Page 17 of Voracious

The sides of the ski mask protrude as he clenches his jaw and forces me to my knees.

No.

He wouldn’t. He’d tell me first so I can prepare. Shutting my eyes so I can go to the filing cabinet, I ignore the hand holding my hair and how many more strands will be leaving with it.

Breathe in, breathe out,breath in.

And my eyes open as he undoes his belt then guides my head forward. The mask is in place, stopping any contact and the cunt pretends he fucking cares as he gently lifts it up enough to uncover my mouth. It blocks my eyes, and I can’t see anything but his covered inner thighs as I wait for the material to go lax. He shifts in the seat and the announcer points out which rooms are entertaining, the sick cunt.

My jaw locks shut when I see something that looks like skin. It’s not his dirty penis moving towards me. He fits his hand under the ledge of the mask and gently holds my jaw, his finger softly brushing the sides feeling it tense. I don’t like it, it’s too warm and not perverted so my brain can’t make sense of what’shappening. The bastard is pulling my hair out despite his gentle movements as he rocks my head to fake the image of me blowing him.

TRR was the last place I had to look for Nina. If she isn’t there, I’m more lost than ever. The little voice that’s been following me for years whispers its unhelpful shit.

Because she’s dead.

She can’t be. If Nina’s dead, then I don’t have a goal. If I don’t have a goal, I have nothing. There’s no salvation for me if I can’t save her. There are no smiles from someone who knows everything, saw everything I did. There’s nothing if she’s dead.

Focusing on anything but my continued worthlessness, I count while Dima keeps rocking my head. He’s not doing it in long strokes so he must have a small dick. I’ve never seen him take steroids, he works out a lot and it would make sense with his physique for it to be small. I wonder if it’s so small it looks like an outie belly button. Jameson’s was like that, a little nub, and his nipples protruded more than his penis because he kept taking steroids and Anton used to make jokes that he needs a child because it’s small.

Bile burns the back of my throat at the memories, all the sick shit they used say and do to normalize their depraved business. I spent years thinking there was something wrong with me because I’ve always had this voice telling me what they’re doing is wrong, but I know I’m right. Even now it’s there, it’s quieter and I focus on the fact Dima is still pushing my head in short strokes as he tilts his hips back, making sure I don’t touch his nasty body.

My lips twitch, wanting to laugh at the thought, and his thumb and fingers move, tracing them. Mouthing ‘little nub’ like he’ll be able to translate it, they keep twitching and his other hand in my hair goes to my nape. The soft stroking comes back, and he holds my head still, pretending to release.He holds myhead down for a few seconds before he fixes the mask back in place and picks me up like I’m a fucking child who is incapable of standing on my own to sit me back on his thigh. I’m not a fucking kid, I’m an adult. I’ve been an adult all my life and I don’t need him fucking treating me like I can’t do things for myself. Obnoxious bastard.

I can’t react as I focus on the worst of humanity getting their rocks off to something that’s unsanitary and insanity. TRR are unique because they have everything, you can participate or give a request for it to be enacted. There’s no limit to their sickness and watching some poor soul be forced to swallow vomit increases my rage.

Dima’s voice is soft despite his own anger lingering.

“Don’t watch it, close your eyes.”

Writing ‘no’ on his thigh, I force myself to be a witness.

They’re not alone if I’m watching, I might not be able to help them like the other kids, but at least there’s one person who will remember them. I’ll always know that sick cunts forced them into a life that should never have existed. They’re human to me, not just body parts to be bent to my will, and I’ll find the fuckers hiding behind their masks and know what to do to each of them before I kill them. Every single one of them who is voting, bidding, fucking while watching the horrific sights on the screen will know what it’s like to be humiliated and used for entertainment. It will be my entertainment and if I find the people they’re hurting, I’ll ask them if they’d like to watch in this same way — a live stream of vengeance.

EIGHT

Dima

I’m not going to be able to sleep for a year, this shit goes beyond anything I’ve ever witnessed before. The prick moves onto the next color and the distorted voice doesn’t hide their excitement as they announce the red band. I’ve tortured people, ripped out their nails and teeth, seen one pedophile’s ball pop when Vlad was experimenting with a nail gun. But this shit isn’t done with anger, the people fucking while they watch some kid get hacked to pieces are more fucked than any psycho I’ve ever encountered.

I focus on how calm Ana is as I stroke down her back. It’s deadly not relaxed, but it stops my heart racing as I feel her easy beats against her spine. The bones sticking out of her skin don’t relax me though, she’s too fucking fragile. Not breakable, or delicate. Fragile like an explosive ready to demolish everything including herself. There’s no overpowering perfume as she leans into me, away from the screen, and the next victim of the red banding comes out. She smells like fresh air after a life of pollutants. It’s weird as fuck and doesn’t make sense, but that’s the only thing that fits.

The fabric ripples under my palm and I make a mental note to add more protein into her diet. The dress is the smallest size they had, and she was eating in the hospital so she should be healthy soon, especially since she was acting as though it was a gourmet meal, not slop. She didn’t even complain about the scratchy sheets that rustled like paper every time she moved.

My eyelids droop, fighting to fully shut as the pained screams ring out and her harsh whisper has them snapping open.

“Don’t be weak, they’re living it.”

She tenses as I lift her hair off her shoulder. Every time I touch her hair she has the same reaction. It’s falling out like fuck, there’s a little hair ball collecting on the floor and the ends keep snapping. But she’s protective of it and I move my hand to her back.

My tongue itches to move, to apologize for grabbing her head when she forced me to react. I’m zoned out, refusing to be an active audience to all the filth in front of me when it finally stops, and the screen goes dark. There’s not enough energy for me to move. All that fucking sickness has dragged it out of me, and I don’t let Ana go. She’s not depleted like I am and lifts the mask off her face once she’s disconnected everything to prevent a reverse trace. The bruising is still there, all the deep colors slowly fading but the swelling has gone down.

She fidgets, digging her bony ass into my thigh and slowly asks, “Do you need a hug or something?”

There’s fear pulling down her features as though the thought of a hug is equivalent to being wrapped in snakes. Loosening my hold so she can leave, I sit there staring at the darkened screen. How the fuck am I supposed to stand after witnessing that shit? I know it’s out there, it’s not the same as the chats. That’s wishes and wants, words I can convince myself aren’t going to come to fruition because I’ll stop them.

Slowly turning side to side as Ana slides off my thigh, I’m still blank. Until the hellion pulls the dress over her head, not giving a fuck that I’m sat here. I turn so I don’t see anything I’m not supposed to, and she doesn’t acknowledge the fact she’s stripping off in front of me. It’s not to entice me and my dick doesn’t move but it feels predatory after what we’ve seen. I feel dirty just for watching it all.

The world is silent, and I’m pulled into the noise when a pillow is dumped into my lap and Ana is stood in front of me. Her voice is childlike, soft, and gentle.

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