadism and masochism? Have you never read Fifty Shades?”

She shook her head, even though she now grasped what he was getting at. “Please don’t hurt me.”

He took a step towards her and his breath was hot and minty on her face. “I think you want me to hurt you.”

“No,” she gasped, trying to twist her exposed body away from him, but she was locked in place, as helpless as a fish on a hook.

“They said you completed the task last night, that you actually
came
. Do you know how many girls manage to orgasm on demand on the first night here? Maybe one in a hundred at most.”

Tears tricked down her face at the hot wave of shame that flooded her body.

“In fact, I’m willing to bet that you’re wet right now.”

She gasped when his fingers probed between her legs, and from the way his fingertips
glided
, his prognosis was indeed true.

“Please,” she gasped, hating herself in that moment with every fibre of her being.

“What are you saying please for? To stop? To make you come? To
hurt
you?”

She was at a loss for words and stared into his boyish face. He was close now, his features blurred. Then he closed the gap completely and his soft mouth pressed down on hers. Her head swam with violently conflicting emotions; hatred, fear, and finally, despite everything, the unmistakable heat of
lust
.

When finally he broke off the heated kiss, he cupped her face with the hand that held the whip and continued to expertly massage her swollen clitoris with the other. Her pleasure was building at breakneck speed and she bit her lower lip to stop herself from crying out in need and disgust.

“I can see why Mick wants you for himself, an innocent, closet, hardcore sub. You are a rare breed indeed.”

The truth of his words were not lost on her, as painful as it was to hear.
What a fucking time to find out I’m a fucking sub
, she thought through her miserable, squalid desire.

Her eyelids fluttered and her eyes rolled as the pleasure intensified. Her insides felt coiled tight with pleasure that was closer to pain in its intensity.

Then his fingers were no longer between her legs and the unreleased pleasure see-sawed into the territory of throbbing pain.

“Please,” she whimpered.

The horrible realisation that she was pleading not for him to let her go but for sexual
release,
left her feeling sick.

“We have to play the game, Hope.”

She watched him walk to the side of her, where there was a horizontal pole around a metre in length screwed into the stone wall. From it hung instruments she did not recognise but which could only be used for one purpose – to inflict pain. Some of them looked like weird, oversized kitchen utensils; a spatula, a whisk, and a wooden spoon with holes in. The whips and belts hanging there however, were easily recognisable. After a moment’s hesitation, Rohan hung the whip he had been holding back up, and picked out a pair of leather belts.

Hope thought he was going to give her a lashing and her body tensed in preparation. To her surprise, he grabbed her breasts instead.

“This, dear Hope, is what we call in the trade a
titty tourniquet
.”

She yelped in shock when he lashed the belt around one breast and pulled the strap tight. It felt awful and she pushed down the rise of panic.

Oh sweet Jesus, he’s going to torque my boob clean off
…

He did the same to the other one and she stared up at the stone-ceiling, praying to a God that she didn’t believe in for this nightmare to end. Her breasts were beginning to ache in a cold, frightening way. They felt tight at the point they joined her chest, freezing cold and alarmingly numb around the nipples. When she glanced down at herself, she saw that her big breasts stuck obscenely outwards and were rapidly turning a scary shade of purple.

He retrieved the whip with the flayed end he had just hung up and drew it lovingly through his fingers. She stared more closely in stark terror at the thing. The handle of it was wooden and the whip itself was rope, putting her in mind of a skipping rope. But this ‘skipping rope’ ended in multiple tails, each one finished in a knot.

“This is my favourite kind of whip,” Rohan said softly, his eyes glazed like he was getting into the stride of his usual role. “It is the cat o’ nine tails. So simple, yet such an effective torture device.” Thoughtfully he fingered the knots at the end of the strands. “The claws on this are capable of inflicting hugely vicious parallel wounds. The strands can be tipped with metal spikes, glass, or any manner of sharp objects to add further injury, if one wishes. But of course, I don’t wish to do that. I’ll only use it to tenderise the flesh, it will make your skin fee alive and tingling.”

Yeah, with pain
, she thought.

“Please, I don’t want to be whipped.”

“We have to be doing
something
when they come down to check on us. Besides, don’t knock it until you try it. I have no intention of breaking the sound barrier with it on your delicate, virgin skin. Are you aware that the whip is the first man-made object to break the sound barrier? A lash of the whip can travel over seven hundred and sixty miles per hour. That equates to three hundred and forty miles per second. The crack of a whip is actually a small sonic boom.”

“No, I didn’t know that,” she said, gritting her teeth against the odd sensation deep in her breast tissue. It wasn’t unpleasant, exactly, and that worried her more than any pain she was in.

“You may be assured that a good whipping is quite excruciating.”

She shivered when he trailed the cat over her torqued breasts. It tickled her skin, and her nipples puckered further into rock-hard pebbles. The tickling sensation was akin to being plunged in a bath of ice water, it warned of unknown pain to come and she trembled before him.

Then he began to whip her and she cried out in nervous anticipation.

“This doesn’t hurt, Hope, just relax and go with it.”

As much as she was loath to admit it, he was right. It didn’t hurt. He smacked the flayed ends over and over the front of her body at speed, paying particular attention to her breasts. Her flesh tingled hot and cold, like she had pins and needles. He certainly wasn’t doing it hard enough to hurt.

Yet
, she thought.

It really was the most unusual sensation; one that sent every nerve ending in her body into tingly spasms. She was aware of every inch of her skin, like it had suddenly come alive and was undulating and pulsing over her skeletal structure.

He stopped suddenly. Her skin felt itchy, desperate for more of the same. He reached up and fiddled with the cuffs at her wrists, unlocking them. He did the same at her ankles, freeing her totally.

“Turn around, face the wall,” he ordered.

She cradled her aching wrists to her chest. Her arms felt weird and cold from being yanked above her head like that, even if it hadn’t been for very long.

She did as he asked, resting her hands against the stone wall. She was still scared, but dazed with it. She was travelling the darkest path of sexual discovery and in that moment there was no turning back, not for anything.

The flayed ends of the whip slapped against her buttocks, repeatedly and at speed. He used the same pressure he had on her front; not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to make her skin sing out; an intense sensation that balanced on the edge of pain without tipping over.

He worked the cat o’ nines over her shoulders, back and thighs before returning once more to her bottom.

The whipping increased in intensity; he used less speed, more force. She cried out at each hard
thwack
on her backside. It took a moment for her fevered brain to work out that he was hurting her. She had grown accustomed to the feel of the whip all over her body and the pain had crept up on her without her being able to pinpoint the exact moment it had started.

Every slap on her backside made her cry out and her body jolt.

“Please! You’re hurting me,” she gasped.

“That’s kind of the point. Be a good girl and take it.”

Dimly, she was aware of the door to the basement opening and footsteps on the stairs.

“Nice work,” said a male voice she didn’t recognise.

“Thanks. She looks great, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah. Give her one for me, won’t you?”

They laughed, and she heard the intruder’s footsteps recede.

She gasped and flinched when she felt his fingers slip between her legs from behind. Just a few strokes of her aching clit and she was coming hard on his hand. Wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her and she sobbed at the intensity of the pleasure and the humiliation.

Then it was all over and there was just cold, empty air on her back. She slumped against the wall for support, her breathing ragged and her arse-cheeks throbbing sharply.

“Shall we go, then?”

She turned her head sharply, her mind in turmoil, her body aching. “After what you did to me, you just want to
go
?”

“Yes? What’s your problem?”

Hope could barely put her confused thoughts into words. “You just
beat
me and now you’re acting like it didn’t happen?”

“I told you, we had to make it look good and now is a good time to make our escape.”

“But you said we had to wait, until it was quieter.”

“I didn’t say for how long.”

“You just wanted to abuse me.”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Are we going or not?”

He handed her the jumper that he had ripped off her body earlier, and she snatched it out his outstretched hand.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then. Follow me.”

Pulling on the jumper, she stumbled after him. He was running up the stairs, taking them two at a time, his gun held out in front of him.

Christ, he thinks he’s James fucking Bond
.

He reached the door and pushed it open, his back pressed against the wall and the gun held upright in front of his face.