Chapter IV: John (cont'd)
She awoke.
She was alone in the bed, nude. She got up and looked around for her clothing from the night before. It was nowhere to be found. A feminine-looking robe of blue and white cotton hung on a hook near the door, and she put it on. It fitted her nicely, the lower hem coming down to her upper thigh, barely covering her ass. She could hear sounds from the kitchen, and followed them. John was at the sink, rinsing the last of the dishes from the night before. He was dressed casually, in khaki shorts, a white T-shirt and sneakers.
“Good morning! Did you sleep well? There’s coffee,” he said, gesturing to counter. A fresh pot of coffee was there, next to a white mug. John was already drinking from his.
“Thanks,” she said, and poured a cup. “Can I help?”
“No, just relax, thanks,” called John. There were a couple of stools near the counter, and she sat on one, watching as he completed the cleanup. “That looks good on you,” he said, indicating the robe. “Your clothes are in the laundry.” At last he finished. “Follow me,” he called. He walked out of the kitchen, and opened a door, taking a stair down. Bijou followed.
They came out into a spacious finished basement. The floor was of polished concrete. The immediate area included a small bar, with a pool table not far from it. A large mirror covered most of one of the walls. The ceiling was unfinished, exposing the plumbing, but in an artfully decorative way; the piping was cleanly painted in bright enamel colors, and looked more like what one would see in a trendy restaurant than a basement. It seemed very comfortable.
She’d finished her coffee. “Here, I’ll take that,” offered John. He took the mug and placed it on the top of the bar. He returned and gently caressed her right cheek with the back of his right hand; she smiled shyly at him. Then he abruptly twisted and, with a sudden ferocity, struck her hard in the face with the back of his hand.
Bijou cried out in surprise and horror as her head snapped to the left.
What had she done to deserve that?
John reached for her, and in one swift motion, pulled the thin robe from her shoulders, and slid it down her arms. It fell from her wrists and he kicked it away. She now stood naked before him.
John abruptly looked aside to the stairway. “Robert!” he called. “Thanks for coming; I really appreciate it.” Bijou followed John’s glance and saw another man, somewhat taller than John, coming down the stairs. “Give me a hand here, would you?”
“Sure,” answered Robert.
“Hold her for me, okay?” asked John. Robert nodded and walked behind the nude brunette. She felt his strong hands grasping her upper arms in an iron grip.
John pulled a pair of light cloth gloves with rubber grips over his hands; something one might wear for some light gardening or handyman work. “You see, Bijou, I know you’ve seen a branding, and been on the rack. But I’ve never been one for tortures that need so much… equipment. I’m a simple guy. Old-fashioned, even. Today, you’re going to be subjected to the oldest and simplest form of torture there is.”
He paused. “I’m going to beat the living shit out of you.”
John savagely slammed his fist into Bijou’s abdomen, and she doubled over, gagging. She had only a moment to gasp for breath before the other man, holding her arms behind her, grasped her hair and pulled her upright again. John’s next punch was a left hook, hard to her face, snapping her head to the side. She howled in pain and slid to the floor.
She was barely able to rise to her hands and knees when John pulled back his foot and kicked her, catching her under the chin. Her head flew back and she collapsed to the floor. She struggled to roll to her knees and failed, and now lay nearly face down, with her right arm and leg outstretched, her left arm and leg bent in a pathetic attempt to crawl away. John aimed another kick, landing this one in the girl’s rib cage, spinning her again onto her back, where she lay groaning and unable to move.
John nodded to Robert, and the other man pulled the Korean girl from the floor, again gripping her arms and pulling her elbows together behind her back. John rained blow after blow on Bijou’s small frame: on her breasts, on her belly, and on her face. Bijou cried out with each impact.
John paused to catch his breath and to take in his handiwork. The wretched girl was unable to stand on her own, and would have slid to the floor but for Robert’s firm grip. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, punctuating her moans of pain. John smiled and drove his knee up into her groin, sending a lightning bolt of pain through the girl and extracting another anguished cry.
Robert shoved Bijou at John, and it was all she could do to stagger to him, desperately throwing her arms around him to keep from falling to the hard floor. John caught her, and held her to him. Her arms were now around his neck; his were around her back. In this pose, they could almost have been mistaken for lovers in embrace.
But it was for only an instant; then Robert slammed his fist into her back, directly in line with her right kidney, as John held her fast. Over and over Robert pummeled the girl with his fists: on her ribs, back, kidneys and ass. Her vision had begun to go red from the pain when he ended the series of blows by driving his knee up hard into her ass, directly to the base of her spine.
Now John released the girl, and she fell to the floor. The two men continued their abuse, kicking her everywhere: her breasts, belly, ribs, back, legs, arms and head. Bijou desperately wished for unconsciousness, but it would not come. She ineffectually struggled to protect herself, but to no avail. From time to time, one of the men would pull the girl to her feet, and hold her immobile as the other continued to beat her. Occasionally, through a red haze, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror that adorned one wall, and was shocked at what she saw. Her battered body was covered in abrasions and bruises. Blood ran from her nose and from lacerations on her face and body. One of her eyes was beginning to swell. She was pretty sure that some of her ribs were broken, and probably her left cheekbone, too.
Eventually, the beating stopped. John bent over and scooped up Bijou’s inert body, carrying her to the pool table. He dropped her onto her back onto the table’s surface, with her hips at the edge and her legs listlessly dangling over. Robert walked to the opposite end, and pulled her arms above her head, pinning them to the green felt surface. The effort was unnecessary; Bijou was long past the point where she was capable of resistance.
John stepped out of his shorts and began raping her. It was cliché, he realized, to rape a girl on a pool table, but, hell, he’d said it himself: he was an old-fashioned kind of guy. Occasionally, Bijou made sounds of protest – or maybe just of pain, it was hard to tell – and would receive another punch in the face.
Finally, he finished, and switched places with Robert, who attacked Bijou’s bruised pussy with the same enthusiasm John had applied to the task. After what seemed like hours, he, too, finished his rape.
John threw the battered girl over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and hauled her up the stairs and into the bedroom, where he unceremoniously dumped her on the bed. She lay there, inert and in pain, until unconsciousness finally came.
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