Pt. IX: Three Weeks Later
by Willailla ©
Jake Turner sat on the sofa staring vacantly at the TV, the sound turned
off. Empty beer cans littered the coffee table in front of him. An ashtray
overflowed with butts. His face was bearded. He hadn't shaved for three
weeks.
He was about to pop another can, when he heard the mailman drop something in the box.
It was a small package. When he opened it, there was a video tape. The label affixed to the side said, The Necrophiles Have Your Wife.
Not wanting to, but unable to help himself, he slid the cartridge in the VCR.
He knew it was Janet's scream even before anything visual appeared on the screen.
A door was open, and he saw a muscular, blond man shove Janet into a room full of old, bald men. They obviously weren't worried about being recognized, for none of them wore masks or disguises of any kind. He could tell by the expensive looking gold watches and diamond rings, they sported, and well-fed looks, that these were wealthy and, no doubt, powerful men.
The door closed and Janet, in her skimpy, black dress, was left alone among them, unsuccessfully trying to fend off their groping, clutching hands. Laughing, a couple of the old geezers grabbed her. Jake could hear her pleading with them. Tears fell from her eyes. The beer can imploded in his hand. But there was nothing he could do now. What he was seeing was history. He ground his teeth together, crying out in rage and frustration at his impotence. Was there no God in heaven who gave a shit what happened to his creatures?
Working behind her, one of the old bastards started unzipping her dress. Frantically, eyes wide with fear, she tried to turn and stop him with one hand, while holding the hem of her short dress down with the other, but too many hands worked against her. One of them yanked the front down revealing her medium sized, well shaped breasts. Others ripped the taped-on transmitter from her body.
"Oh, my God," Jake moaned.
He watched in horror as Janet tried to cover her breasts with her hands, but old, wrinkled hands grabbed her wrists and pulled them away. The old man behind her finished unzipping the dress. It fell down to her hips. She twisted from side to side, her breasts jiggling profusely as she attempted to avoid pinching, poking fingers. One grinning old man grabbed a pink nipple between his thumb and forefinger and stretched it out as far as it would go. Janet's screams filled the room. There was a popping-ripping sound as the dress was jerked loose, falling down to her ankles.
Wearing only thong-backed panties and her spiked heels, Janet's struggles increased dramatically, for it was apparent, now, that they would soon have her naked.
What they would do to her then, Jake didn't want to think about.
Now aroused to a fever pitch by the sight of her near nudity, they crudely yanked away the skimpy covering of silk, leaving red marks on her totally naked body.
Two men held her arms while two others grabbed her legs at the back of her knees and raised her off the ground, spreading her legs apart.
Jake didn't want to watch what was bound to happen, but he couldn't look away. It was as if the TV were a magnet drawing him into the depths of the depravity it was revealing.
A fat man with an enormous cock, fully erect, got between her legs. The camera did a close up of Janet's face as the guy entered her. Her eyes suddenly went wide, her mouth slack. Jake could hear her gasp sharply several times. Slowly, the camera moved down to her heaving tits, then farther down to the firm, undulating belly, and then farther to her--
Jake couldn't believe it. Her cunt had been shaved completely clean! When had that happened? And why? Had that dyke FBI agent shaved it? And why had Janet let her?
Janet's cries diverted his thoughts. They had raised her up so that her tits were pressed against the chest of the man who was fucking her. Another man moved behind her and attempted to ram his cock in her asshole, after several jolting thrusts, he succeeded. Janet's face wrinkled into a tormented grimace. She cried out screeching like a wounded animal.
Jake could hear laughter. Smacks of naked flesh on naked flesh.
"You bastards!" he shouted. "You miserable bastards!"
Then his anger gave way to a sudden, sinking sensation.
They drew her back, placing her flat on the floor. One of the men took a gold lighter and lighted a cigar, puffing on it until the head was glowing bright red.
"You have nice tits, Mrs. Turner," the man said in a mocking voice. "It's a real shame you couldn't have minded your own business. Cause now you're going to have to be punished.
"No, please don't hurt me!" she cried. Her eyes, wide with terror, were fixed on the glowing head of the cigar. "Please!"
"Whadayah think, guys, should we give the cunt a chance to make amends or torture her?"
"Why not do both?" someone offered.
Jake threw up as the man pressed the cigar to her left nipple.
Her scream was piercing. Her ass rose up off the floor. Veins stood out on her neck. Her face flushed darkly. The old men chackled and held on tightly to her wrists and ankles.
He put the cigar against her other nipple.
Her body flopped about crazily on the floor, reminding Jake of someone having a spastic fit.
"Please! Please! Please!" she begged, screamed, frantic, half out of her mind with pain.
"Pleeeeaaaasssseee!"
Her screams turned into a squeal.
An ice pick was jabbed through her breasts several times.
"Turn her over," someone said.
"Spread her legs."
An old man with a gold hoop in his ear mounted her, fucking her hard and fast in the ass.
"Oh, Godddaaah!" he gasped after a dozen seconds, then, accidentally withdrawing, spurted a secondary stream of cum up the back of her ass.
Another man yanked her head up by the hair and shoved his cock in her mouth. "Don't even think about biting, young bitch." he warned.
Jake could tell when the man came. Her body suddenly convulsed and cum spurted from her nostrils and foamed from her mouth.
Later, as the rape drew on and on, her attitude gradually became one of passivity. She stopped struggling. She allowed them to do whatever they wished. She even cooperated.
She got on her hands and knees while they kneeled in a circle around her. One man would fuck her in the ass or cunt while, at the same time, another man fucked her in the mouth. What she couldn't swallow dripped from her mouth. Trickles of blood and cum glistened down the insides of her thighs.
Later, one of the men brought out a butcher knife. They ordered her to beg for it, and she did.
* * *
The tape had been set on extended play, and there were time lapses between some frames. So it would have been hard to determine how long the rape and torture went on, but it was definitely for a period of over six hours, perhaps a dozen or more. Numb, half-crazed, Jake got another six pack out of the freezer. He replayed certain scenes. He drank. He smoked one cigarette after another, until clouds of bluish vapor hung in the air. The lights were off and there was only the flickering glow of the TV screen. He drank. His thumb continually moved from one remote button to he next: Rewind. Stop. Play. Pause. Play. Pause. Rewind. Stop. Slow mo. Play. Pause. Play. Pause. Slow mo. Pause. Rewind. Stop. Slow mo. Pause. Slow mo. Pause. Slow mo. Slow mo. Slow mo. Slow mo. Pause. Pause. Pause. Pause. Pause....
He took his shirt off...kicked off his shoes...pants...
...shorts....
His hand gripped his swollen cock.
She was looking straight into the camera. An extreme close up. Her eyes were full of vacant wonderment, loss.
Staring.
Occasionally, the side of the man's face, who was fucking her, would come into the frame. Her head quivered laxly as he humped her. The camera pulled back slowly. Her lolling head was on a silvery satin pillow. More of the man came into the frame as the camera pulled back. He had blond hair and muscular shoulders. She was no longer in the room with the old men, but some place else.
There was the sound of organ music, a requiem, coming from a speaker. The man continued to fuck her. The camera pulled back more. His hips rose and fell on top of her naked body. Her breasts jiggled each time he entered her, but she remained passive. Her mouth open, slack.
They were in a casket.
The camera panned around the interior of a small, private-looking chapel. Well dressed men and women sat in rows of pews, rapt looks on their faces.
To Be Continued...