The gathering watches me cry. The heat of the blood dripping from between my legs scorches me. I can’t move, my legs are useless, my brain screaming at them to do something, but they can’t.
“Please,” I whimper. It’s almost inaudible, but he hears me. I know he does. All I receive in response is a chuckle. I’m shut down, completely numb, I feel nothing. I pray for my end. I pray for the pain. Perhaps it will wake me from this nightmare. Maybe, just maybe, I can be saved, and this is all just in my mind. But how would my imagination think up the depraved acts that have been happening?
“What do you think, ladies?” he questions the onlookers. The two women dressed in beautiful evening gowns have the material bunched up to their hips with their legs spread wide and two boys who look to be my age between their thighs. The men seated beside the women have their gazes locked on me. Their hands move over their thick erections as they grunt and smirk, looking at me with the hunger of wolves. They’re predators, nothing but animals.
“Why don’t we test her ability for pain? If I’m going to spend ten million on a toy, I’d want to make sure she can handle a bit of rough.” One man offers me a wink that recoils my stomach. The incisions on my stomach already burn with the puke dripping from my chin, but when one of the women finds her release, she grips the boy’s head, and just like in the movie they forced me to watch, she pulls a sleek blade from the holster on her thigh and slices through his neck as if it’s a hot knife cutting through butter.
Revulsion shoots through me when I’m impaled with the thick handle of a blade used only moments ago to trail blood-red lines over my white flesh. My eyes flutter. I’m weary. This is far too much for me to handle. I can no longer hold on. He told me I was stupid to fight back, to resist, and now I believe him.
I glance at the man who looked at me with more affection than I’ve ever experienced. His lips move, his mouth tells me something, but I can’t hear. I can’t read his lips.
He shakes his head sadly as he watches the scene unfold. He told me I was going to be in trouble. If I cried, only worse would happen, and he’s right. Well, he was right because I’m losing consciousness.
The men were here to get off from the pain they inflicted.
Another girl is brought in. She is younger, smaller, but the two large men don’t care. Once more, I’m hooked up to a vibrator that offers pleasure, pressed tightly against my mound as I watch the gruesome scene before me.
The girl is pretty; she giggles as if she’s high. Perhaps she is and doesn’t even realize she’s about to be killed. I open my mouth, but I’m quickly stopped by the large ogre-looking man. There’s a harsh material shoved into my mouth, and I’m choking on the fine filaments of hair and the taste of metallic residue. I’m certain it’s blood, but what makes me retch is the fact that I know it’s not mine.
“Shhh, little one. Tonight you’ll see what it is we really do here,” the ogre tells me proudly. The girl is bound to the table before me, her legs are spread wide, and I watch as one of the women walks up to her. It’s the same one who just killed a boy.
She leans in, inspecting the girl as if she were a painting at the Louvre. Her fingers trail down the smooth porcelain flesh of the young girl. When she reaches between her legs, she nods, prodding the girl’s opening.
A giggle falls from the girl’s lips, and I know for a fact they’ve given her something. There’s no way she can be happy with her body on display like that. Her eyes are wide, glassy. She’s drugged so much that she can’t focus on me. Her eyes flit left and right, her body also limp on the silver gurney. Another giggle falls from her lips, but she doesn’t speak, as if she can’t. When the woman grips her chin and tugs it open, I recoil at the sight of her missing tongue. The burning acid that trails up my throat makes my eyes water in my attempt to swallow it down.
“Is she to your specifications?” The old man grins like the fucking Cheshire cat.
“She is. I’ll need this done tonight,” the woman responds. I don’t know what is happening, but the girl is bound to the table, and as the older man places a silver scalpel to her stomach, he presses down, and crimson floods the table immediately.
“How far along is she?” the second woman questions as she rises, pulling the boy that was between her thighs along behind her like a dog on a leash.
“Two months. It’s just the perfect amount of time,” the man in the white coat informs her.
“Good. Then we’ll take whatever you can salvage.” I’m tortured with the device between my legs as the man in the white coat begins his incisions to the girl’s body below her belly button. I stare in horror as he slices through her flesh easily.
She’s numb, because there are no screams, no cries or whimpers from her. She doesn’t feel anything. Her body is limp as he lifts a layer of her stomach and shoves his hand into her.
That’s when she starts gurgling. It’s a vicious sound, her body convulsing, and one of the men who was merely observing rises, shoves down his zipper, and pushes his cock into her mouth. Her throat bulges obscenely as the scene is set before them, as if they’re watching a porn video.
My own body responds to the vibrator on my clit, but my stomach heaves. My head is once again cloudy, foggy as confusion sets in. My scream is muffled by the cloth, my body tightens and pulses as an orgasm wracks through me as I witness the man in the white coat pull the womb from the young girl, and I realize they were talking about her being pregnant.
How far along is she?
Two months.
The perfect amount of time.