Ch. 1: The Rape of a Virgin

He wanted to destroy her. He wanted her to scream in pain and know nothing but agony. He wanted to rip every ounce of innocence away from her fragile existence, so pure, so perfect—he wanted it all to evaporate.

       His head lowered in hunger, and he could smell her fear. The stench of her urine, drenching the last bit of underwear she had on, was intoxicating. He could see that she was clenching her teeth with her eyes shut, refusing to believe that what was happening to her was indeed a part of reality. Her soft whimpers escaped her attempts to stifle them. He could feel the tenseness in her muscles, her contorted abdomen writhing in vain in its attempts to distance itself as far away from him as possible.

       He drew his knife and stroked the slit between her labia, careful not to cut…just yet. He then made a cut on the side of her underwear, and after peeling off the front of her wet garment proceeded to sever the other end. After carefully removing her underwear and tossing it to the floor, he admired his work.

       She was maybe 13 or 14. Small. Asian. She had sleek, radiant black hair, tied in a neat ponytail behind her head. Her skin was softer than any he had ever stroked. Creamy white. Not a flaw on her entire frail body. Her pubic hair had barely begun to grow, and only traces of fuzz could be visibly detected above her vagina. Her mons was not even close to being fully covered. He raised his hand and stroked the damp skin above her vagina. She was the embodiment of perfection, and he was her vehicle of destruction.

       The girl was small, definitely not taller than five feet. Her wrists were bound by thick nylon ropes, pulled taut to the corners of a bed post. Her ankles were similarly tied, and her body had been stretched spread-eagle across a steel mattress frame. Underneath her butt lay several firm pillows, propping up her lower body—forcing her most sensitive parts to jut outward almost a foot higher vertical in comparison to the elevation of her head. He could feel her trembling as he ran his body across her smooth stomach. She was exhausted already—he could feel it. The worst had yet to come. But she was already taxed, and her mind was likely unable to comprehend what else might happen to her. However, if she knew what was coming, sheer terror would be the only emotion she should feel. The girl was still shaking. She was still fragile.

       He was nervous, but he knew what he wanted. Before removing his clothes, he removed the blindfold from the girl. He placed both hands on her taut belly and stroked it and admired its beauty. As he moved his hands over her skin, from her stomach to her thighs, he lowered his head and placed his face over her taut belly button. He took a deep breath and could smell her sweat, her fear.  It smelled wonderful. He turned his head so that his eyes were staring straight into her abdomen, unfocused due to the proximity, but drunk with ecstasy. He stuck out his tongue to have a taste, and proceeded to lick from above her belly button to the middle of her breastplate. Her body grew stiff in response to this, and her throat let loose a tiny whimper. He then began to taste her neck and then the side of her face. She pressed the opposite side of her face as far into the mattress frame as possible, but her muffled cries of shock and disapproval were becoming harder and harder for her to repress.

       He looked straight into her eyes, which were still shut. Jaws still clenched. He knew the moment had come. He relocated his head to her vagina, and without hesitation kissed her slit. When his lips were fully smothering her vagina, he moved his tongue up and down her slit and tasted every inch of her femininity, eliciting from the small girl the first of many moans this night would bring. He sucked on her clitoris and moved his tongue over it, again and again. He could feel her trying to trash about, but her restraints were administered so effectively that her efforts were futile and were characterized only by tiny jerks from side to side. Occasionally, she would instinctively jerk her pubic region a fraction of an inch forward, only to discover that her body would only bend in such a direction so far and pathetically withdraw back to its original position. Her groans increased in volume, and her spasmodic response to his oral rape heightened the experience for him.

After only a few moments, he could not bear to hold himself back any longer. He slipped on a dry, rubbed leather sheath on his penis, a art of his body that would soon become an unforgiving instrument of pain and horror. He secured it tightly and positioned himself right in between her frail legs. He grasped the top of her inner thighs firmly with his hands, squeezing tightly, more to prepare himself than to cause her pain. He then slowly approached her vagina, and checked the sheath’s position, so that it was just outside and barely touching her hymen, which had been untouched by anyone, even herself up to this point. The girl began to cry, softly, slowly. Her chest was making quick movements, slowly, up and down to accommodate her timid sobs. He gazed at her breasts, which had not yet fully formed, and her reverberation of despair made those small mounds of soft flesh quiver ever so slightly.

He savored the moment, for there would only be one. He held his breath, clenched his hands, and thrust with every ounce of strength that he had in his hips. The tip of the rough leather sheath tore through her virginal opening, and in only an instant, it was putting an immense amount of pressure against her now compressed cervix. He had made sure the entire length of his penis, all the way to its very base, was engulfed in her vagina. The force of his initial thrust culminated in the conjoining of their pubic bones pressing firmly together, separated only by the thin layer of skin and fat covering them. Her dry vaginal channel coupled with the unreasonable amount of friction his rubbed leather sheath produced grabbed with it upon entry the lips of her vagina, which disappeared into the hole he had created in her. Her clitoris, even the skin surrounding her vagina, stretched inwards towards the abyss that had once been her virgin vaginal channel. It did not help that she was small either—her vaginal length was no doubt paltry in comparison to the length and girth of his penis (the leather sheath surrounding it did not help either). What lack of length her vagina had was made up for the amount of length created by her compressed cervix. He knew she was in unspeakable agony, but ironically, there was no scream the first second of her cruel rape. Her eyes at that cruel instant had shot wide open, no longer sealed shut as they had been only moments before. Her head jerked forward and her chin made contact with her chest, no doubt a side effect of her body’s desire to curl up in the fetal position. He could see her tiny shoulders recoil towards her neck and her mouth slightly agape. The look of shock on her face as he pressed and held his position with all the weight in his body was one that he would not soon forget.

He held himself in that position, his hands still grappled to the sides of her legs until he heard an inhuman, almost animal-like moan, which lasted for several seconds. And then silence filled the air again as her eyes diverted and focused themselves with horror upon her genital region, which had been made one with his. She released another groan, followed by a quick gasp for air. Then the awestruck stare of her eyes moved from the physical point of intrusion, to his eyes, which stared straight back into hers—her eyes were beautiful, round, and trembling with disbelief.

It was at this moment he released his pressure and moved his hips back, readying himself quickly for the next thrust, a promise to her that this was not going to end soon. The sudden release of pressure caused her to exhale rapidly and shut her eyes again. Although her body had been in unspeakable pain for the past few seconds, her mind had not yet accepted the full reality of this pain...until the moment he made his second thrust, which was no doubt faster and harder than the first. It was then that she screamed, a sound so pure and wonderful he had to hold the inward position of his second thrust for a few seconds as well, making sure that he savor the moment. It was then he looked down and noticed a small stain of blood developing on the pillows holding her midsection up. He withdrew the tip of his penis from her vagina entirely, and before he thrust it in the third time he made a mental note of how the blood smeared along the opening of her vagina and the surrounding region had looked. He attacked her vagina again and again, each time drawing a longer, and more protracted scream. His leather sheath was no longer its original color of light tan, and it was now stained the color of blood. As it soaked up the blood from each continual thrust, the resistance the friction had once caused was slowly being diminished. Her screams, after several minutes had turned to load moans, peaking at their highest volume every time he entered her. He continued raping her, thrusting with all his might, increasing his speed after every thrust, till he began to move at a rapid pace, making sure the base of his penis met with the lips of her bloodied vagina in a forceful thud every time. When she wasn’t moaning, she was coughing. And after many minutes, when she couldn’t cough anymore, she began to throw up—the first of which landed upon her chest. And as he kept drilling her feminine core, she would try to throw up more, but with the contents of her stomach already emptied out, spilling onto the metal support her taut body lay upon, only trace amounts of stomach acid brought about by the periodic and violent clenching of her abdomen would take its place.

Her vomit had ended up disgusting him. Something inside of him needed it cleaned up. He was so close to reaching an orgasm, but the putrid, acidic smell of her insides forced him to stop his thrusting and stare at this pathetic little creature. He removed his penis from her vagina and crawled backwards, only to continue staring at her body, drenched in pain and sweat. He looked down at her vaginal opening, which during the violent rape had been smothered with blood. The pillow directly cushioning her butt had become dark red, almost glistening black at the top, with some of the blood-stain creeping down along the front of the side. She had begun to sob, and rather violently too. Her chest heaved up and down, aiding the last portions of her vomit to drip down along the side of her ribcage. He stared at her for almost a minute. She was a work of art.

Ch. 2: The Flood

A voice could be heard over the intercom.

“Doctor Hamner, please report to surgery. Docter Hamner, please report to surgery.”

It always sounded so cold and calcuting, Phil Hamner thought. This hospital could use some cheer. Lord knows everybody in this white prison could use a little bit of that every now and then.

“Hey doc, you’ve got 15 minutes,” his PA shouted across the hall.

“Will do, Amir. Just give me a sec to scrub down.”

Hamner thoroughly lathered up his hands and arms up to his elbows with soap and proceeded to rinse them with water. The water was warm, and tiny streams of water following an invisible path would exit as an unspectacular waterfall off his elbow. Only one more surgery to go, and he was free to go home. It had been too long of a day.

The man quickly busied himself with cleaning her up. The room they were in wasn’t fancy, but it was not old. It was several feet underground, and resembled a common basement or cellar. The only light source that lit the room was from a single light bulb at the very center of the room’s ceiling. The cellar was built only a few years back, and had a drainage system to protect the room from filling up with excess groundwater, as in the case with floods. He knew things would get messy, and before he brought the girl here he had found a way to bring a high pressure hose into the room. He did not want to leave any stains. Now was as good a time as any to put this hose to the test.

The man pointed in the direction of the drainage grating on the edge of the floor and opened the water’s current. The water sprayed forth in a horizontal, flat stream of water and from its point of contact with the metal grating emanated a loud clanging sound as the pressure of the water beat unrelentingly against it. Curious as to how much the water pressure would feel, he casually angled the furious stream of water from the drainage area to his foot. Almost immediately at the point of contact he yelped, only slightly, not so much from the pain but from the surprise. His foot had immediately numbed up as the water hit it, and from his foot reverberated a sharp pain, as if multiple needles were constantly puncturing his skin. He smiled to himself. It had hurt quite a bit more than he had imagined The man’s heart paced faster as he turned his attention to the girl tied on the bed still covered in her own disgusting bodily fluids.

He walked up to the side of the girl, whose eyes had desperately tried to avoid him.

“Please let me go,” she cried. “Why are you doing this? Why are you hurting me?” Questions even he did not know how to answer.

“Please stop. Please stop,” She begged him. He almost felt sorry for this creature. As if he could stop. He couldn’t. He couldn’t stop. He knew if others knew of what he was doing they would think he was a monster. If only they knew why he had to do this. If only they understood.

Immediately the man began to feel sorry for himself. They would never understand, he told himself. Anger had replaced his self-pity. He would show them. He would punish them for their inability to accept him, to understand him.

“Shh…,” the man said gently to the girl. “Don’t cry. You poor creature. You could never understand why I need to do this. You are only a vessel of redemption. You…you are paying for the sins of an entire society. Your innocence is masked only by your ignorance, and this ignorance everyone is guilty of possessing. No more questions, girl. Do not ask me for mercy or pity for there will be none given. ”

“B-b-b-but please, I didn’t do anything! I didn’t do-“

Immediately a cold blast of water struck the right side of her ribs. The force of the stream of liquid pressed ruthlessly into her skin and elicited a cry of agony from the girl. The stream of water began to sweep across the upper part of her chest, and methodically, the man maneuvered the hose so that it swept back and forth, back and forth across her thin torso. He moved down and swept across her breasts, enjoying her squirm each time the water pinned against her nipples, an area he held the pressured stream against for several seconds. The girl felt as if her breasts were being punctured by an unrelenting army of nails. The pain was overwhelming. He then aimed at her right armpit, only a few feet away, and enjoyed the collateral embodied by the thin rays of water splashing from her armpit back into his body. The girl reacted to the pain under her arm by turning her face to the right, pressing it against her shoulder. The man smiled and flicked the stream of water from her armpit to her face, an act that resulted in her quickly jerking her head to her left and choking at the water that had entered her mouth and nostrils.

He repeated the same to the other side of her torso, and when he was satisfied the girl was as clean from the chest up as possible, he moved on to her stomach. He started at her breastplate and moved slowly down, savoring the figure of the girl, desperately trying to curl up into a ball, but held back by the restraints. She clenched her abdominal muscles, and lifted her head up, her face contorted in pain. The man flicked the hose in the direction of her face, and again, her head was forced towards the opposite direction, choking and coughing, but away from the threat of water. Satisfied with his work, the man began cleaning the girl’s lower legs, slender and creamy white. But as he moved up toward her pubic region, he began to get excited. He sprayed her spread things with the water, and moved up slowly along her left inner thigh.

And then without warning he aimed the water directly at her lewdly exposed crotch. The girl shrieked in terror as her genitals felt like they were being ripped apart by sheer mechanical force. The pain intensified as the man inched the head of the water hose closer and closer to her vagina, purposefully aiming at her clitoris.

And just like that, he turned the water off. He stepped back a little and observed the young girl, who was spewing water and coughing, maybe from the pain, or maybe from residual water in her lungs—he didn’t know. Suddenly, he had an idea. He smiled as he moved towards the girl, clenching the hose head with his hand. With his other hand he pushed apart her vaginal lips, whose opening had caused a little bit of blood once stymied by the closed entrance to flow slowly once more. The girl cried in shock at the reopening of the wounds at the entrance of her vagina, no doubt torn from her initial rape. The man then put the tip of the hose head into the entrance of her vagina, which required a bit of force to get in. The girl once again flinched, and her body twitched periodically as he forced the tip of the hose further and further into her channel.

She began to cry, and right on cue. The man turned the hose on , and almost immediately his face was blasted with a stream of water, gushing from her vagina. Scream after scream echoed from the girl’s lungs as the man unleashed a stream of high pressure water into her vagina. Because the water exited the hose with such force into her cavity, and because it had nowhere to go once it smashed into her cervix, it rushed back out into the man’s face in a steady, but not painful stream of water. The color was initially pinkish red, diluted from the blood once covering the walls of her vagina. But very quickly the water that came out became clear. The pain she experienced, however, was no less. The water caused such great pain that the girl, while screaming, began to convulse. She thrust her hips forward and backward, and from side to side, but she could not escape the feeling that the inner walls of her vagina were being peeled away, a pain almost impossible to imagine. The man would turn the water on, then off. On, then off. And each time the girl’s body would become taut and convulse after a few seconds of the torture. After almost an hour of this repetition, the girl’s responses become less and less violent, and the man become more and more bored. Eventually her body became limp, and seemingly lifeless, like a rag-doll. He removed the hose from her vagina, which, much to his delight was devoid of the blood and urine it had once been covered in. He observed her body, which was no longer covered in a creamy white complexion. Her body was now splotched with pink, and somewhat swollen in areas he had spent more time “washing”—her breasts, her inner thighs, and even her vaginal lips were a bit puffy. He would let the girl rest for a while, while he prepared for their next activity.