Page 8 of The Butcher

I’m not used up.

The herder squats in front of me as the counter walks in. “Do you want me to get everything ready?”

“Probably should,” the herder says with a nod as he reaches out and grips my cheeks, tilting my head back and forth while he looks over my face. “This one has good genes, born and bred here. If we can figure out what her problem is I know Harden will want to keep her. Open.”

My jaw drops instinctively, more out of habit than anything else and as he examines my tongue and teeth, sticking some sort of metal stick and a flashlight in my mouth, I watch the counter do what we said he would and try like hell to keep my heart rate under control.

The counter brushes the straw and hay from the middle of the room, kicking as much to the side as possible in order to clear the hidden door. The door he crouches down to unlock, producing a large ring of keys from his hip before sticking one in and twisting it in sync with my insides. It opens with a pop and hiss, groaning in resistance as the counter gets to his feet and lifts before sliding it into the floor until it disappears.

A cuff goes around my arm as I continue to watch, squeezing tightly as the counter steps on a button and the short platform rises from underneath the floor. The stockade comes up through the wood like the undead, a ghoul entering my stall so these men can do whatever they want with me.

“BP is high,” the herder says with a chuckle as he glances over his shoulder then meets my eyes. “Don’t worry, it’s just a checkup tonight.”

That does very little to put me at ease, so I’ll worry all I want.

I’m used to thesecheckups, and to far worse than them, but this one feels different.

It’s the first one I’ve had since I transferred in here and I have a feeling that holds some sort of significance.

After rattling off my vital signs and the status of my teeth to the counter, the man in front of me stands, grabbing my arm and jerking me up with him. “On the platform.”

With a deep breath, I do what I’m told and walk my completely naked body onto the short platform.

They stand side by side in front of me, the herder’s shrewd eyes scanning me slowly from head to toe while the counter scribbles on his clipboard.

“Posture is good.” The herder pushes my shoulders back, so my spine is straight. “Balance is good.” He feels behind my ears and along the sides of my neck, under my jaw and down toward my collarbones, nodding and mumbling to the counter the entire time.

I barely fight my gasp as he roughly gropes my left breast, his fingers poking and prodding my flesh, squeezing where its fullest before pinching and twisting my nipple. I hold my breath as he does the same to my right, lingering a little too long over that nipple, almost brushing it in a way that would be intimate if it was almost any other scenario.

The Herder smirks at me as he makes eye contact. “No abnormalities in either breast.” He follows the curve of them as his hands move up toward my armpits, lifting my arms above my head before pressing along the sides of my breasts again.

I try to focus on the wall above his shoulder as he gropes me under the guise of anexam,calming my racing heart as he follows my sides down to the curve of my hips. He watches my face as he reaches around me, flattening one hand above my butt as the other moves to my stomach.

He watches me the entire time he palpitates my abdomen, as he slowly lowers his hand to my pubic bone then drags it back up between my breasts, repeating it a few times as if he’s teasing me, as if I actually like him touching me.

I could never like that or anything about this horrible place.

The herder moves down my body, his grimy hands rubbing and squeezing under my butt all the way down to my feet then back up again and as he reaches out to brace himself on the platform, he leans in until his nose is almost level with my vagina, and he breathes in so deeply, I flinch.

“Everything seems to be on the up and up,” the herder says as he gets to his feet. “So far, anyway.”

Before he has to ask, I turn around and face the stockade, taking two steps toward it at the same time the counter lifts the top. My hands start to shake as I place my wrists in the lower half of the small holes, my pulse pounding in my ears as I bend at the waist and rest my throat in the bottom of the larger hole in between them.

The top of the stockade comes down with a clap, the lock snapping into place before the counter disappears completely. I hear the rickety gears above me start to turn, clicking as each one brings the leather strap closer and as soon as I feel it touch my lower back, my legs are spread, and my butt is lifted just enough for them to loop it around my pelvis and clasp it into place.

“A little higher, I think,” the herder says as I’m presented to him and the counter, no shred of dignity left for me to cling to while they put me in prime rutting position. The cuffs go around my ankles as soon as they’re done and after a few agonizingly slow seconds go by, the herder shoves his cold and sticky fingers inside me all the way to his knuckles.

He twists them, spreading and scissoring them a few times before he adds a third. They widen repeatedly, moving in and out of my vagina until he can add a fourth. My body resisting the abrupt entry, desperately trying to force him out as my flesh stings and burns around his fingers.

My guts lurch with each of his movements, bile creeping up my throat while my heart slams against my ribs. I don’t close my eyes, though. No, I keep staring at the bit of wall and floor in front of me, clenching my jaw as the herder probes and moves inside my body, shoving his hand in as far as it allows, touching me in the most disgusting way possible.

Tears form along my lower lashes as he slaps my butt and yanks his hand from my vagina, wiping the gel on the other cheek before smacking that one, too. “Give it to her, she’s not ready.”

Fear slices through my chest, burying itself deep, its roots wrapping so tightly around my heart my vision starts to blur. I jump as the cold wet alcohol swab wipes away some of the gel then brace myself as the counter pinches a chunk of my butt cheek before stabbing a needle into it.

He pushes the plunger down slowly, forcing what feels like razor blades coated in lava into my veins, the horrible serum immediately racing through my body. It hits me so fast that I get lightheaded, and the room starts to spin but I keep telling myself this part is temporary.

Once the serum settles, I won’t feel so bad and I might have a few days of peace before things get worse. It usually takes three or four for it to fully work, for this terrible cocktail of garbage to force a heat more brutal than any I could imagine and I’ll try to rest as much as I can before…

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