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Just Deserts

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It came to him in regular intervals. At least he thought. There was no way of telling with his eyes sewn shut and nails hammered into his eardrums. Only time and touch-sense were left for him. It's amazing how well he could still anticipate when it would attack. No matter how hard it tried to surprise, it rarely did any more. It's a shame that he felt pride from this fact.

Without warning he'd feel his body rise off the mattress and slam hard onto the floor. He often tasted the dusty concrete floor while his face was drove into it, just for a new sensation. He'd try to block out the pain from that throbbing shaft riddled with penile spines, tearing his rectum apart, but it never got easier. Sometimes the lacerations hadn't stopped bleeding from the previous attack. It was hard to tell where one scar ended and another started with just fingers to probe, but he liked to pretend he could keep count of them all.

Had he been here days, months or years? He used to keep track by feeling his hair growing, but when the monster realised this, his hair was set alight, leaving a pink wrinkled mess his broken eyes could only imagine. He had screamed while it happened. He'd never scream again after that thorny penis was rammed into his throat. He shuddered at the thought of that incident. It had tasted and felt like tree bark, made all the more prominent by the loss of other senses. That familiar charnel smell of the beast had filled his nostrils at the same time. Gagging had been a big mistake though.

He wished the torture would stop. Insanity would overwhelm him, then over time sanity would seep back to him. He knew there was no end to it. This was his eternity. He knew his actions in life brought him to this. This was hell. And in hell, the devil rapes rapists.

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