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Sunday, June 14, 2015

14 Born to Make the Kill

(Caution: This scene contains strong sexual violence)

As the rape continued, Natalie Beaumont’s body became consumed with involuntary reactions and she felt like she was going to die anyway. Her heart pulsated with such force she thought her arteries would burst from the pressure. Tightness gripped her chest with such a constricting suffocation, her lungs failed to draw in adequate oxygen. Then a hissing sound, like a relief valve on her mom’s pressure cooker, filled her ears. As the savage beast ravaged her with relentless power, the sound grew louder and she threw her hands up to her ears to thwart the noise without success.

She opened her eyes but her vision had become impaired. It started on the peripheral; gray and black formless objects were floating, bumping, bouncing, morphing, like something from a child’s nightmare; no colors, just various depths of shadow. As the enveloping darkness continued to encroach toward the center of her being, she could see the outline of her attacker, but, the more she concentrated on him, the more he turned amorphous. Her mind falling, turning, sinking into a fathomless abyss, she gave up the fight.
Then, while she felt her life siphoned away, something on her face began to arouse resuscitation. Warm at first but as the cool air in the warehouse brushed across it, it grew cold. Her lungs started to relax; her breathing deepened and the frightening shapes began to float into the distance.

The face suspended over her came into focus. She expected it to be Tony but found Hank’s repulsive visage instead. His hands pinned her shoulders to the wooden pallet and his torso loomed over her. He licked her face like it was an all-day sucker. With the knowledge that it had been his tongue that revived her—and now repulsed her—she reached to his unguarded face and dug her fingernails into his rough, scared cheeks, scraping long deep bloody scratches into them.
“Ah, you bitch,” he shouted, and brought his hands to the fresh wounds. He examined the blood on his fingers, looked back at Natalie and punched her in the jaw.

Her head swung hard to the right from the blow and she had to fight the blackness that threatened to return.
Hank stood upright, withdrew from her and pissed on Natalie’s breasts and stomach. He expelled a vulgar laugh.

As the brine flowed onto her nipples it stung like nettles on bare skin. She couldn’t see the marks but she sensed that during the attack Hank must have bitten and scraped her to the quick. She clenched her teeth against the burn, and would not allow Hank the satisfaction of a scream. With her fingers dug deep into the blanket, she wrapped them tight around the wooden slats underneath it to hold back the quake the sudden the surge of adrenalin forced on her body.
When he finished, Hank pulled up his jeans and began to fasten the buttons.

Tony stood next to her and picked up the .357 revolver by the nickel plated barrel. She knew it was there but it had been just out of her reach.
“You havin’ fun yet, whore?” He swung the butt of the gun and slammed it into her pubic bone.

“Ahhh,” she shrieked. She let go her hold on the pallet with both hands to grabbed her crotch. “Son-of-a-bitch!” she shouted and then turned her wet eyes to Tony. She braced for him to take his turn.

Rudy could hear the attack as he dressed, but couldn’t bring himself to look or intervene. Tony had a pistol and he feared Tony would use it on her just to spite him. This hadn’t been the plan. Tony and Hank could find girls any time they wanted. Why did they need to rape Natalie? Every time she groaned, shrieked or shouted, the guilt of what he had brought upon her felt like white-hot embers seared his bowels. He just wanted it to stop, for her sake as well as his.
He was in love with her even though it, for now, was one sided. Hank had chided him with a word he loathed—obsessed. That made him sound depraved. Infatuated was no better with its immaturity implications. So he preferred love, even though he had no former frame of reference. Even now he believed Natalie would reciprocate his love once she realized how passionate, sensitive and attentive he could be.

Her shout, “Son-of-a-bitch,” drew his hands up to cover his ears.

Natalie closed her eyes while she laid on the solid surface waiting, and wept. Her wounds were too many to count. They all seemed to merge together in one intense distention of agony. The pungent scents of the urine lying in a pool at her sternum and semen brought a gag reflex to her throat.

“You’re up, boss,” Hank said to Tony. “Damn good pussy, if you don’t mind it rough.”

Tony had stood to the side of the pallets and watched her every action. She had shown her willingness by opening her legs to him and even now she seemed to be waiting for him. Tonight she had passed two of the three tests. She was definitely a woman, and waiting meant willing. There was just one left. But whether she was worthy would be a trial proven over time.

“Not this time, Hank, I’ll take her later. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Natalie was relieved but stunned. She thought Tony had let his savage have the taste first before he devoured what was left.
“You sure, boss?”

“Yeah, get her in the car.”
“Okay” he said to Tony. Hank turned to her as he fastened the last button at the top of his black jeans. “Get up, bitch.”

Natalie continued to lay there in silence with her feet on the edge of the makeshift bed. She took a couple of deep breaths to bring her breathing back to normal. Earlier she had been willing to live through it, now, she just wanted to die. No nightmare she could remember compared to being violated so mercilessly. But having to live with this ugly memory was something for which she didn’t know if she had strength.
“Damn it,” Hank yelled again, “I said get up!” He reached for her left arm and yanked her to a sitting position.

He pulled with such might she thought he would dislocate her shoulder. She fought through the tearing pain and opened her eyes as her feet came off the pallet. They fell over the edge.
“You son-of-a-bitch!” she cried out again through gritted teeth. Hank stood in an exposed position right in front of her and she remembered how she had resisted Alex’s attack in the cornfield. It was too late to stop Hank, but not too late to retaliate. With quick simultaneous movements, she swung for the blood filled scrapes on his face with the clenched fist of her right hand and kicked between his legs with both feet.

He blocked her hand with his left forearm just as her feet crash together into his groin.
“Ah,” he shrieked and released his hold. He fell to his knees and grabbed his crotch. “Goddamn bitch!”

Natalie watched him go down and felt gratified that she had been able to strike back. But the glory was short lived. To her side she caught a glimpse of movement as Tony stood. She had no time to react before consciousness was ripped from her.
_____
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