The rig

The rig

A group of men starts a kidnapping business in an abandoned oil rig, but not all of them have the same aims. Will this bondage brothel have success? Or will the girls endure torture, rape and debasement to gain freedom?

A story from Elago

I welcome you to reading my story. Intending to make it sufficiently realistic, it might be slow sometimes, but it gains pace as it unfolds. It is about a group of people who start a bondage brothel with kidnapped girls on an abandoned oil rig off the shores of Scotland. It is just a fantasy; the only inspiration being my imagination and literature I’ve read. There are graphic scenes of sex, torture, and slavery – so if you might be offended by these topics, or you are underage, do not read it.

I welcome any comment, as I am writing it currently, and I didn’t define any end yet (and if you detect mistakes, or incongruences, you are warmly welcome to point them out). Obviously I want to share this work, but please remind that this has been all my work, so there is copyright. If you want to post it on your site, ask me permission: I’d like to know where my work ends and who reads it!

Contact me at elagorog@gmail.com .

Chapter 1.

She could tell that more or less an hour or so had passed from her awakening in a box. She could tell it was a box because from a little crack in the wooden surface she could see a faint ray of light coming in, but there was no way of looking through it to check her surroundings.

Obviously for the first hour or so of her uncomfortable and foreign situation, she was completely in panic and daze. She screamed until her sore throat couldn’t emit a sound anymore, but the only answer was a flat, continuous hum, sounding like a big engine behind a wall. The box was small enough to constrain her in a fetal position; she tried to push the wall of the crate to no avail, hurting her fingers in the process. Her  dresses were not warm enough for the cold, still air, and being both unable to move around and overrun by adrenaline, she soon started shaking.

A thought surfaced to her mind.

I’m going to die here. They will let me starve inside this box. This damp, dark, cold box.  Like a rat.

Time passed slowly by. She could not tell how long it was; she needed a toilet and water. A whirlwind of doubts and questions was keeping her busy. She could not remember how she had gotten in this predicament; all she remembered is that she had been fired from her job at the Minister of Education without any reason. In a typical act of hypocrisy, he had called her to his room, offered her a glass of water and went on to praise her potential, before letting her know that she was dismissed. She had burst out in anger, yelling at her boss the worst insults she could think about. She threatened him she would file suit and look for the assistance of a lawyer. He kept calm and grave all the time about, in front of her blank-faced ex-colleagues peeking in from the door, telling her that she had not kept up to her requirements, and in times of economic crisis he was forced to trim the spending budget.

She knew the reason Mr. Williams had chosen to fire her. She never wanted to “service” him. She never offered her body to him, and indeed she knew she was a desirable female. Dark brown, long hair around a pretty face that stated evidently her French roots. A full, proportionate body which she took much care in keeping fit and well cured. The pig! He was eyeing her all the time, with a covetous, lusty stare. He was asking her to work extra hours, until everybody else had left the office, just to drop by her desk offering a reparatory dinner. She had always refused, and he had gotten mad with denial.

But could it be that Williams was behind all of this? He had always thought of him as a weak man, incapable of taking responsibility for something, not speaking of abducting someone. That required a willing to expose oneself to danger. And she knew her ex-boss was not up to the challenge.

She went on trying to focus what happened before she had lost consciousness. She remembered she had walked out of the office, enraged. She headed for the nearby park. It was early evening, maybe 8 o’clock; it was not yet dangerous, as there still was some light in that late September day. She felt tired and dizzy, but she had thought it was due to the emotional outburst she had just lived. Sitting on a bench was her last memory.

Could it be that she had fallen asleep on a bench in the park? And that somebody had caught her up there?

The idea that one, or more strangers were in a total control on her fate was so frightening and despairing that she could not close her eyes for several hours, before surrendering to exhaustion.

*+*+*+*+*+*

The dark, menacing mass of pitch-black waters unfolded before him. Long, powerful waves coming in from the deep and disappearing below his feet. A chilly wind, wet and salty, hitting his rugged features and his black wind jacket.

He was a tall, lonely black figure hardly visible on the dark background; his eyes, closed to two narrow slits, wandering through the immense space in front of him, hands closed in two solid fists, like a character from a Friedrich painting.

It was not a night for being out, exposed to the fury of the Atlantic Ocean; a storm was approaching – he could tell from the direction of the howling wind, from the shades of dark blue and grey forming in the awe-inspiring sky above his head – and inside the steel construction towering in the middle of the rig he could have easily found shelter.

But there was a dull feeling in his stomach keeping him outside: expectation, more than anxiety, but still a discomforting state. He was not an anxious person; he was a cold-blooded rationalist. After all, he could not have succeeded in his plan had he not been careful and devoid of unnecessary emotions.

Finding an abandoned oil rig far off the shores of Scotland; using a large part of his money to secure its possessions, bringing materials and workers to convert it to its new destination. It all costed a lot of dollars and of careful planning; being able to get the works done without leaving trails and ensuring himself that some friends in London and Edinburgh were committed to his plan. Truth said, his activities would not have been legal on the mainland – probably they wouldn’t have been in any country of the world. That’s why he spent time, money and efforts to make sure that no harm would have come from the British police. And moreover, in open sea, which jurisdiction could have judged him? He was smart enough to know that this was a double-edged sword: no jurisdiction could have protected him either. But Lars proved to be his best aid in this.

Whereas he had the money, the ability to plan and the high-profile network of contacts, Lars was precious for his muscle, his lightning-fast read of a situation, and an apparently endless supply of desperados friends. People without any family link, often with marred reputations and dirty criminal records. But still, very loyal to the hand that fed them, unlikely to ask too many questions, and rugged enough to withstand a life of confinement in a platform in the middle of the ocean. Lars finally selected five of them, a couple of them skilled mechanics, one good with hacking and repairing electronic stuff, and another one capable of keeping a boat afloat in the harsh conditions of the winter ocean. Not being said that all of them were more than capable of shooting a gun and having the upper hand in a brawl, and that Doc could patch a body up . He and Lars were sure that more or less any problem they might have encountered while aboard the platform could have been tackled without resorting to help from the mainland.

They had moved on the platform a week before, using a mediocre-looking, sturdy fishing boat. And now that the preparations were just over, he was there, waiting for his first shipment; trying to spot the signaling lights of a fishing boat in the darkness.

He finally gave up, decided to not waste his energies in fighting the cold atmosphere, and entered the control room of the platform – situated at the first floor of the central tower, with thick glass windows all around and bright lights. In front of the sonar monitor was seated a burly man in his forties, badly shaved, chewing on a chocolate bar.

“What’s up, boss? Seen anything?”

“Nothing my eyes could see, Darren. Have you had better luck with the sonar?”

“Not yet. But the sea’s not that bad. Joe can surely steer his way up to this place.”

He nodded silently. He wasn’t worried about the conditions of the sea; he was more worried about what might have happened on land. Bob might have let him down; Lars could have made a mistake. This was their first catch, and the plan might not have worked as expected. He took, without asking permission, a Marlboro from Darren’s pack, at the side of the sonar monitor. The sturdy man gave no sign of contrariety as he lit the cigarette up, intent on watching the dark maritime landscape out of the window.

Then a first, faint beep resounded in the room as a dot appeared on the screen. Darren turned to face his boss, a satisfied grin painted on his lips. The other man looked plainly back, showing no emotions, as if he was watching his guard dog. And indeed he was.

*+*+*+*+*+*

She woke up as the humming of the engine quieted down, substituted by a sound of splashing water. Sea? Instinctively she tried to stand up, forgetting for a moment that she was still trapped in the box. Her body was paining awfully from the position she had been forced to maintain for such a long time. For what she could tell, it could have been days. Then, amidst the sound of the waves, she could hear a voice.

“Help!” She cried out, with a creaking, dusty voice. “Help! Get me out of here!”

She strained her ears. The voices were two, maybe three; she could not figure out what the words were, or how far the people could be.

“Heeeeelp!”, she shouted again, trying to be louder.

She could definitely tell a laughter; it was a masculine, deep laughter, that froze her blood. She gasped, as the voices were now just behind the wooden walls.

“So, this is the package.”

“What a nice job, mate!”

“Let’s take her inside” said a commanding voice, and all of a sudden the box moved upwards, making her scream in fear.

“Let me out! Let me out of here! Please let me out!”

“Lots of begging time later, honey” was the answer.

She started to scream, punching the crate hopelessly, as she had started to realize that the end of her trip was going to be worse than the beginning.

Rudely, the box was laid down on the floor; she tensed her body, ready to spring out and confront her abductors as soon as the lid would be opened.

“Ok, boys, take a step back as we welcome our new… guest” said a voice with a strange accent. She had counted at least three voices; she knew her chances were dire, but she  also realized – in a strange, animal way – that probably acting on anticipation would have been her only chance for escape.

The noise of big padlocks opening, at each side of the crate. She held her breath, filling herself with a desperate strength for survival. Then, all of a sudden, the upper lid slid open. The bright light sweeping in from the opening dazzled her, but with a quick, blind jump, she got out of her wooden prison.

“What the fu…” she heard from her left side, and instinctively she ducked in front of her. She had just missed a powerful blow aimed to her head. From the shadows appearing in her glowing sight, she made up another two men in front of her, and slightly to the right a rectangular shape that could have been a door.

“Take her!”

From her crouching position, she sprang in the direction of the door, stretching her arm in front of her. Suddenly she heard a thumping sound and she flew to the ground, just on the doorstep, catching her breath. She moaned, feeling an excruciating, pumping pain on her left side. She rolled her head in that direction, and she could see a heavy boot still on her flank. Above, a grinning, muscular man with a red goatee was looking at her.

“Nice try, bitch.”

The kick had taken off any strength that was left in her aching body, and she just tried to look out of the door. She wasn’t sure, but out there, behind a bulkhead and a cloudy night sky, she could just make out endless water. She closed her eyes, and fainted.

*+*+*+*+*+*

Lars slowly lifted the boot from the limp body of the girl. His eyes – cold as ice – inspected the view. Long slender legs, a fit, well-toned body. The brunette was more dangerous than he had thought of… and beautiful as much as she had been depicted by Bob.

He was expecting some remarks for what had happened, and in a vibrating silence, he felt a presence behind his back.

“Lars. I thought you’d have taken all due precautions.”

“I did, Gordon.”

“Oh really? So what went in your fucking head, to get her in that box – untied?”

The red haired giant turned slowly to face his boss. He was physically dominating him, but he had to admit that guy more than compensated this gap with his charisma. Gordon was a leader; he was born to command. It was something in the tone of his voice; something in the dark of his eyes.

“I… thought she’d not have made it, tied, for all the trip. And besides, I thought the trip alone would have worn her out.”

“Well, it’s plainly clear you made a mistake in your judgment” said Gordon, staring straight into Lars’s eyes.

“It won’t happen again, boss. I’ll make sure to stick to the plan next time.”

“That’s better. Now, shall we gentlemen take care of our guest? After all, we just had success in our first catch. This is a night for celebration.”

Lars and Darren moved quickly to the sides of the girl. Snapping his fingers, Gordon made them understand he wanted her lifted up. As soon as her unconscious body was on her feet, held from the armpits by the two powerful men, he moved close to her face and took her chin in his right hand. He studied her features, grunting with approval: her long eyelashes, the small, snub nose and perfectly designed lips. The wears of the trip had obviously left their signs, ruining her makeup. Her white shirt was wrinkled; she had lost one shoe – medium heels, black leather.

“Take her to box 1. And tie her up well. I don’t want to see any other silly escapade try.”

The two men had just started to drag her downstairs, when he added:

“But don’t touch her or undress her. I want her to be awake. We’ve got a point to nail home.”

Bringing the girl downstairs was an easy task. The complex was a big one, built on five levels. The top one was the control room; then there was the common space – by definition level 0, and further down came the cabins for the crew, then another level of well-kept, completely furnished cabins. They were headed for the level 3. No signs explained what was the destination of that level, but the two men knew very well. Lars opened a heavy door and guided Darren to the adjacent corridor. They stopped in front of what was appeared to be like a prison cell door – with a viewing hole, a food hatch, and a metal sign displaying the letters “BOX 1”. Lars inserted a code on the pad welded next to the door, and a clanging sound announced the opening.

The room itself was a white padded cell. Metal rings had been fitted to the walls, floor and ceiling, at different distances. The floor was slightly curved, with a small grate in the center; on the left side was a simple mattress, on the right one the outline of a safe box, with no apparent handle. They shoved the girl on the floor.

“Stay here. We don’t know when she’s going to gain consciousness again.” told Lars to Darren. He moved back in the corridor and headed to another metal door, signed “EQUIPMENT”. He opened it with a long security key and turned on the lights.

A wide display of objects came to light. From ropes, chains, handcuffs up to the most devilish devices conceived to torture and humiliate. He just took some long coils of rope and a couple of steel bars with rings at both ends, and went back to box 1.

“Look now, mate. You better learn the tricks fast.”

With expert confidence, he circled coils of rope around the girl’s ankles and wrists, tying them to the rings of the bars. The girl moaned, as the rough touches of Lars started to wake her up. Darren frowned, but the other man just said:

“Too late, darling”.

He finished off his knots, forcing the girl’s limbs wide open, still lying on the floor. Together they lifted the on her feet, pushing her against the back wall. He ran a link of rope tight from the upper bar to a ring welded to a wall, way above her head, and in a similar fashion he also secured the lower bar. They paused, looking at the spread-eagled beauty hanging from the padded wall, her head still hanging down her neck.

“Shame she’s still got her clothes on” commented Darren.

“Gordon’s gonna fix that soon. Let’s go tell him she’s ready. Oh, I was almost forgetting girls like to talk too much. Don’t know if the boss likes that.”

He quickly scraped a shiny black rubber gag from the equipment room. Her mouth was already half open, and he just pushed the ball in, locking the leather band firmly behind her head.

“Nighty night, sweetie” said Darren as they left. As soon as the door slammed shut, the cell fell in the darkness.

*+*+*+*+*+*

Darkness again. The slamming of a door finally woke her up. How the hell she was standing? There was something slick and disgusting in her mouth, rubbery, forcing her jaw open; she tried to push it out with her tongue, but it was locked tight. She could feel the pressure of a buckle at the back of her head, matched by similar, rough clamps at her ankles and wrists. Her body was aching, and the forced position strained her muscles. She felt desperate, and trying to fight against her bonds only made her hands and shoulders feel worse. She tried to grasp an hold with her hands on anything, but all she could feel was a flat, plastic-like surface behind her back.

The gag made her difficult to swallow, and she felt drool running down her lips and chin, dripping on her shirt, into her cleavage. She felt dirty, and she didn’t know how long she could hold the pressure in her bowels anymore.

The lights turned on with a zap, and a clank. She could see the room she was in now: white, padded walls, rings and hooks from the ceiling. It looked like a cell from an old madhouse. It was terribly frightening, and she whimpered. The gag muffled her sounds. In front of her, a heavy metal door opened slowly. In the threshold, she could see a red headed giant, sporting a goatee , with an emotionless, icy stare. Black, military-like clothes fitting leather boots. He was the one who had kicked the hell out of her before, she recognized. She looked at him with eyes wide in fear and hatred and shook her bonds, as to threaten him, moaning loudly.

“We have a pretty little fighter here, don’t we?” said, mockingly, a man from the corridor. The man in the doorstep walked in, confidently, hands on his hips; in came a shorter, refined man with well-combed corvine hair. Power exuded  from his look; he was the leader, the boss of her abductors. She took a long breath, in waiting.

“Well, being a fighter will help you with nothing here. It will only make things worse. As your foolish attempt to escape, before.”

Her blood ran up to her brain. She felt her cheeks going on fire. She was mad with rage again, trying to address him obscenities from behind the tight seal between her lips. The two men smiled viciously. She could see a third one just a step back from the doorstep.

“I see you have quite a temper. Well, me and Lars here know more than a way to soften you up.”

She began shaking her bonds, again, in a desperate fury. The red haired, which she now knew as Lars, promptly clenched his fingers around her neck, shoving her up against the wall. There was no way she could stop him.

“You’ve been drooling all over yourself. And now I thought you were a lady.”

“Mphhh!”

She was quickly losing her breath from the strangling and her thrashing against her bonds. A third man, with a dirty blonde hair, tall and haggard, walked in holding  a pair of scissors in his hands. He got closer to her shaking body, casually laying down the flat side of the tool on her naked cheek.

“You should calm down now. You don’t want to get cut, do you” he told her with a greasy voice, letting the point of the blade tickle her shoulder. She gasped, frozen, and she immediately felt warm between her legs. Warm, and wet. She was peeing from the fear.

The blonde man took a step back, disgusted. Lars loosened a bit his grip, and she could draw in air from her nostrils. Her face was still on fire, partly from the strain, and now partly from embarrassment as she realized that she had peed on herself and soon going to be stripped naked. The boss started to chuckle.

“I tell you, my friends. Females are no more than bitches.”

She wanted to kill them or to die there. She had never felt so humiliated in her life, as her urine soaked her panties and ran through the inside of her legs, dripping to the floor. She hanged her head in shame.

“You see, little thing, what you have done?” hissed Lars to her ear. “We’ve got to clean after you already.”

“Fck y…” she whispered.

Lars nodded, letting her neck go, and gesturing the other presents out of the door.

“I’ll clean it quickly.”

“I open you the utility box?”

“Yes thanks.”

As someone pushed a button outside of the cell, a small armoire opened on the wall. She could not see inside, but she saw that Lars was extracting a hosepipe. She began shaking her head frantically. He turned a handle and pointed the jet at her feet. The water was cold and smelled faintly of seawater.

Lars hit her with the spray, making her scream in surprise. The pressure of the water was strong, and the temperature so low that it numbed her. He soaked her clothes, maliciously keeping the jet aimed to her crotch for several seconds, then moving up and down, from her head to the floor. The water ran perfectly to the drain in the center as he turned the handle to off and put back the hose in its housing.

“So, where were we…” said the man with the scissors as he got next to her. Meticulously, he started cutting off her shirt.

“No time for regrets about your clothes. You won’t need them here” commented the boss.

“Dnt… dnt…” she started pleading, pointlessly. She closed her eyes not to see her capturers in front of her, as the cold hair pinched her skin, purple from the freezing shower. Soon she felt also her skirt falling to the floor. All she was wearing were matched black lace bra, panties and stockings. Damned her habit of wearing nice underwear at work, she managed to think despite of her shock. Under the cloth, she could feel her hardened nipples pumping.

The boss took some steps in her direction.

“Ok, Abigail.”

How does he know my name?, she thought in wonder. She looked at him with disbelief.

“I know who you are, yes. But that doesn’t matter anymore. For as much as the world is concerned, my dear, you are dead. Even if that is something we cannot let happen. You are an investment to us. You are now our property – a useful property.”

She couldn’t believe her ears. What was this crank talking about? She started moaning, desperate for a chance to talk.

“Shh. Before I hear your voice, you must learn your place here. If you learn the rules, you will save yourself a lot of suffering. Rule one: no speaking without permission. Rule two: you will not try to escape. Rule three: you will not injure or kill anyone, including yourself. Rule four: you will never refuse to obey. Rule five: you will show gratitude anytime you will be fucked, when and how you will never decide. Rule six: you will call every male Sir. For you, I will be Sir Gordon.” He made a pause for effect, studying her. Her half-naked body was shivering uncontrollably, her hair sticking to the sides of her head and to the top of her chest; but her eyes were stuck on him, still strong-willed, still fighting. He raised an eyebrow, impressed from that show of willpower; it was early for submission, he recognized.

“Do you have anything to say?”

She grunted behind the gag.

“Nod if you want to speak. Rudeness will not be tolerated.”

A vibrant silence followed as she kept her head still. She looked around the room. Gordon, Lars and the blonde man at his sides, and behind them, on the doorstep, yet another guy. They were many; her chances were very dim.

She nodded, and Lars reached for the buckle of her gag, freeing her from the uncomfortable restraint. Her jaw snapped and ached as she closed her lips. She tried to swallow, painfully. The men were waiting, patiently but menacingly.

“Who… who are you?”

An open-palm slap hit her face, making her world go round.

“Rule six. You shall call every male..?”

Abigail was panting. They were completely crazy. But she’d not let them have their fun so easily.

“Motherfucker.”

Lars raised his hand, ready to deal her another blow, but Gordon stopped his hand.

“Stop. This will only bruise her. Maybe we should try something more… refined.”

She felt a warmness in her stomach, cocky at the thought of having broken through the self-confidence of his captor. She started hissing, “Motherfucker! Motherfucker!” louder and louder, until she was shouting. Gordon gave some instructions to the man on the doorstep, then he turned around, with a fiery look in his eyes.

“Lars? Shut this bitch up.”

The giant moved to her. She could tell from his eyes that he was having a good time. But when she saw his hand approaching her crotch, she started screaming.

“No! Don’t dare, you filthy pig! Don’t touch me!”

Ignoring her, he put his massive hand on her panties. He squeezed, pressing his fingers on her most tender flesh, right into her slit. She howled in indignation and embarrassment. She had never been treated like that. Then, with a quick move, he ripped off her panties, revealing her naked skin. She was flawless, wet, and completely shaved. The men looked at her with satisfaction, making her blush and scream harder. He brought the dirty panties in his head just in front of her mouth, trying to put them inside. Understanding what he was going to do, she shut her mouth closed as tight as she could in her shivering condition.

Lars shrugged and pinched her nose hard. She tried to breathe from between her teeth, but the giant’s fingers were crushing her cartilage so painfully that she could not help but scream in pain, allowing her tormentor to sneak in the filthy gag. She retched; even after the brutal shower, they were tasting of urine and of sweat, even if they contained the first water she had drunk in one day or so. She tried to push the panties out and to bite the hand, which was just too big, covering her lower face completely.

Expertly, he moved his hand away and replaced it with a large duct of tape. He rolled a second layer all around her head, tight, followed by a third and a fourth. It would have been impossible to get rid of it, and she was again silenced – this time forced to taste her own foulest tastes. Even worse, her pussy was now exposed for all the world to see. She wriggled, instinctively trying to close her thighs.

A long, thin stick had appeared on Gordon’s hands.

“See this? It’s called a cane. One of the things you will meet it when you breach the rules. It works like this…”

Without warning, he landed the cane powerfully on her belly. She howled in pain; it would have already been bad, but having just been showered with freezing water, every feeling was amplified.

“… 5 strokes for each breach.”

The second stroke fell across her thighs.

“You shall…”

Stinging pain on the top of her breast.

“call…”

An oblique blow, again on her belly.

“every male…”

On the inside of her right thigh. She took her breath.

“Sir!”

And, swinging it vertically, he stroke her right on her sensitive pussy. She felt on fire, the stings were pulsating as if her flesh had been ripped off. A tear ran down her left eye.

“Boss. I think this bitch also failed rule number two.”

“You’re right, Darren. You want to teach her?”

“With pleasure.”

Gordon handed over the cane to a short, stout man. She looked at him with pleading eyes, obfuscated by tears. No more, no more.

“So, bitch. How was it?”

He raised the stick, waiting evilly. As he brought it down, she tensed her body, anticipating the blow.

She screamed, her eyes closed; but she felt nothing. Darren was laughing.

“What’s that, poor thing? You scared?”

She opened her eyes and saw that he actually stopped the cane in mid-air. He was playing tricks. Panting behind her gag, she began insulting him.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say, but I hope that you repeating the rules, bitch. Here, I’m a good man. Let’s repeat it together.”

He rained five blows in quick succession on her belly and groin, spelling the second rule:

“You will not try to escape!”

The forceful attack left her shaking and openly crying. The pain was just too strong. She wished she could lose consciousness, escape from that torture. She hanged her head again, in despair.

“I think we should leave her pondering on her rules for a while” stated Gordon. Darren looked at him with a disappointed expression, but walked out, followed by Lars. The blonde man, which had been standing in the back for the duration of the caning, whispered something to the ear of the boss.

“We should dry her up, or she might suffer hypothermia.”

“Hmm. Ok, Doc. Take care of it and then join us upstairs.”

The crowd walked out, and Abigail was left with the blonde man. She looked at him with pleading eyes. Doc looked back at her with an enigmatic face, and disappeared, coming back after a few seconds with a towel.

Her body was full of angry red welts. She kept looking at him, tears still flowing, but with a puzzling thought in her mind. He was an abductor too, but he actually had a thought for her. Doc wrapped the towel around her body, making her squirm in discomfort as it brushed against her marks.

“Don’t get any strange thought. I just don’t want you to get sick. You would only be good for the fishes.” He told her, as if reading her mind. Still, she could feel that he was trying not to hurt her. Moreover, they were alone. He could close the door and do her anything he pleased. She was beautiful, tied, defenseless. Her aching pussy exposed, and he carefully avoided touching it directly. Had it been another situation, another context, she could have said he was trying to be gentle.

He finished drying her up, and stepped back, hesitating, as if he wanted to tell her something. They exchanged reciprocal looks, and she moaned faintly, reminding him of the filthy rag she was keeping in her mouth.

He shrugged, turned his back to her, and walked out. She plunged again in the darkness, but she could hear a new, low sound buzzing in the background. Moments later, she realized the heating had been switched on.

*+*+*+*+*+*

Doc walked slowly upstairs, back to the common room, thoughts storming his mind. Had he felt sympathy for the girl? She was beautiful, and innocent. She looked in her mid-twenties. Did they have the right to force her to a life of slavery?

When Lars first talked to him about this opportunity, he was enthusiastic. What did he have to lose? Her wife, that bitch, had left him as soon as the police had taken him out of his small private clinic, in handcuffs, six years before. She knew exactly well what was going on inside – body modifications, clandestine abortions among others – but when she understood that their little world was collapsing, she discarded him like a leper dog. He spent five years in a jail, not exactly the place for a graduate in Medicine, tall and thin. First days, he felt like a walking target. He was only missing a neon sign on top of his head to catch everyone’s attention – and of the worst kind.

In fact, he had already been harassed several times, when one day he acquainted with Lars. That guy from Norway had something different from the others: he was no hot-tempered street brawler. Lars had melted ice in his veins; never lost his temper, never looked angry. Yet the other prisoners kept at a 10 feet distance from him at all times.

Lars took a liking to him, and Doc knew that the implicit deal was that he’d have been protected, and had to offer him advice and professional help. All in all, he was still a doctor. Somehow they got to know some guys working at the prison infirmary – and Doc had no trouble to identify those drugs that might have caused the right collateral effects to those who needed a trip. Or a lesson.

They had been in business for three, profitable years, until the Norwegian got released. He was not an emotional type, so he just told him:

“When you’ll be out of here, I’ll look for you.”

Doc nodded. After all, he had not much to go back to. Family, gone in the wind. Friends, quite shocked at learning what his source of income was. He had always been regarded as a normal, run-of-the-mill doctor.

So when he was released, six months later than Lars, he could not do much else but scrape together the little money he had, find a cheap motel room, and go out, wasting his brain out in the local pubs. He had no idea how it could have happened, but in a matter of the weeks, on an early evening, he saw the red giant walking in his pub, order a pint, and sitting at his table.

“So, you’re enjoying freedom, I see.”

“Nice to see you, friend. I don’t have much fun, but at least, keep my mind busy. I don’t feel like thinking about my future that much.”

Lars had nodded slowly. Then, in its trademark dry delivery, he said:

“We’ve got a business starting. Slavery.”

Doc might have been half-drunk and penniless, but he almost choked on his beer.

“Slavery? Are you nuts?”

“Not at all. It has all been carefully planned.”

He went on to explain him the details. A wealthy friend of his had bought an abandoned oil rig in the middle of the Atlantic. He had enough contacts to make sure nobody asked unnecessary questions, and also to know that there were enough people interested in exploiting the services he wanted to offer. He just needed to staff the rig.

“Wait, wait. What kind of “services” is he going to offer.”

“Girls. Obviously.”

“Girls. What do you mean, by girls?”

“Female bodies. As an object. To fuck, to torture. There’s a lot of perverts out there, with a lot of twisted fantasies. I’m not one of them, but I know how to smell a good business.”

“Jesus Christ, Lars,” he stuttered, “I don’t know what to say. I… I… don’t think I’m the right person for something like that.”

“You’ll be fine, Doc. There’ll be a cut of the profits for you, and obviously, personal benefits. If you know what I mean. But we need someone to stitch a cut or to give a pill now and then.”

Doc stared at the beer in his hands. What did he have to lose? Nothing.

“I… can I think about it for some time?”

“No. Take it or lose it. I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

He breathed heavily. The picture of his ex-wife, contempt in her eyes, surfaced to his attention. He grinned, in disbelief that he could end up accepting a proposal of that kind.

“I might use some sea after all. Excellent for your health.”

Lars just smiled, and rose his glass in a silent cheer.

*+*+*+*+*+*

When Doc arrived in the common room, he saw the other men holding beers in their hands.

“Come on, mate. You’ve got to cheer too!” told him Joe, apparently in a very excited mood.

He grabbed a beer and joined the circle, as Gordon led the cheering.

“To our success!”

They drank avidly, as a silence, full of expectations, fell in the room. Gordon could see the eyes of his peers pointed on him, waiting for a signal. They looked like a pack of wolves close to a prey; only exceptions, Lars, who was his common self – unreadable, stone-faced –and Doc. He frowned, as his sixth sense smelled trouble. He decided that whatever second thought his crew might have, he should face them as soon as he spotted.

“Ok, guys, I have the feeling you’re dying to have a ride with our new toy, and for sure I can’t provide better company. I’ll join you in a while. You’re free to do what comes to your mind, but remember: no disfiguration. I can’t let my merchandise go ruined.”

He looked at the men. The youngest one, Sammy, was literally sweating from the excitement. He had done well to assist Lars and Joe during the catch even though he was only 24.

“Sammy and Joe go first, they were there to do the catch. Lars, Darren, you go too. I want you to have fun.”

The four men headed for the stairs, as he glimpsed Darren smacking his hand on Sammy’s shoulders.

“I bet you’ll have some fun, boy.”

Doc was still there, standing awkwardly with the beer in his hands. He sat comfortably in one of the black sofas that were adorning the room, studying the blonde man with a long, firm look.

“Something on your mind, Doc?”

He tutted his tongue, shaking his head. He knew better than to speak.

“Don’t bullshit me. I know men well enough to understand when they’re troubled.”

“Really, boss, I’ve got no…”

“Look.” Gordon stopped him, with a dangerous, cold tone in his voice. “You understand how important every one of us is to the whole thing. So if you want to get through it, in due time, we’ll all go to a golden retirement in Bali or where the fuck you’d like to go. But I warn you: no feelings for the girls.”

Doc looked silently in the boss’s eyes for all the duration of the scolding. A growing feeling of anxiety inside of him.

“They’re just meat. Fuckmeat. Imagine they’re your wife. I don’t care what you have to think about, just don’t fuck it up. Or I’ll have to take measures. It’s a long swim back home.”

“Yes… boss. You don’t have to worry,” he stuttered.

“That’s good.” He lit up a cigarette, rolled himself in a windjacket, and walked out on the platform.

*+*+*+*+*+*

Since she had been left alone, Abigail had frantically tried to shake off the bonds holding her pinned to the wall, to no avail. Her hair was still wet, and she could not help but sob quietly for her disgrace. Her mind was running wild. Why me? What did I do to end up with these cranks and their rules?

She tried to think hard to what might happen to save her. Someone could look for her, but who? Her parents were dead, and she had no brothers or sisters. Her friends… She had failed to keep in touch with most of them because of her work, so her silence could have been unnoticed for several days. Even from her job, as she had just been fired, there were no hopes to be called as she had gone missing.

No more than fifteen minutes had passed, when the light turned back on and the door opened. She blinked in the sudden light, and then focused her view. There was a young man, younger than the others she had seen so far, but from his looks she felt even more scared. He was shaved, with several tattoos running from his arms up to his neck, and those lustful, wild eyes…

She instinctively tried to back up, but there was no leeway, as she was already pinned up against the wall. All she could do was waiting what was in store for her this time. The boy turned to the cell door.

“Mind if I have some privacy here?” He asked.

“Just remember what the boss said, kid. I’ll watch you from the spyhole from time to time. And be quick.”

The door slammed shut, and she was alone with the newcomer. He pretended to be calm, but she noticed immediately the bulge in his pants. God, he’s gonna rape me, she thought, and she inadvertently moaned through the filthy gag and rolls of duct tape that were sealing her mouth.

“What, bitch? You said something?”

He got closer. She could smell alcohol in his breath.

“Did you say “fuck me”?”

She stared back, silent. She wanted to give that boy nothing… God, he was even younger that she was.

He waited ten seconds, his face only some inches far from hers. Then, abruptly, he slapped her right on her face.

“Tell me, fuckmeat! Do you like this name?”

She turned back her head to face him, a defiant look in her eyes. He grinned, and started to trace the welts on her belly  with the point of his index finger. She forced herself to stand the tingling pain, but soon the finger reached the bottom of her lace bra and started to sneak inside. She shivered with the new violation.

“That’s nothing yet, bitch.”

With the other hand, he produced a swiss knife from his pocket, and slid it between her pale skin and the dark fabric. She tensed, stopping her breath. With a swift move, he cut through her bra, and ripped it off her. Stimulated by fear and cold, her pink nipples stood gloriously erect out of the light areolas, and he could not resist to pinch them with his both hands. She yelped.

Delighted from her reaction, he didn’t leave her nipples, but started to squeeze them harder, twisting. The debasing feeling gave way to outright pain, and she cried out a muffled plea. He was amused.

“You see, whore, you’ve got to get used to it. There’s nothing you can control. So you better start to be a good girl quick,” he said, mercilessly crushing her tender spots between his fingers. She started to shake, instinctively trying to subtract her tits from the pain, then she looked straight in front of her, right into the boy’s eyes, and headbutted him on his nose with all the strength she could muster.

He screamed out, letting go of her nipples and bringing his hands to his face.

“WHAT THE FUCK! WHAT THE FUCK!”

The door sprang open and Lars walked in.

“What happened?”

“The bitch… This bitch… I think she broke my fucking nose!”

Abigail could not hide a satisfied look when Lars glared at her, advancing to the crouching, whining boy.

“Go to Doc, now, Sammy.”

He helped him to his feet and pushed him roughly to the threshold, where another man was waiting. Just before he was out, Sammy turned back to Abigail, with a trickle of blood running down his face, and hissed:

“You are fucked, whore. You are SO fucked! Wait until I put my hands on you!”

“Darren, Joe, bring the horse.” Said Lars, turning himself to the girl. “I must admit, you’ve got spirit. I like that. But I can’t allow that. I will have to tame you. And with your behavior, you earned yourself a heavy training.”