Torture The Widow

Chapter 39 – Breakout

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The text in this story contains erotic material and is expressly written for adults only.

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This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living, dead or otherwise is purely coincidental, etc.

Copyright 2004

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"Oh shit," I said as I placed some weight on the sole of my foot. It had been four full days since I was crucified. I'd determined I had two choices. Return to full mobility or sit quietly while Cory Lewis sawed my boobs off. So in spite of the agonizing pain shooting up my calves I took several steps. I kept reminding myself that Cory had said our next session would be our last.

Getting to the commode on the second day had been an agonizing experience. On my knuckles and knees I managed to crawl to the crapper. I almost fainted when I passed a turd. I'd spent an afternoon with my rectum wrapped around a butt plug the size of a football. My anal ring felt like a rubber band that had lost all its snap. If I lived I had to consider the possibility that I would never again enjoy an ass fucking.

The four of us surprised ourselves by surviving. Amy's head was still fucked up. She mumbled to herself and had a vacant stare. She kept waking us up in the middle of the night screaming. Marcy, Nancy, and myself appeared to be mentally okay. I'm not sure a clinical psychologist would agree. Mentally we were fucked but still physically functional to a degree.

"Get up and walk everyone. That's an order," I said as I slowly moved about the cell.

"My feet hurt too much," said Nancy.

"I said get the fuck up. That crazy bitch is going to cut our tits off and kill us next time. We've got to get out of here," I screamed grabbing Nancy and pulling her upright. In a few minutes, nasty Rozz had all four of us shuffling slowly around the cell.

I racked my brain trying to think of an escape plan but as it turned out, it was the Arab nurse that gave us our chance. As a result I'm part owner of a Mobil Mart in Mobile, Alabama. Each day the doctor and nurse showed up to treat our wounds. I planned to get them to help us.

The goons considered us so messed up they let their guards down. They were disappointed when they discovered that our butts were too loose and pussies too shredded to have intercourse. The doctor ordered them to leave us alone. The horny little motherfuckers were reduced to watching us through our cell door and jerking off. You could tell they missed getting a regular piece of ass. What else does a goon have to look forward to?

By the fifth day, I felt well enough to offer one of the goons a blowjob. Oral sex appeared new to the goons but they were adaptable and in lieu of anything else they would stand quietly while I sucked their fat cocks and played handball with their nut sack until they provided a couple of teaspoons of thin runny semen to swallow.

We four decided to act worse off than we really were. In Amy's case, she didn't have to act. Our chance came on the sixth day when we were taken to the cell where the doctor and nurse were waiting to treat us.

For the first time, the four goons left us alone with the doctor and nurse. They locked the cell door and left. Amy went in the stirrups first. She stayed calm as the doctor inserted the speculum.

"May I look? I'm a nurse." I whispered when he was looking up her hole. I was afraid the goons might be just outside the door listening.

"You're a nurse?" said the doctor.

"All four of are. Actually, I'm an OR supervisor," I said looking at the grooves that Cory had carved in the walls of Amy's vagina.

"It appears to be healing all right," said the doctor.

"It's not going to matter if they kill us."

"That's something I have no control over."

"You could help us escape."

"The Sheik is a very cruel man. He would bring me, my wife, and children here and we would not die quickly."

"All I'm asking for is a chance. The Sheik wouldn't have to know you helped us. If we had the key to our cell, that would be enough. We can take it from there."

"I'm sorry but I can't risk it," said the doctor. "Please leave me alone or I'll call the guards."

I retreated to the other side of the examination room. It was Nancy's turn on the table. I stepped close to the nurse.

"If you help us, I will see that you get to America. My father-in-law is a high-ranking general officer in the army and I am a rich woman. I'll set you up in a 24-hour convenience store franchise of your choice," I whispered as I ran my hand over her skinny buttocks.

"Store 24 or a Mobil Mart?" she whispered back.

"Your choice depends on whether you want to retail gasoline."

"My name is Amalia Al-Rashad."

"I'm Captain Rosalind Donaldson. Amalia, you got a choice to make. You can stay here and continue to help the Sheik torture or dismember innocent women or you can do something to stop him. My husband is in the Special Forces. They'll take care of the Sheik. One of these days the Sheik may decide that you and the doctor have seen too much. At that point, he'll let that crazy bitch go to work on the two of you."

"I fear that day is coming. The Americans are searching everywhere for the four of you. The doctor is afraid and he has a very large family. I have only my brother to be concerned with. I would need for him to come to America with me."

"It takes at least two people to operate a Mobil Mart," I said.

"I will try but I cannot promise anything," said Amalia.

That seemed a slim hope but it was better than nothing. Tomorrow was the seventh day and I had a feeling that Cory would be showing up with a surgical saw. It was later when the four of us were back in our cell that I heard someone taping lightly on the door. I quickly stepped to the small grate. There was Amalia.

"Here," whispered Amalia passing two keys through the door. One was the large one for the door. I had no idea what the smaller one was for.

"What's this for?" I asked holding up the small key.

"There's a cabinet down the hall that contains weapons," said Amalia.

"Thanks, we'll handle it from here. Be careful."

I hid the keys for later then I made an announcement.

"Next goon that come here gets his brains fucked out. I mean full around the world treatment. I want him sucked, rimmed, and fucked. Fuck like a porn star," I said.

"You got to be shitting me. My cunt is full of scabs and my turds fall out if I'm not careful," said Marcy.

"Look, we can skip anal. Our butts are too loose anyway. But we got to get some kind of edge and wearing these bastards out by screwing them is the only option we have. Now my tongue is heeled up enough to suck cock. I proved that yesterday. Listen, soldiers, we got two choices, fuck or die."

I wasn't sure they were up for it because everyone got quiet like they were thinking. It wasn't long before the door opened and in stepped a goon. He was just performing a periodic check.

But as soon as he entered, crazy Amy stood up, walked over and put her hand on his cock and started wanking it with one hand as she worked his nut sack with the other. She even leaned in and kissed him on the lips. None of us had ever kissed a goon. At first, he jerked back then he decided that kissing wasn't so bad. Amy wrapped her little body around the chubby little bastard and unleashed her sexual woman.

That's the horny insatiable bitch woman that comes out after you been out on the dance floor for several hours. The salsa music is red hot. You're dripping perspiration. You've done several shots and swallowed some X. You grinded twenty people you don't know. All of a sudden some Latin stud with killer tattoos drags your hot sweaty ass off into a corner. He pushes your top up and attacks your tits like a Great White after a grouper. He shoves your thong aside as he sticks two fingers in your gooey cunt. You work his zipper down freeing his Latin meat rocket that falls out in your hand hard as a policemen's billy club. All of a sudden, you jump straight up wrapping your legs around the stud as he guides his prick in your nasty hole. It doesn't get one inch inside before you hit the big O. When you look over his shoulder you see a line of his buddies waiting their turn with you. You make a note to write your Congressmen urging him to support statehood for Puerto Rico.

The goon and Amy fell on the nearest bed where he forced his cock into her hole.

"Oh yeah, fuck me, baby, fuck me, harder, harder," screamed Amy humping her pussy up against his crotch. We'd never fucked the goons with any enthusiasm or energy. Amy screwed her goon like a woman possessed. She screamed, cursed, dug her nails into his back and pumped him until finally the goon blasted his load into her twat.

Then she turned all sweet, caressing his baldhead and cooing to him as she kissed his lips, ears, and eyes. She held him to her breast as she rubbed his back and kept whispering over and over again, "sweet little goon."

After a while, the goon slowly got up. Amy walked him to the door her arm around his shoulder. She kissed him goodbye.

I wasn't sure whether to laugh or applaud after he left. The three of us were sort of stunned.

"Is that what you meant, Captain Donaldson?" asked Amy.

"Precisely, Lieutenant, good work," I replied.

It wasn't five minutes before the door opened and the entire complement of ten horny goons arrived.

"Soldiers, the Lieutenant has shown the way. Let's show them that nobody can out fuck this woman's army," I said as the goons entered.

For the next several hours, it was non-stop goon sex. I sucked goon cock, tongued goon ass, and got as much goon dick in my pussy as I could fit. It wound up one large writhing pile of human and almost human flesh. We kept at it until they crawled out of our cell. Ever time a goon blew his load, we went to work to get him hard and pop him again. The goons discovered kissing and the pleasure of having their butt holes rimmed. At one time or another I massaged the prostate of every goon present.

We put everything we had in fucking the goons. Let's face it. Our lives depended on it.

Finally, the goons carried their limp sore dicks back to their quarters. They were pussy whipped. We sat drinking water and resting as we waited until the dungeon was quiet. Then I retrieved the keys from their hiding place and ever so quietly opened our cell door and stepped out in the corridor.

I had noticed that there were several metal wall cabinets along the wide hallway that connected the rooms of the dungeon. I used the small key to open the first cabinet I came to. I almost shouted for joy. Apparently the Sheik had placed weapons cache through the dungeon in case the goons ever needed to defend it from attackers.

In a rack were a half dozen MP-5N assault rifles, ammo clips, plus 9MM Sig Sauer semi-automatic pistols. The only thing better would have been an M-1 Abrams tank. The MP-5N was one of the weapons used by Special Operations. Trace had several different versions of the MP-5. He had even taken me to the range to fire one. I carefully inserted a thirty-two round magazine in one of the rifles, cocked it, and handed it to Marcy. In a minute or two, four heavily armed army nurses were silently creeping down the corridor toward the barracks room where the goons bunked.

Goon snores reverberated down the hall as we approached. When I looked in I saw that the goons were all sleeping peacefully in their bunks. In spite of what they had done to us, I wasn't ready to charge in and slaughter them. That was when I noticed that the heavy iron door to their barracks had a metal bar that could be used to seal the goons inside. Apparently the goon's sleeping quarters were at one time a large cell used to hold multiple prisoners.

I quietly closed the door then slid the heavy iron bar into the place. The goons were not going to escape without a blowtorch.

That was when we hit a problem. We could not find our way out of the dungeon. We explored every room of the place. The only possible way we could find was to dive into the river of shit and swim under a stonewall to whatever was on the other side.

"But there must be a way in. Else how could the doctor and nurse come here every day?" exclaimed Marcy.

"You're right. Keep searching. There has got to be an entrance," I said.

After several hours we gave up. By this time, the goons had figured out that something was not right. They made the oddest sounds when they were upset. I appeared the grate of their door, brandished my MP-5N and ordered them to be quiet. They surprised me by immediately shutting up. Respect for authority was part of the goon psyche.

I was on the way back to the others to restart our search for the exit when I heard the sound of stone moving. A section of stonewall was slowly opening to create a doorway. I waited weapon ready as the Sheik and Cory breezed through like they were on their way to the office.

"Do not move. Hands on your head," I said pointing the MP-5N at their mid section.

It was in our hearts as Americans to spare the goons but not the Sheik and Cory. The dungeon was their idea and they had been the ones who tortured us. The ignorant goons were merely their pawns. That was the way Amy explained it. That was after she had walked up to Cory and slammed the barrel of her rifle into Cory's mid section. The diplomat rolled up in a little ball and she lay on the floor screaming in pain.

Nancy dropkicked the Sheik in the nuts sending him shrieking to the same stone floor. Both Nancy and Amy went to work on Cory smashing her with the metal stocks of their MP-5N. I just stood there enjoying the show while they beat the shit out of her.

Marcy found some handcuffs in one of the dungeons. We put the two under restraint while we decided their fate.

"Listen, as much as I would like to spend the next week torturing the two of them, we still need to escape this place and Partyville," I said.

"So let's put a bullet in their head and leave," said Marcy.

"Too fucking easy for what they did to us," said Nancy.

"Let's crucify them and leave them hanging," said Amy.

"They might live," said Marcy.

"Let's use the wheels. By the time anyone comes they'll be dead," I said.

"Are you sure they will be dead?" asked Amy.

"We'll make sure of it," I said.

After considerable physical effort, we managed to get the Sheik and Cory stretched out on one of the wheels. Only the fact that Marcy is one big tall strong woman allowed for our success. I was dripping sweat by the time I could look up and see our two prisoners painfully stretched out in what I knew to be an exceedingly uncomfortable position.

The Sheik was stoic about it. He kept mumbling through smashed and bleeding lips some prayer from the Quran. Cory on the other hand was anything but quiet. She was crying and begging us not to harm her. I went out in the corridor and brought back her case. It was packed with surgical instruments.

"Let's cut their clothes off," I said handing out surgical scissors.

It took a few minutes especially with the Sheik since he was wearing his sheiks' robes. But there they were, both naked as the day they were born.

"Each of you get to remove one testicle," I said handing Nancy and Amy scalpels. "Marcy and I will work on Cory."

"You're not going to die pretty, Cory," I said as I cut off her ear. Marcy removed the other one. Cory protested loudly.

Next I inserted the end of the scalpel in her nostril and cut upward slitting her nose. I allowed my best friend the pleasure of doing the other side.

"Let's widen her smile," I said as I placed the blade in the corner of her mouth and cut three inches back toward her ear.

"God she does look ugly," said Marcy as we stepped back to admire our surgical skills.

Cory was saying something but I could not make it out. Properly forming your words is difficult when your mouth reaches from ear to ear.

I recalled from somewhere that the Byzantine Empire practiced facial mutilation as a form of punishment. Citizens of Constantinople that offended the Emperor were not killed but mutilated and allowed to live out the end of their days with butchered faces. No mater how hard you try it's hard to come up with something truly new.

"Nipples have got to go," I said as I used a hemostat to pull Cory's bud out to the max before I sliced it off at the base. Marcy deftly removed the other nipple.

"There's only one clit. Who gets it?" said Marcy.

"Rock, paper, scissors," I said.

Marcy's rock won over my scissors. I grabbed her love button and yanked it out to where it was paper-thin. Marcy's scalpel went in at the base of her clitoris. She managed to remove the entire nerve ganglia in one bloody clump. Cory showed our appreciation for our efforts by screaming.

"Excellent, Marcy, you should go to medical school and become a surgeon," I said.

We stopped after we carved off her inner and outer labia. It was getting tedious and there wasn't that much left to cut off. A quick glance at the Sheik showed that he was missing most of his facial features. People look strange with no ears or nose.

. I had to persuade Amy to throw away the Sheik's testicles. For some reason, she wanted to keep them. We released the brake on the wheel and watched for a moment as the Sheik and Cory rotated. They were still enough alive to appreciate that being dunked in shit wasn't a lot of fun.

"Time to leave, soldiers," I said.

We discovered we were deep under the earth as we climbed three flights of stairs to emerge in a billiard room of the Sheik's newly constructed palace. At the top of the landing we found our clothes in a wardrobe so we emerged dressed as we entered.

The sight of four heavily armed women dressed in high heels, mini-skirts, and glittering tops so disconcerted the Sheik's servants they ran. We fired several bursts over their head to encourage them to move quickly.

In the huge garage we could not find the SUV we arrived in but we did commandeer the Sheik's peacock blue bullet proof Rolls Royce. That was some vehicle. The interior bright work was 18k gold. We were going back in style.

At the entrance to Partyville, I had to point the MP-5N at the gate guards and tell them to raise the gate or I would kill them. That overcame their reluctance to allow the Sheik's very recognizable vehicle to depart driven by four females.

Once back at the base we discovered we had been given up for dead. We had to endlessly recount our tale to the MPs. A thorough search of the dungeon located the skeletal remains of dozens of European and American women reported missing over the last two years.

No one seemed to mention or question the fate of the Sheik and Cory Lewis. The US needs Kuwait for its oil and the Kuwaitis need the US to keep the bad guys away so all was covered up and forgotten. Who knows but Amalia and her brother may be pumping some gasoline refined from Kuwaiti oil at the moment?

I never did learn what happened to the goons. Perhaps one of the other rich Sheiks in Partyville adopted them.

I did learn that Cory Lewis had a troubled childhood exhibiting a tendency to torture and kill the neighborhood pets. She also loved to set fires. She had been institutionalized several times but finally pronounced cured. She had joined the diplomatic corps, shown skill and diligence, and been promoted. The fact that she was criminally insane had gone unnoticed.