Fury

4

4

Cold water hit her face with the unwelcome knowledge that it hadn’t been a nightmare. David stood over her with an empty glass jug.

“Welcome back, Princess,” he leered at her. “Did you have a nice nap?”

“f**k you,” she whispered through a painful, clenched jaw. She tasted blood again. Her teeth were loose.

“Now, now, such language and from such a pretty mouth. Unfortunately, I won’t be f*****g you this evening. That will be the pleasure of my silent friend in leather,” he said pointing at the man in the balaclava, who was playing with a large, sharp knife. He had made his choice of weapon.

The knife reminded her of one her father used to carve the pork roast her mother loved making when they had guests over for dinner, or for Sunday lunch. From the way he flicked his weapon between his hands, he knew how to use it far better than her father did.

Please God, she thought, please don’t let him carve me up like daddy does the pork.

Tears rolled down her cheeks and filled her ears. The light from the high-powered lights flashed on the polished steel of the blade. She watched him in silence as he came towards her showing off his mastery with the knife. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of hearing her scream.

“Don’t kill her too fast. Our client wants this one to last longer than the previous ones,” David said patting him on his bull shoulder, and then walked back to his director’s chair in the shadows.

The man in the bad porno outfit climbed onto the bed and straddled her. The mattress caved under his weight. Bending over her and breathing heavily, he licked the tears off her cheeks. She tried to pull her face away but found he held her face in a vicelike grip. His breath stank of stale beer and garlic. She caught a glimpse out the corner of her eye as the cameraman moved closer, zooming in on her face. The bastard was trying to get a better shot.

“God, please help me,” she whispered. “I don’t want to die like this.”

Laughter reverberated in her ears, and she felt someone bite her right n****e hard. Looking down she saw a red trickle dribble its way down her breast and onto the white sheet. They’d chosen crisp white sheets, better to show off the blood, probably. Angela scrunched her eyes closed. She didn’t want to see what they were going to do to her. His open palm hit her cheek, which still smarted from the last time he hit her.

“Eyes open b***h,” he growled at her, while he unzipped the leather at his crotch and pulled out his hard p***s. He fondled himself with his left hand and held her face with his right so she couldn’t look away. The knife was on her stomach, waiting patiently to be put to use. Using his legs and his weight, he pried her legs open wider. Her ankles strained against their restraints. A stab of pain jolted through her lower body as he thrust himself into her, breaking her hymen. He kept thrusting and grinding into her over and over again. His groans grew louder and louder.

She turned her head into the mattress to muffle her screams.

Then the bastard cut her. A shocked, primal, scream erupted as the knife sliced into her right breast. The pain was as sharp as the knife’s blade. She watched the red river of blood flow and pool on the white sheet with a strange fascination. It was as though she were watching a spider crawl across her pillow at night. She was frozen. She was still staring at her own flood when his fist dislocated her jaw. Her vision blurred as he cut into her other breast.

Time stopped, and a strange numbness settled on her.

She prayed silently for unconsciousness, but the God her mother had taught her to believe in never answered her prayers. Then she prayed for a quick death, which didn’t come. His c**k was covered in her blood when he pulled out for the c*m shot. His semen blended with her blood on her stomach.

“Hey, she really was a virgin,” she heard one of the crew members say before the blood loss and pain finally took their toll on her brain, and sweet unconsciousness gave her the reprieve she’d been praying for.