Policewomen: Trina’s Inferno

Author’s Note:  This is my first attempt at Erotic Horror.  When I think of erotic horror, this is what came to mind.  This is based on Dante’s Inferno.  If you’ve ever read that then you’ll recognize similarities.   In this story, Dante is a tough warrior; a policewoman named Trina.  She fights, kills, and even fucks her way through this madhouse.  There is blood, there is gore, there is violence – all human-on-human trauma (no monsters, ghosts, etc).  There are influences from the first Die Hard movie.  That’s actually the vibe I was feeling most when writing this.  There’s maybe a little bit of Saw in there too.  
I have no issue with men or women, no hidden agendas.  I wanted to write a story where a woman is the hero and saves the day.  That’s it.  
Also, as in most of my stories, there’s a hint of a slight incestuous vibe.  It serves to set up a sequel for Trina and her son.

 

Policewomen:  Trina’s Inferno

The sun was rising over South Beach, Miami. It was Trina’s day off and she was finishing her morning jog.  Pausing to watch the sunrise, she thought about the day ahead of her.  

She’d spend the next few hours in the gym, focusing on her back and arms, giving her legs and glutes a rest.  After that, she was going to call Mike to check in and see if any SWAT positions were open.  He was friendly, giving Trina pointers here and there regarding fitness and various other exercises that may help her in the intensive SWAT team application process.  

Trina loved her job, but wanted more excitement.  Her patrol route mostly consisted of retirement communities not far from the beach.  It was quite boring for her, but she did her best, befriending many of the elderly folks on her route.  

After her workout, she jogged home.  Her son, Richie was in the kitchen eating breakfast.  “Hi there,” Trina said, entering the kitchen, heading to the refrigerator.   

“Hey,” he shyly said, watching his mother bend over, looking for her preferred brand of bottled water.  He stared at her long legs, her toned butt covered by tiny black shorts.  He watched her stand, sweat trailing down her exposed mid-drift as she drank from the bottle.  Richie almost gasped when his mother turned to face him, revealing her toned stomach, her tiny, work out tank top sticking to her skin.

“Ahhh,” she finished the bottle, wiping her mouth.  “You still going to your friend’s house tonight?” 

“Mmhmm,” Richie lied.

“Great.  Want to come to the shooting range with me?” Trina asked, knowing the answer.

“Nah.”

“Alrighty.  I’m going to grab a shower then head out,” She kissed her son on the top of his head.  He watched her walk down the hallway, mouth hanging open, sighing when she retreated to her bedroom.

In the shower, Trina slammed herself against the wall, “Yes, yes,” she whispered, furiously rubbing her clit.  Tonight she had the house to herself.  A friend would be joining her.  She couldn’t wait to see him, to fuck him.  It’d been several weeks since he was in Miami last, Trina meeting him at a charity event she did security for.  He was running in the half-marathon, they spoke afterward, exchanged numbers.  They’ve texted and kept in touch since, arranging this little date night.

It’s been nearly a year since Trina got any sexual attention from someone other than herself.  She couldn’t wait to rip off her friend’s clothes, go to her knees and suck and slobber all over his glorious cock.  “Mmmm,” she moaned, a little louder than she wanted. 

“Ulysses,” she whispered his name, right before an orgasm overtook her.  Her body tensed up in the shower, she struggled to keep quiet.

Richie was outside the bathroom door, his ear pressed against it, listening to his mother. When she cut off the shower, he left the room, careful to leave her bedroom door cracked just enough to afford him a view of her naked body.  He’d been doing this for years, perfecting his spying techniques.  Lately though, guilt had been catching up to him.  He vowed that after tonight, after watching his beautiful mother have sex, he would stop. Deep down he knew that was a lie.

After an hour at the shooting range, Trina called her sister, Kelly, who was also a police officer.  Trina was often envious of Kelly.  She patrolled closer to downtown and was rarely bored.

Sitting at a stop light, on her way home, Trina chatted with Kelly.  “I’m not telling you any more about him.  Sorry,” she smiled.

“Please?” Kelly pleaded.

“Nope.  He’s my little secret friend,” Trina joked.

“Fine.  At least tell me a little how it goes tonight,” Kelly said.

“Sure.  If there’s anything to tell.”

“Well from what you’ve said so far, it sounds like it’s a no brainer that you two will go out, and go home for a nice evening of naughty fun,” Kelly said.

“Probably!”

“Ugh.  Whatever.  Anyway how is Richie?  Still spying on you?” Kelly asked of her nephew.

Trina sighed.  “I think so.  I have my suspicions.  Maybe it’s just a phase.”

“Seems like more than just a phase.  He’s 18.  I could see a 14, 15, or even 16 year old doing it for giggles or curiosity, but at 18?  I figured he’d focus on leaving for college or moving out,” Kelly reasoned.

“Yes, well, maybe,” Trina said, not totally comfortable talking about it.

“Have you said anything to him?”

“No.  Too awkward.  I figured I need to spend more time with him.  Just not sure when or how yet.”

“Yep.  Anyway, I better get ready for my shift. Maybe I’ll catch whoever is robbing these sperm banks lately,” Kelly said.

“Hah, I forgot about that.”

“Yep, all the sperm banks in Miami, wiped clean,” Kelly said.  “No pun intended.”

Trina chuckled.  “I wonder what they are doing with it?”

“No idea.  But we think it’s a guy and it’s an inside job.”

“Weirdos,” Trina sighed.  

They ended their call, Trina arrived home.  She smiled thinking about her evening again.   She checked her long caramel colored hair in the mirror, her blue eyes smiling back at her. “It’s going to be a great night.”

*

Several hours later, Trina backed into her front door, arms around Ulysses, kissing him hungrily.  They had a wonderful dinner, opting to skip the movie and head back to Trina’s.   

Closing the door, never taking her mouth off his, she guided him down the hall to her bedroom.  Richie had been waiting there, his car parked a block away, in the shadows of Trina’s closet.  He had a perfect view of the action through the cracked door.  

Richie’s cock getting erect, he watched his mother position Ulysses at the foot of her bed. She removed his shirt, revealing his muscular frame.  Going to her knees, she kissed down his chest, over his abs, and tugged at his cargo shorts.

Trina moaned loudly after pulling down Ulysses’ boxers, a cock as glorious as she imagined sprung free.  She immediately took it to her mouth, her head bobbing and weaving back and forth on it.  After a moment she stood, in a hurry to get it inside her, and pushed Ulysses back on her bed.  She stood before him, removing her top, her bra and shorts.  Richie’s mouth dropped when he saw she was wearing no underwear.  

Jealousy nearly overtook him, but Richie remained calm, reminding himself that she’s a grown-up, she’s single, she can do what she wants.  Plus if she caught him hiding there, it would be horrible.  

He watched his mother mount this man, climbing on top of him, straddling him.  She grabbed the base of his cock, guiding it inside her. “Yes!” she exclaimed, throwing her head back, loving the full feeling.  

Then Richie watched his mother fuck Ulysses. Bouncing up and down, impaling herself over and over again on his cock.  “Yes!  Yes!  Yes!” she cried each time she landed on him.  Richie almost came in his pants watching her climax.

Ulysses rolled over, Trina going to her back. Richie listened to their kissing sounds, watching him flex his muscular ass, rolling his hips as he fucked her in return.  Trina grasped at his back, raking her fingers downward, her feet locked behind him.  She climaxed again, then there was a brief pause – a calm before the storm.

Richie thought it was over.  It had only just begun.

An hour later, Trina was on all fours, Ulysses behind her, running his hands up and down her back, now sweaty from their sex, pummeling her.  “Harder!” she ordered, he obliged.  He gripped her long hair, pulling her head back, Trina cumming again.

Richie almost lost it again when he saw the look of orgasmic pleasure on his mother’s face.  

Ulysses pulled out, pushed Trina to her belly, grabbed her hips, bringing her ass to his face. “Ahh!  Shit!” Trina cried out, feeling Ulysses tongue swirl all around her puckered hole.  Her spine tingling, she went limp, Ulysses sitting back, feasting upon her butt, occasionally lapping at her pussy. 

Another hour passed, they were still going at it.  Richie couldn’t believe it.  “Yes!  Yes!” Trina grit her teeth, staring into Ulysses’ face, straddling him while he sat on the bed, doing all she could to make this man cum.

He nodded his head, letting her know he was ready – finally.  A sweaty and tired Trina hopped off his cock and lay next to him. Richie had a perfect view of her jacking Ulysses, begging his seed to come out.  She enclosed her mouth on him, moaning, feeling his balls tense up.  Ulysses erupted in her mouth, lying back on the bed as he came. Trina drank every last drop of his cum, sucking and licking his cock clean.  She wiped her mouth, smiling as she curled up into Ulysses’ arm.  

Richie watched her slowly run her hands up and down Ulysses’ body, and after several moments, she was still – asleep.  He exited his hiding place, staring at his mother’s naked body, guilt over taking him.  “This was the last time I spy on her.  I’m done,” he thought to himself, before he snuck out to walk to his car.

Trina and Ulysses had sex in the shower that morning.  She said goodbye to her friend, suggesting they could hook up again if he’s free.  He liked that idea, kissing the nude woman goodbye at her front door.

Trina called her sister, Kelly, getting her voicemail.  She took a nap and later left for her afternoon shift.  

*

Sitting in her patrol car, Trina called Kelly again, no answer.  She sighed, shrugged and got out of the car.  She adjusted her bulletproof vest, not that she had any need to wear one on her route.  She didn’t wear a bra with her uniform.  Her breasts weren’t huge, but the tight vest and clothing was more uncomfortable when a sports bra was thrown into the mix.  It didn’t really matter, no one could tell.  

Trina adjusted her pony tail, putting her hat back on and went to talk with an elderly resident.  She often visited them, spending more time with the older senior citizens, listening to them tell stories and asking them questions.  If she missed catching someone going 10 miles over the 25 mile per hour limit, Trina didn’t care.  It helped her get through a boring shift and lifted the spirits of the residents.

After Trina’s “lunch break” at 8pm, halfway through her shift, she got a call to stop by a rowdy party at the house of one of the few younger families that lived nearby.  The parents were out of town.

She put a stop to the loud music, telling the kids to disperse; they listened and gave her no problems.  Standing at the door of her car, watching a few of the remaining teenagers drive off to find something else to do on a Saturday night, Trina was struck on the side of the head by something very hard.

 

Limbo

Trina woke up with a splitting headache. Everything was blurry.  She heard a muffled male voice in the room, followed by a female shriek.  Then nothing.  

Her right temple was throbbing.  Seeing a blurry shape move away from her, she touched the sore spot, it was warm to the touch.  Trina saw red on her middle and ring fingertips. Wiping her eyes, hoping her vision would regain its sharpness, she saw more red on her hands.  Whatever hit her earlier, made a sizable gash on the side of her head.   She wiped as much blood off her face as possible using her tank top.  

In the process she was able to see what she had on her.  It was nothing.  Her uniform, weapons, everything was taken.  All she was left with was her white tank top, and white, boy shorts panties.

Then she saw the others.  The entire room, a lobby or waiting room of sorts, had women lying on the floor.  Most were nude, a few had on underwear, all were beaten, bloody, barely conscious.  

She heard someone coming.  She quickly lay down, pretending to be knocked out.  With one eye cracked open, she saw a large man carrying a shotgun enter the room.  A woman rose up, pleading, begging to be released, he bunted her hard with the barrel, knocking her out.  Trina watched him bend down, reading something around the woman’s neck.  

The man grabbed the woman by her hair, dragging her, the shotgun resting on his shoulder, to a door in the back of the room.  He banged on it a few times.

Another man answered, “The very back,” the large man handed the woman over to his associate.

Trina watched him move to another woman, turning her head to the side, reading her collar. All the women had collars – all except Trina.   

She wondered why she didn’t have a one, she wondered what was on the collar, she waited and watched.  

The man read another collar.  The woman sprung to life, slapping, punching the man, he pushed her down, the shotgun pointed to her head.  “Yeah,” he said.  “You won’t be hitting any man here.”

He quickly brought the stock of the shotgun around, banging it against the woman’s temple, knocking her out.  “That’s what he hit me with,” Trina thought.  

“To the arena you go,” the man said, pulling the woman by her hair, knocking on the door once more.  His associate answered, taking the woman away.

Trina closed her eyes, playing possum again. She heard his heavy footsteps get closer.  “Oh yeah. You,”  he grunted.  “Didn’t put one on you,” he said, kneeling before her.

He grabbed Trina by the hair, turning her head from side to side.  He ran his thumb over her full lips, moaning as he touched her.  “Where should I send you?” he asked.

The man released Trina and stood, looking back toward the door.  She saw his feet facing away from her.  Now was her chance.

She swung her knee around, sweeping the man’s feet from under him.  He landed with a loud thud, losing his grip on the shotgun.  Trina hopped up, pounced on him, and repeatedly punched his face, temple, knocking him out after several hard blows.

She grabbed his shotgun.  She had a weapon now.

She opened the entrance to the room, peeking outside to an empty parking lot, seeing nothing, no one.   It appeared to be an entrance to a large warehouse of sorts.  The lobby and front desk area reminded her of a building supply store – empty of merchandise.  Trina wasn’t sure.  She saw the harbor nearby, smelling the water in the night air.   She saw other abandoned buildings nearby.  

Heading back inside, Trina had no way to contact anyone; searching the man proved fruitless, no cell phone, no walkie-talkie, nothing.

She sighed, seeing a woman stir in her peripheral vision.  Trina went to her side, helping the woman, only wearing a bra, to her feet.  “Go.  Leave.  Find help.”

She nodded at Trina’s instructions.  “Wait,” Trina said, grabbing the woman’s collar, reading it.  

“Heretic?” Trina read it out loud.  

“What is this place?”

“Just leave.  Hurry, go!”

Trina hoped someone would see a beat up, nearly nude woman, and get help here as fast as possible.  Trina wasn’t leaving though.  She was heading in, venturing into this warehouse.

Leaving the entrance open, she read several more collars on her way to the back door of the lobby area.  

“Anger,” “cheater,” “liar,” “greedy,” were the various words scribbled on the collars.

A slightly overweight woman stirred, Trina helping her.  Her collar said “gluttony.”  Trina showed her the exit, telling her to find help as well and made her way in.  

Knocking on the door the large man knocked on earlier, stepping to the side, she waited for someone to open it.  Once someone did, she appeared from the side, butting a smaller man in the face with the stock of the shotgun, breaking his nose.  She pushed him to the ground, whacking him several times with her weapon.  Seeing he was out cold, she moved along past a desk into a low lit hallway.  

From there she could hear screams echoing in the distance.

 

 

Lust

Trina was startled by a gunshot coming from further down the hall – a moment later, another one, as she arrived to a door on her left.  Peering down the low lit hallway, she saw and heard nothing else, only the occasional light bulb hanging.  The walls, doors, everything appeared crudely and cheaply constructed.

She took a deep breath, pausing before continuing on, when she heard it.  A loud cracking sound coming behind the door she was leaning against.  She heard it again, followed by a whimper.  Putting her ear to the door she could hear moans, grunts, and sounds of skin-on-skin contact.  

Placing her hand on the door knob, Trina slowly turned, the unlocked door cracking open.   From what little she could see in the dark room, so saw a woman tied up, naked, her back illuminated by a faint orange glow.  The glow was flickering as if a fire was the source of light.

Trina ducked into the room, quietly closing the door behind her.  She looked around, shocked at what she saw.

Ducking in the corner, hidden by the shadows, she saw several more women, tied up in a line against the wall.   Trina also saw an overweight, naked man, wearing some sort of leather strap around his waist.  He was pumping his hips into a helpless woman, their colliding bodies in the soft glow of the light source.  

Trina looked down, seeing a large vat or tub of some sort, with what appeared to be several Bunsen burners underneath it.  The tubes for the gas which powered the flames were hooked up to a small gas tank nearby.  

The man, apparently raping the woman, pulled away from her.  Two large strap-on dildos slid out of her.  Trina could tell in the low light levels the dildos were monstrous – perhaps a foot long.  She assumed the man had one in the woman’s pussy and ass.  She watched her crawl away to the wall, red marks visible on her back.   

The man tied her back up, having no problems overpowering the exhausted captive.  “Which one of you gets a bath?” he mockingly asked, grabbing for a whip from a small table against the wall.

Crack!  Trina winced watching him whip one of the helpless, tied up, women.  The man whipped at them again, in a random order, not caring which woman he struck.   

“Whores.   All of you.  Which one of you gets cleaned off?  Hmm?” He asked, walking over to the vat, resting the whip over his shoulder. He picked up a container of some sort.  Trina watched him pour the contents into the vat.

“Is that?” Trina asked herself.  “It couldn’t be.”

The liquid appeared white, creamy, and then there was the smell.  Trina shook her head in the shadowed corner, knowing the man was pouring massive amounts of stolen semen into the tub.  The Bunsen burners must be keeping it warm so it doesn’t dry out.   

“There we go, your favorite liquid, ladies. Which one of you wants a nice, warm, cum bath?” he asked.

Trina stood, moved toward him, shotgun pointing at him.  “Hi,” she said.

He turned around right as Trina pulled the trigger.  Nothing happened.  “You gotta be kidding me,” she said.  The shotgun was empty.  

The whip cracked at her wrist, causing her to drop the gun.  The second whip lash landed at her waist, slightly wrapping around her body. He pulled her close to him, his speed taking her by surprise.  He squatted, lifted her up and threw her over his head, this time, his strength surprising her.  Trina landed in the tub of semen.

Slowly gliding to the bottom of the vat, Trina remained calm, knowing and hoping that if this stuff was stolen from sperm banks, then it should be healthy – not disease ridden.  She loved drinking it straight from the source and couldn’t help but be turned on by the thought of a semen bath.  

The small smile of pleasure as warm cum enveloped her body quickly ended when she felt sharp, stabbing pain in her back, butt, legs.   She had arrived at the bottom of the tub only to have the back side of her body be met with strategically placed sharp objects.  The bath of semen wasn’t supposed to be pleasurable.  

Trina sat up, roaring in pain, crawling out of the tub, landing on the cool, concrete floor.  

“Not so nice.  Was it, whore?” the man said to Trina, still writhing in pain, blood pouring out of her shoulder blades, back, butt cheeks, and the backs of her thighs.  She began crawling through the puddle of semen and blood, searching for the shotgun, hoping to use it as a blunt force weapon instead of its designed purpose.  

The double dildo wearing abuser kicked it away out of her reach.  Trina thought quickly when the man got close to her, flinging her cum-covered hand to his face, several huge globs landing on it, one luckily landing in his eye.   He dropped his whip to wipe his face clean, Trina lunged for it.

The whip was hard to handle due to her slippery hands, but she was able to wrap it around his neck, pulling him to the floor.  She climbed on top of him, crossed the whip over itself, pulling at it, choking him as hard as she could.  He reached for her face.  Trina grit her teeth, using all her strength to strangle him with his own whip.

Finally, he went still, gurgling, then silent.  Trina climbed off him, out of breath, her arms sore, looking around at the tied up women.  

She untied each one, all of them thanking her. The last woman paused, smiled, and slowly licked a shocked Trina’s face, smiling as she swallowed the cum her tongue gathered.

Trina watched them leave, then looked to her arm.  She shrugged, licking her right forearm clean.  “Alright, that’s enough, I need to focus.”

She grabbed the empty shotgun and kept going, leaving a trail of cum and blood behind her.

 

Gluttony

Trina heard another gunshot in the distance, further down the hall.  Pausing at the next door, she heard something else, something disturbing.  

Slowly opening the door, crouching down, peering into another darkened room, she snuck in.  Trina smelled a disgusting odor.  It was blood mixed with something else.  She couldn’t quite place it.  Then she heard the heaving, the barfing.  Scanning the room she saw another naked man, doubled over a tied woman, vomiting on her, the light of a small lamp in the corner behind him. 

“Ugh.  Well that’s nasty,” Trina thought to herself, shaking the image from her heard. Scanning the room she saw more women, each of them similar in one regard – they were all slightly to morbidly overweight.  Then she saw the body, the source of the blood, on the floor next to the lamp.

She could barely make out the mutilated, butchered remains of a person.  Next to the body was a pile of material.  The woman looked as though she had been skinned alive.  

Trina heard more heaving, the man of this room, preparing to vomit again on the next woman.  Trina made her move, sneaking to the side of the room, then, like a predator, stalked the man.  She stood behind him, raising her shotgun in the air, and bringing it down with all her might on the man.  He doubled over, blood oozing out of his skull.  Trina noticed he was wearing a similar double-dong, strap-on dildo like the man in the previous room.

“What is this?  Their uniforms here?” She wondered, quickly assisting the women in the room, telling them to get out.  

Trina heard another sound, a whimpering whisper.  It was coming from the butchered body.  The woman was still alive.  Trina kneeled next to her.

“He, cut,” the woman struggled to say.  Trina lowered her head, her ear just above the woman’s mouth.

“He cut off…” the woman sniffed, “fat.”

Trina glanced to the pile of bloody material next to the woman.  She nodded, realizing what was done to this poor woman.  When Trina looked at her once more, she was still, eyes half closed.  Trina closed them all the way and left the room.

 

Greed

There was a man using a toilet on a side hall area.  Whoever set this hellish place up, kept the plumbing working.  A single light above him lit up the small bathroom.  He finished up, not bothering to flush.  Looking at his face in the mirror over the sink, he saw movement behind him.  It was too late.

His forehead slammed into the mirror, breaking it.  Trina moved the man, the back of his head bloody from the blow of the shotgun, the front of his head bleeding from the mirror glass.   She quickly washed her face and hands in the sink, running water through her long hair.  

“Ugh,” she grimaced, flinging half-dried cum off her hands onto the wall, washing them again.  She dried herself off on a few paper towels strewn about.  

Semen was drying on her body, but her hands and face were clear.   Blood was still trailing down her back and legs, dripping to the tiled floor.  She turned to look at her bloody back in the mirror, she couldn’t tell if she needed stitches or not.  The back of her tank top and panties were red.  She shook her head.  Trina searched the man, finding nothing, closed the bathroom door, and continued on.

Sneaking down the main hallway once more, a door to her right opened, a man appeared, she swiped him across the head, grabbed him and pulled his unconscious body aside, being quiet as possible.  Trina moved into the room, another man approached her; she ducked, swinging the shotgun at his knee, then against his head several times after he landed on the floor.  Trina looked around this new room.

There looked to be some kind of forge in the corner.  It was glowing hot, lighting up the room.  Trina once again saw several naked woman, beaten, tied to the wall, their backs to her.  One woman struggled to stand and was crying in agony.  Trina moved closer to her, observing the cause of her pain.

Bloody, burnt, skin covered her ass and back. Trina leaned in, the smell of burnt flesh filling her nostrils; she saw dollar signs branded into the woman’s skin.  She untied the woman’s wrists, assisting her to the floor.  

“Move,” the woman whispered.  Trina quickly looked behind her, just in time to throw her hands up to catch a blow by a man carrying the hot branding iron used on the woman.  She struggled to hold it away from her face.

He was stronger than Trina.  She had to slide out of the way, rolling on the floor to avoid his blows.  One landed on her thigh, Trina kept rolling, moving to avoid his attacks, her leg searing in pain.  

She rolled back around where the shotgun was, grabbing it and using it as means to block his attack, the hot iron inches from her nose. She kicked his knee, swung her legs, tripping the man.  She lunged after the hot iron.  The man grabbed her ankle, pulling her away from it.  He got on top of her, holding her down, pummeling at her head.

Then he stopped.  He fell over lifeless.  The woman Trina rescued held the branding iron, struggling to stand.  Trina got up, taking it from her, “Thank you,” she said.  “Let’s help the others here.”

They untied the other women, all of them helping each other out. 

Trina watched them make their way down the hall, gripping the iron.  She had a new weapon, one easier to carry and swing.

 

Anger

Slightly limping, her thigh throbbing, slowly making her way down the corridor, she came to another door on her right.  Holding her ear to it, she heard muffled sounds of women. The door opened, she darted to the side.  A man exited, folding up a multi-tool, most likely a Leatherman, and sliding it in his pocket.  He had rope in his other hand.  Trina hit him as hard as she could in the back of the head with the branding iron. 

Entering the door, she saw nothing but darkness.  The room was pitch black.  The muffled grunts let her know someone was in there, tied up, their mouths taped.  

Using what little light was available from the hall Trina clung to the wall, in the event someone else was in there and could attack her.  

She felt a naked body.  It was wiggling, trying to break free of something.  She trailed her hand up the woman’s stomach, grazing a breast, finding her mouth in the darkness.  Her mouth was taped up.  “This will hurt, I’m sorry,” Trina whispered to the woman, ripping the tape off her mouth.

“Get me out of here!  I’ll kill them!” She screamed.

“Quiet!” Trina urged her.  “Someone will hear you.  I’m getting you out of here,” she added, going to her knees, feeling for the rope, unfolding a knife out of the tool to saw it off, then doing the same for the woman’s wrists.  

“There’s several of us in here.  They tied us up and closed the door to leave us alone in here.”

“I’ll get to all of them, but you all have to be quiet,” Trina said, speaking up slightly so the other women tied up in the darkness would hear.  Their muffled voices calmed.  “Turn left, and follow the hallway, run and get help.”

“We will,” another freed captive said.  Her fists were clenched, “We’ll kill any of them we see on our way out.”

Cutting each woman free, Trina felt their collective anger fill the room.  Silenced, shut up, tied up, left alone in the darkness was their punishment for having a temper, apparently.

Trina led them out and kept moving.  She heard a few of them yell at an injured man, closer to the entrance, one Trina knocked out earlier.  He was waking up. She was thankful the women attacked him on their way out, once again knocking the man out.  She cursed herself for not tying him up, but had nothing to do it with.

Not wanting to make that mistake again, she tied the wrists and feet of man outside the door.  She bent his legs and arms back and tied his wrists to his ankles. 

 

Heresy

Trina kept moving down the hallway, coming to another door on her left.  She listened against it – nothing.  She quickly opened it, ducking to the side, peeping in, seeing no one. It wasn’t completely dark; a small desk with a lamp was in the corner.  But there were other things in the room too.

Trina saw large, rectangular objects, five of them, lining the walls.  They were coffins.   Her eyes widen, always checking behind her, she quickly moved to the nearest one, opening it. There was a woman, nude, beaten, tied up, mouth taped shut.  Trina hurriedly freed her.

“Thank you!  Thank you!” the woman cried, just above a whisper.   “They said we didn’t believe them.”

“Didn’t believe who?” Trina asked, helping another woman out of a coffin.  

“Our men.  We were abducted, beaten, and brought here.  They said we were guilty of not believing our husbands loved us, not realizing how good we had it.”

“Go, down the hall, quickly.  Help her,” Trina said, handing another woman to the first woman she freed.

Trina watched them make their way down the hall, wincing in pain, when she inhaled too deeply.  She had to keep going.  Sounds of cheering took her by surprise.  

She heard a man’s voice, followed by a few women, cheering, egging someone on. Creeping down the hall, the sounds got louder. She could make out what they were yelling.

“Fight!  Fight!  Fight!” several people were chanting.

 

Violence

Trina listened at the door where she heard the chanting.  From what she could tell, the room sounded large, the chants echoing off walls. Then she heard a gunshot, then silence.  “I need that shotgun,” she whispered. 

Finding the empty gun, thinking she could use it to trick anyone into thinking it was loaded, probably like the oaf that knocked her out did, she went back to the larger room.  Slowly opening the door she saw a very well light room.  

Trina peeped in.  It looked more like a warehouse, not a makeshift corridor of low-lit rooms.  She wondered why whoever converted this abandoned building for their perverse needs left this area alone.  Trina soon found out why.

It was being used as a fighting arena.  She saw several dead bodies strewn about.  She saw a man drag away the latest victim.

“That’s what happens when you refuse to fight.  Fight or die!” a man said.  He was carrying a nine millimeter handgun.  “Who’s next?”

“You?” he pointed a gun at one of the women crouching in the corner, she stood and nodded her  head.  “Good!  That’s one fighter.  Who will fight her?  Fight or die,” he said scanning the room for another woman, an opponent for the first.  

The man was huge and muscular, wearing a tight t-shirt, cargo pants, and boots.  He reminded Trina of a drill sergeant from her police academy days. 

“You?” he asked another woman, she shook her head.  He grabbed her arm, gun to her head, pulling her to the center of the room, tossing her on the concrete.   

“Your answer is no?” he asked her.

“Please, don’t.  Please let me go,” she begged. Trina decided to act, hoping she could trick him with the empty shotgun.

“GET DOWN!  NOW!  ON THE GROUND!” she barged into the room, pointing the gun at him, yelling.

“Whoa, whoa, easy, easy,” he calmly said, watching Trina take her aim.  “I’m going to put the gun down.  Let’s all remain calm.”

Confused, Trina watched him slowly set his gun on the concrete.  She moved in front of the naked women crouched in a corner, her eyes not turning away from the large man.

“There.  See?  Now, I think you should put yours down too.  Because you and I both know it’s empty,” the man said.  Trina glared at him.

“I know who you took it from.  He loves that shotgun.  He keeps it empty though.  We want all the women we bring here to live long enough to experience their special treatment,” the man said.  “So please, put it down.”

Trina gulped when she felt two more nine millimeters come to rest on the back of her head.  Her eyes darted from side-to-side, seeing two more men in her peripheral vision. She cursed herself for rushing and not seeing them in another corner of the room.  Trina took a deep breath, slowly squatting down, setting the shotgun on the concrete, standing and kicking it away, behind her.  It landed a foot away from one of the women in the corner. She did this on purpose.

“Good, very good.  See?  It’s ok,” the man said walking toward a woman tied and bound by her wrists and feet, her mouth taped shut.  She was standing, the rope at the end of each limb held her up, arms stretched out.  She was essentially tied to the wall, her hand hanging low.

“Did you know a small percentage of men are victims of domestic violence?” he calmly asked Trina.  “I think it around 15 to 20 percent or so.”

He paused at the tied woman.  “I was a victim. Hard to believe isn’t it?   A big guy like me, who works out, getting slapped, kicked, hit, having things thrown at me by my girlfriend,” he caressed the woman’s face.

“Friends would say fight back; you could take her, or suggest I leave.  It was easier said than done.  I don’t want to go into it, but needless to say I learned of this place and felt freed by it. All the different rooms for all different types of women.  This one is for those that are especially violent at home, with their partners or children.   We will take that violence and use it against them.  We force them to fight one another or else they will be killed.”

Trina listened to the man explain his situation, as he lovingly caressed the bound woman’s face.  “I came on board immediately.  Of all the abducted women we’ve brought here, I got the boss man to abduct mine and asked specifically to oversee this room.  When we’re done here, she’ll be the only one left.”

He kissed her forehead.  “Remember that time you whacked me across my back with a frying pan?  That really hurt, sweetie.”

He reared back, balled his fist, and punched her as hard as he could in the stomach.  “It really did,” he calmly added.  “You called me a little bitch after you did it,” he chuckled. “Hoping to add insult to injury I suppose.”

He kneed her in the gut, then gave a quick right hook across her face.   He leaned in and whispered to her, “I think it’s time I use our uninvited guest to show you what I have in store for you later on.”

He stood tall, nodding to his associates behind Trina.  They kicked her in the back, sending her tumbling forward.  She was met with a right hook as well, this one landing on her cheek.  

Kneeling down, she felt her cut cheek throbbing, watching the man circle around her.  Trina acted fast, punching him in the gut when he reached for her.  It felt like punching a wall.   She squatted and gave him an uppercut, busting his mouth open.

“Ah!  That was pure luck,” he yelled, turning to his tied up girlfriend.  “I will fight back this time!  I will not be a victim to a woman anymore!”

Trina tackled him, punching him over and over, her fists raining down on him.  He was rolling from side-to-side, doing his best to block them.

Rolling to his side, Trina still straddling him, protecting himself with his left arm, he rose up.  His size and strength enabled him to fling Trina off him.  He lunged at her, grabbing a handful of hair, dragging her to the ground.  He was on top now, punching wildly.  

Blocking his assault as best she could, several powerful blows landed on her face.  Her lips were busted open, she heard her nose crack and break, her left eye was nearly swollen shut.  “There is no fight or die!  All die!” he yelled as he relentlessly punched her.  

“There!” He paused, turning to his captured girlfriend.  “This is what I should’ve done to you!”  He grabbed Trina by the hair once more, ready to deliver the final attack.  Gunshots rang out in the large room, everyone’s ears ringing.  He released Trina’s hair, getting off her.

“What the hell!”  he yelled.  One of the women from the corner was beating his associates with the shotgun, the other man had been shot several times.  Trina’s gamble paid off.   One of the women shot the remaining man.

During this distraction, Trina crawled the overseer’s gun, grabbing it, quickly standing, pointing it at his head.   “Goodbye, little bitch,” she said.

He turned around, eyes widening, his last sight before a bullet entered his skull was Trina smirking and pulling the trigger.

 

Fraud

Trina collapsed to her knees, blood trailing down her cleavage, some dripping and landing on her white tank top.  On her boring patrol route none of the elderly folks ever assaulted her, she never had to sprint and chase a crazy old man down, never had to fight or exert herself.  Her nose dripping onto the concrete, her beaten and bloody face was new for her. She gathered her composure, ignored the pain, and helped one of the women untie the dead man’s girlfriend – or ex-girlfriend.  She watched them put their arms around her and leave.  

Trina checked how many rounds were left in the nine millimeter – six.  She watched the other women grab the two remaining weapons and lead the way out, hopefully to a full police force waiting outside, ready to storm the place.  

Trina turned left down the hall, after seeing the women disappear to the right.  “They’re leaving!” she heard a man yell as a door 20 feet ahead of her opened.  

She was too slow; the dazed state from her fight, dulling her speed and reflexes.  The man opened fire toward her.  Trina slammed into a door to her left, barging into another nearly pitch black room.  Landing on the floor, more pain coursed through her, taking her breath away.  

The low light from the hallway was obscured by a man, looking down at her, his body a silhouette.  Trina raised the gun as best she could and shot him in the chest.  She quickly stood, looking down to his lifeless body.  She slowly turned to her right shoulder, blood was pouring out of the bullet hole.   

Things started moving in slow motion.  Trina slowly turned around, facing the darkness in this new room behind her.  Her left rib and side, just under her left breast was met with a powerful blow from something dull and sharp at the same time.  

Time still crawling, gunfire in the distance echoing, Trina slowly looked down to see what looked to be a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire stuck to her left side.  She watched it pull away from her body, ripping and tearing her tank top, blood oozing out of the wounds.  She looked forward, seeing the man who did it, the man who apparently oversaw this new room.

She watched him rear back, ready to swing at her head.  Trina raised the gun and shot him in between the eyes.  

She fell against the wall, sliding downward; a trail of blood from stab wounds was left behind her.  Trina sat on the floor, holding her left side with her trembling right hand.  

“Ok, so this is bad.  This is getting pretty bad. I’m in a lot of pain,” she said out loud to a silent room.   

“Never been shot before, and I’ve never been hit with a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire.  Seems like Richie watched some kind of wrestling show that had that.  Anyway, um, here I am, sitting here, still alive, talking to myself.”

Trina looked around the room.  In the light from the hall, she saw nothing but blood, mangled bodies, presumably of the women brought here.  An arm nearest her had the word “liar” cut into it.  

“The cum bath was nice,” she continued, her breathing shallow.  “Well except for whatever was at the bottom of the tub.  It wasn’t a pleasant surprise.  But taking a bath in semen?   Fairly erotic in my opinion.  Any of you ladies agree?”

There was no response.  No whimpering in pain or breathing in the room – only the silence of death.  Trina couldn’t tell how many dead bodies were in there, but it appeared pieces of women were everywhere, strewn about the room.

“Childbirth.  That was rough.  That was worse than this.  But,” Trina paused, talking to no one alive, thinking of her son.  “It was worth it.”

“Alright.  Well, I’m going to keep going.  See if there’s any other women alive in here,” she said, grimacing as she stood.

She took a few more deep breaths, each one hurt, assuming her ribs might be cracked. Trina exited the room, turning to her left.  

Trina saw a man exit a door up ahead, to her right.  She opened fire and shot him.  She walked to the door, entered it, seeing a table, chairs, fast food trash and more men.  She fired her gun four more times, taking them by surprise, before they were able to attack her. One by one they fell dead.  She didn’t care. Trina felt nothing as she killed all of them in the room.  

She was out of ammo.  “Hey!  You ok?” Trina turned around seeing a nude woman from the previous room.  

“Hmm?  Yeah great,” she lied.  

“Good.  The police are on the way.  But more guys have shown up, they are trying to get in and take this place back,” the woman said, grabbing the weapons of the men.  “We’ll be ready for them.  We’re waiting in the lobby area.”

“Great,” Trina smiled, giving the woman a bloody thumbs up with her right hand.   She watched her leave.  “Hope I don’t need a weapon.”

Trina reached the end of the long hallway.  No more rooms to her left or right.  She was done.  She nodded and sighed a sigh of relief, it was time to leave.  Then she felt it.  

The wall was cold to the touch, almost pleasant against her wounds.  Trina looked over the wall and saw a lever, not a door knob like all the crudely constructed doors had.  She pulled the lever with her left hand, a cold blast of air exited – it was a freezer.

 

Treachery

The pain in Trina’s shoulder, ribs and stomach, back, face all seemed to wither away when she walked into the freezer.  It was huge, like ones found in grocery stores or certain restaurants. It was a walk-in freezer perfect for storing large quantities of meat.  

The reason for her temporary distraction from her pain was what she saw in the freezer. Trina counted four women, tied up, hanging, freezing, shivering in there.  Each one had a large letter T cut into their torso – starting above their breasts and going down in between them to their stomachs.

She approached one of the women, reaching to her face.  Suddenly the woman’s shivering stopped, her eyes unblinking.  

Trina looked to another woman.  She watched her look to her right, toward the back of the freezer, her head barely able to turn.  Trina went to untie the woman, but it was too late, by the time Trina reached her she had stopped shivering too, lifeless, frozen.  All of them were still and lifeless now.

Trina sighed, looking in the direction the woman was facing.  She saw another lever, perhaps an exit out of the freezer.  

The lever on this door was warm to the touch, not painfully hot, but the condensation on it told Trina something warm was behind the door.  When she opened it she heard a woman screaming.  The screams sounded somewhat familiar.  

“Here we go,” she paused, before quickly opening the door all the way, a blast of hot air hitting her.  

She saw a crude, makeshift fireplace behind a large steel table; a huge, roaring fire was behind two people.  The woman was on a table, tied, bound, screaming, while a man was on top of her, pinning her down pumping his hips back and forth, raping her.  

He was naked, save for some kind of black, bondage mask.  He wasn’t a huge man.  He wasn’t muscular or obese, just average shape and size.  He had a large knife to her throat. Both of them were soaking wet with sweat. The woman turned to Trina, fear in her eyes mixed with shock of who she was looking at.  

“Kelly!” Trina called out to her sister.   “Kelly!” Trina moved closer.

“Hold it, stop right there,” the man said, grabbing the knife, pointing at Kelly’s throat.  

“Andy, he must’ve found these people and had me,” Kelly tried to say, speaking of her ex-husband.

“Shut it!” The man said, pressing the knife into her skin.  “Yes, your ex did find me.  He asked me to take you here.  He asked me to punish you for your cheating, your betrayal of his love, your treachery.”

The man turned to Trina, “I’m sure you saw those ladies out there.  Did you know that when people sweat out in the cold, hypothermia is almost sure to set in if they don’t get some place warmer?  Heh, sweat in here with me, I carve them up, then let hypothermia set in within minutes out there.”

“Yes, I saw that,” Trina replied, her eyes darting to her sister, the knife, the man’s black, leather-masked face.

“If you take a step closer, I’m pushing the knife straight through her throat,” he warned.  Trina wished she had a weapon, this would all be over.

“Now, then I’m going to carve a T into her, then hang her out there to freeze,” the man said.

“No, wait, do me instead,” Trina blurted out, Kelly’s face showing more shock.  “Let her go, do me instead.  Please.”

The man tightened his grip on the knife, turning to face Trina.

“I cheated.  I’m a cheater too,” Trina nodded. Kelly shook her head, begging her not to do this.  “I was married once.  Years ago I was in the police academy.  His name was TJ.  He was in my same class.  We became friends, one thing led to another.  My husband walked in on us.  TJ was taking me from behind on our bed.  My husband left me and my son, he hasn’t had anything to do with us since it happened.”

“Trina,” Kelly pleaded.

“I deserve to be there in her place, please let me do it.  What you’ve done here, what you’ve created is incredible.  It’s a place for women like me, to be taken, and punished like we deserve.  There’s a room for women who lie, slutty ones who sleep around,” Trina approached the man, noticing he didn’t try to stop her.

“There’s a room for women who are gold diggers, all they care about is money.  Another room for the ones who don’t take care of their bodies,” She took several more steps toward him.

“A room for those who physically assault their men, and one for overdramatic women who throw temper tantrums.  It all makes sense, what you’ve done here.  We need this,” Trina said, now inches away from the man.   

“Please let her go.  Let me take her place. All I ask is that after you carve me up, let me stay with you, let me keep helping you with this operation you’re running,“ Trina glanced at Kelly, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder.  

“You’re a cop,” he said.

“Yes.  I know plenty of women that could come here.  Prostitutes for the lust room.   Maybe even drug users and alcoholics for the gluttony room, right?  That stuff destroys one’s body just like overeating.”

Trina leaned in close, whispering, “Please? This is amazing, I want to be a part of it.  Let her go, do your ritual on me and let me be by your side.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter, if she leaves this room she’ll be killed before the makes it halfway down the hallway,” the man said.

Trina thought about how none of his associates were left and continued her trickery, “Exactly.”

“Good.  I’ll take satisfaction killing a cop if I think you’re acting suspicious,” he backed away from Kelly.  Trina observed a similar, double-dong, massive strap-on around his waist, pulling out of her sister.  

“Holy shit, that’s big,” she thought to herself, seeing it up close.  Before he had a chance to untie Kelly, Trina went to her knees, taking the top dong, slowly licking and kissing along its length before engulfing the tip.  She ignored the fact she tasted her sister’s pussy on it.  

Trina stood helping him untie Kelly.  “Go, leave,” he ordered her.  

“Trina, please,” Kelly begged one last time.

“Trust me,” Trina whispered in her sister’s ear, giving her a quick hug.  “Go,” she nodded her head.

Trina watched Kelly enter the freezer, quickly moving across it, as the door closed, leaving Trina alone with the creator this torturous place.

Trina turned around, quickly tearing her tattered tank top off, throwing it across the room.  She pulled her panties off, kicking them to the side.  Eyes locked on the man, she flung her arms around him, jumping into his arms, straddling him.

Taking him by surprise, he cupped her ass, holding her up.  She removed his bizarre, leather mask, looking into his face.  He looked normal; balding, mid-to-late 30s perhaps, around Trina’s age, pleasant looking face. Trina wondered what woman or women royally screwed him over to cause him to create this sickening house of torture.  To continue her ruse, she kissed him hard, moaning as she did, her tongue slithering into his mouth.

He was surprised, but kissed back, moaning as well.  He slammed her on the table, the fire still roaring behind them.  He broke the kiss, stood, guiding the tip of the bottom dildo to her anus. “This is going to hurt.”

“I know.  I deserve it,” Trina said, trying her best to relax her asshole, hoping her sphincter would stretch without too much resistance or pain.

“Ahhh!!” she screamed out when he jammed it into her.  She thought how worse it could have been.  Trina settled down, arched her back, lying still for him.  

Grabbing her breasts, tweaking her own nipples, she waited and watched him slide the entire foot long dong into her ass.  When he was done, she was calm, nodding her head to him.  

Next was her pussy.  Taking the equally sized top dong, which had been lying on her tummy, the man bent it back, and guided it into Trina.

The sensation was much different, pleasurable even.  Trina never had a cock so long and thick before – not from a person or sex toy.  She felt her pussy lips stretch and slide over it, welcoming it into her depths, moaning lightly when it landed against her cervix – in as far as it would go.

The man got to work. He slowly slid the double-dong strap-on in and out of Trina’s two access points.  She had trouble focusing, remembering her plan, especially when he started going faster.

“Ah!  Ah!” Trina moaned loudly, with each increasingly powerful impact into her.  She felt so full, so good.

“Focus, wait for a signal,” she told herself, wrapping her legs around the man, her left hand reaching behind her to hold on to the edge of the table.  

“I, I’m cumming!” she cried out.  Trina wasn’t faking it either.  A combination of those two massive dongs thrusting in and out of her, coupled with visualizing her plan paying off, sent her over the edge.

The man grabbed her, stood, and bounced her up and down on the two cocks.  “Yes!  Yes!” Trina cried out, the man staring into her face as she climaxed.

He slammed her back down on the table, pulled out, undid the harness of the strap-on, and started furiously jacking off in Trina’s direction.

Drenched with sweat, Trina moaned and watched him, lying back, waiting for him to blow his load and grab the knife.

“Ughnnn, ahhh,” he moaned, spraying semen all over Trina’s tight, flat tummy.  The hot, little furnace of a room dulled any sensation of warm goo landing on her.

The man, out of breath, paused a moment, collecting himself.  He turned around, bent over and grabbed the knife.  

Trina spread her legs for him again, welcoming him on top of her.  “I lied to you,” he said, still catching his breath.  “I’m not going to let you join me or help me with my project.”

He traced the edge of the knife across her chest, above her breasts.  “The fact you’re a cop, is even more reason to not trust you.  I’m going to carve you and then hang you up to freeze.”

He dug the knife into her skin, searing pain coursing through Trina’s body once again.  She grit her teeth letting him go straight across her chest, above her breasts, carving the top line of a capital T.

“I hope you enjoy this hell I’ve made.  There’s so many men who have been wronged or betrayed by women in this country.  They came to me asking me for help when word spread of my project,” he explained finishing the slice across her body.

Just as he was going to start the vertical line of a T down her chest, in between her breasts, Trina spoke up.  

“If this is hell,” she gave him a fast left jab across his jaw, causing him to recoil.  She unwrapped her legs from his waist, kicking him hard in the gut, she grabbed the knife from him.

“Then I’m the demon,” Trina brought the knife down hard into his neck, stabbing it, cutting the jugular vein.  She pulled it out, blood spurt with each heartbeat, covering her face and body.  She stabbed him again, and again, and again – the knife going into his chest, shoulder, neck repeatedly.  

He was a gurgling, blood spurting mess, unable to speak, his vocal chords severed. Trina took one last glimpse of him.  She brought the knife down, stabbing it in his eye socket, leaving it there.

She hopped back on the table, brought her legs back and kicked him as hard as she could, causing him to tumble backward, falling into the fireplace.  Getting off the table, Trina stood, watching his body slowly catch on fire. He rolled off the logs onto the floor, face down, his back charred and burnt, blood forming a puddle.  

“I lied too,” she said, before limping out of the room.

 

Rescue

The only sounds she heard as she traversed back through the low lit hall was police sirens. They finally arrived.  

Entering the lobby area she woke up in earlier in the evening, she saw no one.  She could make out red and blue lights flashing through a window pane.  The only thing left for Trina to do was to leave.

There were two rows of SWAT team members lined up on either side of the door.  “Ready? On three,” a Sergeant whispered.  He counted with his fingers, and was about to open the door when it opened from within.  They drew their weapons, ready to fire, watching it slowly open.

A woman appeared.  Her right shoulder and arm was bleeding profusely, she had several bleeding stab wounds on her left side, her face was beaten and bloody, she was limping, her back was covered in more stab wounds and blood, and her chest had a long, horizontal slice across it, her nipples dripping blood.

The men lowered their gun.  One of them spoke up.  “Tr-Trina?”

She turned to the direction of the voice; the SWAT team member took off his helmet.  “Oh hey, Mike,” she managed to smile.  His mouth hung open, unable to reply.

Trina looked around, seeing ambulances in the distance, EMTs treating victims that escaped. “Say, Mike, you think there’s a spare EMT that can look me over real quick?”  Trina collapsed to her knees.

“Over here!  Now!  Move it!” the Sergeant yelled in the background.  Two EMTs rushed over, her sister, Kelly following them, draping Trina in a towel, assisting her to lie down.  

*

Trina woke up with a splitting headache. Everything was blurry.  She heard a muffled male voice, pleading, crying somewhere in the room.   She slowly opened her eyes, recognizing the voice.  It was her son.

“Please wake up, I need you mom, please.   I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” her son was crying, holding her hand, his head resting on the rail of the bed.

Trina didn’t know how long she was asleep. Light was coming through the window, it looked about mid-day.  The room became less blurry.  Trina cleared her throat.

“Sorry for what?” she quietly said.

“Mom!” Richie wanted to hug her, but didn’t want to hurt her.  Trina smiled, extending her left arm, bringing him in for a hug.

“I’ve been here all night, I didn’t think you’d wake up,” he cried into her good shoulder.

“No, I’m fine.  I must’ve dozed off for awhile,” she joked.  Most of her head was wrapped up in bandages, her arm wrapped and in a sling, she felt like she was covered in stitches, the IV unit delivering medication, taking the edge off the pain.

Richie nodded, ending the hug, staring into her blue eyes.  She caressed his face, staring back at his.

The nurse interrupted them, entering the room, checking her vitals, bringing her a tray of food. When she left, Richie helped her sit up.

“So what are you sorry for?” Trina asked taking a few bites of jello.  

“Mom,” Richie began.  “I saw you, I mean I looked at you while, um,” he gulped and sighed, guilt overcoming him.  “I watched you and that guy, you know – “

“Have sex?” Trina asked, smiling, putting the spoon down.

“I’m so sorry.  I guess the thought of losing you made feel like confessing.  Please, please forgive me.  I just – “

“Richie, stop,” Trina placed her hand on his.  “I know you’ve been peeking in on me for the past few years.  If you saw me with a man in an intimate moment and it scarred you for life, well that’s your punishment!” she laughed, ignoring the dull pain in her ribs.

Richie chuckled. “No, it didn’t scar me for life,” he thought about her on all fours, her butt in the air, moaning, grabbing the sheets, cumming again.  

“Good.  Then no harm done.  You were curious.  Which reminds me, after this little ordeal I’ve been through, maybe it’s a sign that you and I need to be closer.  Perhaps if you have more female interaction you won’t feel the need to spy on ladies being naughty?” his mother smiled.

“Maybe,” Richie hung his head low.

“Give me another hug,” Trina extended her arm.   “You’re gonna have to take care of me for a while.  Sorry if that ruins your summer.”

“It won’t,” Richie closed his eyes, hugging his mother as carefully as possible.

*

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Policewomen: Trina’s Inferno

Aug 11, 2015, 8:56 AM

From Ryan Piechota

Details

Author’s Note:  This is my first attempt at Erotic Horror.  When I think of erotic horror, this is what came to mind.  This is based on Dante’s Inferno.  If you’ve ever read that then you’ll recognize similarities.   In this story, Dante is a tough warrior; a policewoman named Trina.  She fights, kills, and even fucks her way through this madhouse.  There is blood, there is gore, there is violence – all human-on-human trauma (no monsters, ghosts, etc).  There are influences from the first Die Hard movie.  That’s actually the vibe I was feeling most when writing this.  There’s maybe a little bit of Saw in there too.  
I have no issue with men or women, no hidden agendas.  I wanted to write a story where a woman is the hero and saves the day.  That’s it.  
Also, as in most of my stories, there’s a hint of a slight incestuous vibe.  It serves to set up a sequel for Trina and her son.

 

Policewomen:  Trina’s Inferno

The sun was rising over South Beach, Miami. It was Trina’s day off and she was finishing her morning jog.  Pausing to watch the sunrise, she thought about the day ahead of her.  

She’d spend the next few hours in the gym, focusing on her back and arms, giving her legs and glutes a rest.  After that, she was going to call Mike to check in and see if any SWAT positions were open.  He was friendly, giving Trina pointers here and there regarding fitness and various other exercises that may help her in the intensive SWAT team application process.  

Trina loved her job, but wanted more excitement.  Her patrol route mostly consisted of retirement communities not far from the beach.  It was quite boring for her, but she did her best, befriending many of the elderly folks on her route.  

After her workout, she jogged home.  Her son, Richie was in the kitchen eating breakfast.  “Hi there,” Trina said, entering the kitchen, heading to the refrigerator.   

“Hey,” he shyly said, watching his mother bend over, looking for her preferred brand of bottled water.  He stared at her long legs, her toned butt covered by tiny black shorts.  He watched her stand, sweat trailing down her exposed mid-drift as she drank from the bottle.  Richie almost gasped when his mother turned to face him, revealing her toned stomach, her tiny, work out tank top sticking to her skin.

“Ahhh,” she finished the bottle, wiping her mouth.  “You still going to your friend’s house tonight?” 

“Mmhmm,” Richie lied.

“Great.  Want to come to the shooting range with me?” Trina asked, knowing the answer.

“Nah.”

“Alrighty.  I’m going to grab a shower then head out,” She kissed her son on the top of his head.  He watched her walk down the hallway, mouth hanging open, sighing when she retreated to her bedroom.

In the shower, Trina slammed herself against the wall, “Yes, yes,” she whispered, furiously rubbing her clit.  Tonight she had the house to herself.  A friend would be joining her.  She couldn’t wait to see him, to fuck him.  It’d been several weeks since he was in Miami last, Trina meeting him at a charity event she did security for.  He was running in the half-marathon, they spoke afterward, exchanged numbers.  They’ve texted and kept in touch since, arranging this little date night.

It’s been nearly a year since Trina got any sexual attention from someone other than herself.  She couldn’t wait to rip off her friend’s clothes, go to her knees and suck and slobber all over his glorious cock.  “Mmmm,” she moaned, a little louder than she wanted. 

“Ulysses,” she whispered his name, right before an orgasm overtook her.  Her body tensed up in the shower, she struggled to keep quiet.

Richie was outside the bathroom door, his ear pressed against it, listening to his mother. When she cut off the shower, he left the room, careful to leave her bedroom door cracked just enough to afford him a view of her naked body.  He’d been doing this for years, perfecting his spying techniques.  Lately though, guilt had been catching up to him.  He vowed that after tonight, after watching his beautiful mother have sex, he would stop. Deep down he knew that was a lie.

After an hour at the shooting range, Trina called her sister, Kelly, who was also a police officer.  Trina was often envious of Kelly.  She patrolled closer to downtown and was rarely bored.

Sitting at a stop light, on her way home, Trina chatted with Kelly.  “I’m not telling you any more about him.  Sorry,” she smiled.

“Please?” Kelly pleaded.

“Nope.  He’s my little secret friend,” Trina joked.

“Fine.  At least tell me a little how it goes tonight,” Kelly said.

“Sure.  If there’s anything to tell.”

“Well from what you’ve said so far, it sounds like it’s a no brainer that you two will go out, and go home for a nice evening of naughty fun,” Kelly said.

“Probably!”

“Ugh.  Whatever.  Anyway how is Richie?  Still spying on you?” Kelly asked of her nephew.

Trina sighed.  “I think so.  I have my suspicions.  Maybe it’s just a phase.”

“Seems like more than just a phase.  He’s 18.  I could see a 14, 15, or even 16 year old doing it for giggles or curiosity, but at 18?  I figured he’d focus on leaving for college or moving out,” Kelly reasoned.

“Yes, well, maybe,” Trina said, not totally comfortable talking about it.

“Have you said anything to him?”

“No.  Too awkward.  I figured I need to spend more time with him.  Just not sure when or how yet.”

“Yep.  Anyway, I better get ready for my shift. Maybe I’ll catch whoever is robbing these sperm banks lately,” Kelly said.

“Hah, I forgot about that.”

“Yep, all the sperm banks in Miami, wiped clean,” Kelly said.  “No pun intended.”

Trina chuckled.  “I wonder what they are doing with it?”

“No idea.  But we think it’s a guy and it’s an inside job.”

“Weirdos,” Trina sighed.  

They ended their call, Trina arrived home.  She smiled thinking about her evening again.   She checked her long caramel colored hair in the mirror, her blue eyes smiling back at her. “It’s going to be a great night.”

*

Several hours later, Trina backed into her front door, arms around Ulysses, kissing him hungrily.  They had a wonderful dinner, opting to skip the movie and head back to Trina’s.   

Closing the door, never taking her mouth off his, she guided him down the hall to her bedroom.  Richie had been waiting there, his car parked a block away, in the shadows of Trina’s closet.  He had a perfect view of the action through the cracked door.  

Richie’s cock getting erect, he watched his mother position Ulysses at the foot of her bed. She removed his shirt, revealing his muscular frame.  Going to her knees, she kissed down his chest, over his abs, and tugged at his cargo shorts.

Trina moaned loudly after pulling down Ulysses’ boxers, a cock as glorious as she imagined sprung free.  She immediately took it to her mouth, her head bobbing and weaving back and forth on it.  After a moment she stood, in a hurry to get it inside her, and pushed Ulysses back on her bed.  She stood before him, removing her top, her bra and shorts.  Richie’s mouth dropped when he saw she was wearing no underwear.  

Jealousy nearly overtook him, but Richie remained calm, reminding himself that she’s a grown-up, she’s single, she can do what she wants.  Plus if she caught him hiding there, it would be horrible.  

He watched his mother mount this man, climbing on top of him, straddling him.  She grabbed the base of his cock, guiding it inside her. “Yes!” she exclaimed, throwing her head back, loving the full feeling.  

Then Richie watched his mother fuck Ulysses. Bouncing up and down, impaling herself over and over again on his cock.  “Yes!  Yes!  Yes!” she cried each time she landed on him.  Richie almost came in his pants watching her climax.

Ulysses rolled over, Trina going to her back. Richie listened to their kissing sounds, watching him flex his muscular ass, rolling his hips as he fucked her in return.  Trina grasped at his back, raking her fingers downward, her feet locked behind him.  She climaxed again, then there was a brief pause – a calm before the storm.

Richie thought it was over.  It had only just begun.

An hour later, Trina was on all fours, Ulysses behind her, running his hands up and down her back, now sweaty from their sex, pummeling her.  “Harder!” she ordered, he obliged.  He gripped her long hair, pulling her head back, Trina cumming again.

Richie almost lost it again when he saw the look of orgasmic pleasure on his mother’s face.  

Ulysses pulled out, pushed Trina to her belly, grabbed her hips, bringing her ass to his face. “Ahh!  Shit!” Trina cried out, feeling Ulysses tongue swirl all around her puckered hole.  Her spine tingling, she went limp, Ulysses sitting back, feasting upon her butt, occasionally lapping at her pussy. 

Another hour passed, they were still going at it.  Richie couldn’t believe it.  “Yes!  Yes!” Trina grit her teeth, staring into Ulysses’ face, straddling him while he sat on the bed, doing all she could to make this man cum.

He nodded his head, letting her know he was ready – finally.  A sweaty and tired Trina hopped off his cock and lay next to him. Richie had a perfect view of her jacking Ulysses, begging his seed to come out.  She enclosed her mouth on him, moaning, feeling his balls tense up.  Ulysses erupted in her mouth, lying back on the bed as he came. Trina drank every last drop of his cum, sucking and licking his cock clean.  She wiped her mouth, smiling as she curled up into Ulysses’ arm.  

Richie watched her slowly run her hands up and down Ulysses’ body, and after several moments, she was still – asleep.  He exited his hiding place, staring at his mother’s naked body, guilt over taking him.  “This was the last time I spy on her.  I’m done,” he thought to himself, before he snuck out to walk to his car.

Trina and Ulysses had sex in the shower that morning.  She said goodbye to her friend, suggesting they could hook up again if he’s free.  He liked that idea, kissing the nude woman goodbye at her front door.

Trina called her sister, Kelly, getting her voicemail.  She took a nap and later left for her afternoon shift.  

*

Sitting in her patrol car, Trina called Kelly again, no answer.  She sighed, shrugged and got out of the car.  She adjusted her bulletproof vest, not that she had any need to wear one on her route.  She didn’t wear a bra with her uniform.  Her breasts weren’t huge, but the tight vest and clothing was more uncomfortable when a sports bra was thrown into the mix.  It didn’t really matter, no one could tell.  

Trina adjusted her pony tail, putting her hat back on and went to talk with an elderly resident.  She often visited them, spending more time with the older senior citizens, listening to them tell stories and asking them questions.  If she missed catching someone going 10 miles over the 25 mile per hour limit, Trina didn’t care.  It helped her get through a boring shift and lifted the spirits of the residents.

After Trina’s “lunch break” at 8pm, halfway through her shift, she got a call to stop by a rowdy party at the house of one of the few younger families that lived nearby.  The parents were out of town.

She put a stop to the loud music, telling the kids to disperse; they listened and gave her no problems.  Standing at the door of her car, watching a few of the remaining teenagers drive off to find something else to do on a Saturday night, Trina was struck on the side of the head by something very hard.

 

Limbo

Trina woke up with a splitting headache. Everything was blurry.  She heard a muffled male voice in the room, followed by a female shriek.  Then nothing.  

Her right temple was throbbing.  Seeing a blurry shape move away from her, she touched the sore spot, it was warm to the touch.  Trina saw red on her middle and ring fingertips. Wiping her eyes, hoping her vision would regain its sharpness, she saw more red on her hands.  Whatever hit her earlier, made a sizable gash on the side of her head.   She wiped as much blood off her face as possible using her tank top.  

In the process she was able to see what she had on her.  It was nothing.  Her uniform, weapons, everything was taken.  All she was left with was her white tank top, and white, boy shorts panties.

Then she saw the others.  The entire room, a lobby or waiting room of sorts, had women lying on the floor.  Most were nude, a few had on underwear, all were beaten, bloody, barely conscious.  

She heard someone coming.  She quickly lay down, pretending to be knocked out.  With one eye cracked open, she saw a large man carrying a shotgun enter the room.  A woman rose up, pleading, begging to be released, he bunted her hard with the barrel, knocking her out.  Trina watched him bend down, reading something around the woman’s neck.  

The man grabbed the woman by her hair, dragging her, the shotgun resting on his shoulder, to a door in the back of the room.  He banged on it a few times.

Another man answered, “The very back,” the large man handed the woman over to his associate.

Trina watched him move to another woman, turning her head to the side, reading her collar. All the women had collars – all except Trina.   

She wondered why she didn’t have a one, she wondered what was on the collar, she waited and watched.  

The man read another collar.  The woman sprung to life, slapping, punching the man, he pushed her down, the shotgun pointed to her head.  “Yeah,” he said.  “You won’t be hitting any man here.”

He quickly brought the stock of the shotgun around, banging it against the woman’s temple, knocking her out.  “That’s what he hit me with,” Trina thought.  

“To the arena you go,” the man said, pulling the woman by her hair, knocking on the door once more.  His associate answered, taking the woman away.

Trina closed her eyes, playing possum again. She heard his heavy footsteps get closer.  “Oh yeah. You,”  he grunted.  “Didn’t put one on you,” he said, kneeling before her.

He grabbed Trina by the hair, turning her head from side to side.  He ran his thumb over her full lips, moaning as he touched her.  “Where should I send you?” he asked.

The man released Trina and stood, looking back toward the door.  She saw his feet facing away from her.  Now was her chance.

She swung her knee around, sweeping the man’s feet from under him.  He landed with a loud thud, losing his grip on the shotgun.  Trina hopped up, pounced on him, and repeatedly punched his face, temple, knocking him out after several hard blows.

She grabbed his shotgun.  She had a weapon now.

She opened the entrance to the room, peeking outside to an empty parking lot, seeing nothing, no one.   It appeared to be an entrance to a large warehouse of sorts.  The lobby and front desk area reminded her of a building supply store – empty of merchandise.  Trina wasn’t sure.  She saw the harbor nearby, smelling the water in the night air.   She saw other abandoned buildings nearby.  

Heading back inside, Trina had no way to contact anyone; searching the man proved fruitless, no cell phone, no walkie-talkie, nothing.

She sighed, seeing a woman stir in her peripheral vision.  Trina went to her side, helping the woman, only wearing a bra, to her feet.  “Go.  Leave.  Find help.”

She nodded at Trina’s instructions.  “Wait,” Trina said, grabbing the woman’s collar, reading it.  

“Heretic?” Trina read it out loud.  

“What is this place?”

“Just leave.  Hurry, go!”

Trina hoped someone would see a beat up, nearly nude woman, and get help here as fast as possible.  Trina wasn’t leaving though.  She was heading in, venturing into this warehouse.

Leaving the entrance open, she read several more collars on her way to the back door of the lobby area.  

“Anger,” “cheater,” “liar,” “greedy,” were the various words scribbled on the collars.

A slightly overweight woman stirred, Trina helping her.  Her collar said “gluttony.”  Trina showed her the exit, telling her to find help as well and made her way in.  

Knocking on the door the large man knocked on earlier, stepping to the side, she waited for someone to open it.  Once someone did, she appeared from the side, butting a smaller man in the face with the stock of the shotgun, breaking his nose.  She pushed him to the ground, whacking him several times with her weapon.  Seeing he was out cold, she moved along past a desk into a low lit hallway.  

From there she could hear screams echoing in the distance.

 

 

Lust

Trina was startled by a gunshot coming from further down the hall – a moment later, another one, as she arrived to a door on her left.  Peering down the low lit hallway, she saw and heard nothing else, only the occasional light bulb hanging.  The walls, doors, everything appeared crudely and cheaply constructed.

She took a deep breath, pausing before continuing on, when she heard it.  A loud cracking sound coming behind the door she was leaning against.  She heard it again, followed by a whimper.  Putting her ear to the door she could hear moans, grunts, and sounds of skin-on-skin contact.  

Placing her hand on the door knob, Trina slowly turned, the unlocked door cracking open.   From what little she could see in the dark room, so saw a woman tied up, naked, her back illuminated by a faint orange glow.  The glow was flickering as if a fire was the source of light.

Trina ducked into the room, quietly closing the door behind her.  She looked around, shocked at what she saw.

Ducking in the corner, hidden by the shadows, she saw several more women, tied up in a line against the wall.   Trina also saw an overweight, naked man, wearing some sort of leather strap around his waist.  He was pumping his hips into a helpless woman, their colliding bodies in the soft glow of the light source.  

Trina looked down, seeing a large vat or tub of some sort, with what appeared to be several Bunsen burners underneath it.  The tubes for the gas which powered the flames were hooked up to a small gas tank nearby.  

The man, apparently raping the woman, pulled away from her.  Two large strap-on dildos slid out of her.  Trina could tell in the low light levels the dildos were monstrous – perhaps a foot long.  She assumed the man had one in the woman’s pussy and ass.  She watched her crawl away to the wall, red marks visible on her back.   

The man tied her back up, having no problems overpowering the exhausted captive.  “Which one of you gets a bath?” he mockingly asked, grabbing for a whip from a small table against the wall.

Crack!  Trina winced watching him whip one of the helpless, tied up, women.  The man whipped at them again, in a random order, not caring which woman he struck.   

“Whores.   All of you.  Which one of you gets cleaned off?  Hmm?” He asked, walking over to the vat, resting the whip over his shoulder. He picked up a container of some sort.  Trina watched him pour the contents into the vat.

“Is that?” Trina asked herself.  “It couldn’t be.”

The liquid appeared white, creamy, and then there was the smell.  Trina shook her head in the shadowed corner, knowing the man was pouring massive amounts of stolen semen into the tub.  The Bunsen burners must be keeping it warm so it doesn’t dry out.   

“There we go, your favorite liquid, ladies. Which one of you wants a nice, warm, cum bath?” he asked.

Trina stood, moved toward him, shotgun pointing at him.  “Hi,” she said.

He turned around right as Trina pulled the trigger.  Nothing happened.  “You gotta be kidding me,” she said.  The shotgun was empty.  

The whip cracked at her wrist, causing her to drop the gun.  The second whip lash landed at her waist, slightly wrapping around her body. He pulled her close to him, his speed taking her by surprise.  He squatted, lifted her up and threw her over his head, this time, his strength surprising her.  Trina landed in the tub of semen.

Slowly gliding to the bottom of the vat, Trina remained calm, knowing and hoping that if this stuff was stolen from sperm banks, then it should be healthy – not disease ridden.  She loved drinking it straight from the source and couldn’t help but be turned on by the thought of a semen bath.  

The small smile of pleasure as warm cum enveloped her body quickly ended when she felt sharp, stabbing pain in her back, butt, legs.   She had arrived at the bottom of the tub only to have the back side of her body be met with strategically placed sharp objects.  The bath of semen wasn’t supposed to be pleasurable.  

Trina sat up, roaring in pain, crawling out of the tub, landing on the cool, concrete floor.  

“Not so nice.  Was it, whore?” the man said to Trina, still writhing in pain, blood pouring out of her shoulder blades, back, butt cheeks, and the backs of her thighs.  She began crawling through the puddle of semen and blood, searching for the shotgun, hoping to use it as a blunt force weapon instead of its designed purpose.  

The double dildo wearing abuser kicked it away out of her reach.  Trina thought quickly when the man got close to her, flinging her cum-covered hand to his face, several huge globs landing on it, one luckily landing in his eye.   He dropped his whip to wipe his face clean, Trina lunged for it.

The whip was hard to handle due to her slippery hands, but she was able to wrap it around his neck, pulling him to the floor.  She climbed on top of him, crossed the whip over itself, pulling at it, choking him as hard as she could.  He reached for her face.  Trina grit her teeth, using all her strength to strangle him with his own whip.

Finally, he went still, gurgling, then silent.  Trina climbed off him, out of breath, her arms sore, looking around at the tied up women.  

She untied each one, all of them thanking her. The last woman paused, smiled, and slowly licked a shocked Trina’s face, smiling as she swallowed the cum her tongue gathered.

Trina watched them leave, then looked to her arm.  She shrugged, licking her right forearm clean.  “Alright, that’s enough, I need to focus.”

She grabbed the empty shotgun and kept going, leaving a trail of cum and blood behind her.

 

Gluttony

Trina heard another gunshot in the distance, further down the hall.  Pausing at the next door, she heard something else, something disturbing.  

Slowly opening the door, crouching down, peering into another darkened room, she snuck in.  Trina smelled a disgusting odor.  It was blood mixed with something else.  She couldn’t quite place it.  Then she heard the heaving, the barfing.  Scanning the room she saw another naked man, doubled over a tied woman, vomiting on her, the light of a small lamp in the corner behind him. 

“Ugh.  Well that’s nasty,” Trina thought to herself, shaking the image from her heard. Scanning the room she saw more women, each of them similar in one regard – they were all slightly to morbidly overweight.  Then she saw the body, the source of the blood, on the floor next to the lamp.

She could barely make out the mutilated, butchered remains of a person.  Next to the body was a pile of material.  The woman looked as though she had been skinned alive.  

Trina heard more heaving, the man of this room, preparing to vomit again on the next woman.  Trina made her move, sneaking to the side of the room, then, like a predator, stalked the man.  She stood behind him, raising her shotgun in the air, and bringing it down with all her might on the man.  He doubled over, blood oozing out of his skull.  Trina noticed he was wearing a similar double-dong, strap-on dildo like the man in the previous room.

“What is this?  Their uniforms here?” She wondered, quickly assisting the women in the room, telling them to get out.  

Trina heard another sound, a whimpering whisper.  It was coming from the butchered body.  The woman was still alive.  Trina kneeled next to her.

“He, cut,” the woman struggled to say.  Trina lowered her head, her ear just above the woman’s mouth.

“He cut off…” the woman sniffed, “fat.”

Trina glanced to the pile of bloody material next to the woman.  She nodded, realizing what was done to this poor woman.  When Trina looked at her once more, she was still, eyes half closed.  Trina closed them all the way and left the room.

 

Greed

There was a man using a toilet on a side hall area.  Whoever set this hellish place up, kept the plumbing working.  A single light above him lit up the small bathroom.  He finished up, not bothering to flush.  Looking at his face in the mirror over the sink, he saw movement behind him.  It was too late.

His forehead slammed into the mirror, breaking it.  Trina moved the man, the back of his head bloody from the blow of the shotgun, the front of his head bleeding from the mirror glass.   She quickly washed her face and hands in the sink, running water through her long hair.  

“Ugh,” she grimaced, flinging half-dried cum off her hands onto the wall, washing them again.  She dried herself off on a few paper towels strewn about.  

Semen was drying on her body, but her hands and face were clear.   Blood was still trailing down her back and legs, dripping to the tiled floor.  She turned to look at her bloody back in the mirror, she couldn’t tell if she needed stitches or not.  The back of her tank top and panties were red.  She shook her head.  Trina searched the man, finding nothing, closed the bathroom door, and continued on.

Sneaking down the main hallway once more, a door to her right opened, a man appeared, she swiped him across the head, grabbed him and pulled his unconscious body aside, being quiet as possible.  Trina moved into the room, another man approached her; she ducked, swinging the shotgun at his knee, then against his head several times after he landed on the floor.  Trina looked around this new room.

There looked to be some kind of forge in the corner.  It was glowing hot, lighting up the room.  Trina once again saw several naked woman, beaten, tied to the wall, their backs to her.  One woman struggled to stand and was crying in agony.  Trina moved closer to her, observing the cause of her pain.

Bloody, burnt, skin covered her ass and back. Trina leaned in, the smell of burnt flesh filling her nostrils; she saw dollar signs branded into the woman’s skin.  She untied the woman’s wrists, assisting her to the floor.  

“Move,” the woman whispered.  Trina quickly looked behind her, just in time to throw her hands up to catch a blow by a man carrying the hot branding iron used on the woman.  She struggled to hold it away from her face.

He was stronger than Trina.  She had to slide out of the way, rolling on the floor to avoid his blows.  One landed on her thigh, Trina kept rolling, moving to avoid his attacks, her leg searing in pain.  

She rolled back around where the shotgun was, grabbing it and using it as means to block his attack, the hot iron inches from her nose. She kicked his knee, swung her legs, tripping the man.  She lunged after the hot iron.  The man grabbed her ankle, pulling her away from it.  He got on top of her, holding her down, pummeling at her head.

Then he stopped.  He fell over lifeless.  The woman Trina rescued held the branding iron, struggling to stand.  Trina got up, taking it from her, “Thank you,” she said.  “Let’s help the others here.”

They untied the other women, all of them helping each other out. 

Trina watched them make their way down the hall, gripping the iron.  She had a new weapon, one easier to carry and swing.

 

Anger

Slightly limping, her thigh throbbing, slowly making her way down the corridor, she came to another door on her right.  Holding her ear to it, she heard muffled sounds of women. The door opened, she darted to the side.  A man exited, folding up a multi-tool, most likely a Leatherman, and sliding it in his pocket.  He had rope in his other hand.  Trina hit him as hard as she could in the back of the head with the branding iron. 

Entering the door, she saw nothing but darkness.  The room was pitch black.  The muffled grunts let her know someone was in there, tied up, their mouths taped.  

Using what little light was available from the hall Trina clung to the wall, in the event someone else was in there and could attack her.  

She felt a naked body.  It was wiggling, trying to break free of something.  She trailed her hand up the woman’s stomach, grazing a breast, finding her mouth in the darkness.  Her mouth was taped up.  “This will hurt, I’m sorry,” Trina whispered to the woman, ripping the tape off her mouth.

“Get me out of here!  I’ll kill them!” She screamed.

“Quiet!” Trina urged her.  “Someone will hear you.  I’m getting you out of here,” she added, going to her knees, feeling for the rope, unfolding a knife out of the tool to saw it off, then doing the same for the woman’s wrists.  

“There’s several of us in here.  They tied us up and closed the door to leave us alone in here.”

“I’ll get to all of them, but you all have to be quiet,” Trina said, speaking up slightly so the other women tied up in the darkness would hear.  Their muffled voices calmed.  “Turn left, and follow the hallway, run and get help.”

“We will,” another freed captive said.  Her fists were clenched, “We’ll kill any of them we see on our way out.”

Cutting each woman free, Trina felt their collective anger fill the room.  Silenced, shut up, tied up, left alone in the darkness was their punishment for having a temper, apparently.

Trina led them out and kept moving.  She heard a few of them yell at an injured man, closer to the entrance, one Trina knocked out earlier.  He was waking up. She was thankful the women attacked him on their way out, once again knocking the man out.  She cursed herself for not tying him up, but had nothing to do it with.

Not wanting to make that mistake again, she tied the wrists and feet of man outside the door.  She bent his legs and arms back and tied his wrists to his ankles. 

 

Heresy

Trina kept moving down the hallway, coming to another door on her left.  She listened against it – nothing.  She quickly opened it, ducking to the side, peeping in, seeing no one. It wasn’t completely dark; a small desk with a lamp was in the corner.  But there were other things in the room too.

Trina saw large, rectangular objects, five of them, lining the walls.  They were coffins.   Her eyes widen, always checking behind her, she quickly moved to the nearest one, opening it. There was a woman, nude, beaten, tied up, mouth taped shut.  Trina hurriedly freed her.

“Thank you!  Thank you!” the woman cried, just above a whisper.   “They said we didn’t believe them.”

“Didn’t believe who?” Trina asked, helping another woman out of a coffin.  

“Our men.  We were abducted, beaten, and brought here.  They said we were guilty of not believing our husbands loved us, not realizing how good we had it.”

“Go, down the hall, quickly.  Help her,” Trina said, handing another woman to the first woman she freed.

Trina watched them make their way down the hall, wincing in pain, when she inhaled too deeply.  She had to keep going.  Sounds of cheering took her by surprise.  

She heard a man’s voice, followed by a few women, cheering, egging someone on. Creeping down the hall, the sounds got louder. She could make out what they were yelling.

“Fight!  Fight!  Fight!” several people were chanting.

 

Violence

Trina listened at the door where she heard the chanting.  From what she could tell, the room sounded large, the chants echoing off walls. Then she heard a gunshot, then silence.  “I need that shotgun,” she whispered. 

Finding the empty gun, thinking she could use it to trick anyone into thinking it was loaded, probably like the oaf that knocked her out did, she went back to the larger room.  Slowly opening the door she saw a very well light room.  

Trina peeped in.  It looked more like a warehouse, not a makeshift corridor of low-lit rooms.  She wondered why whoever converted this abandoned building for their perverse needs left this area alone.  Trina soon found out why.

It was being used as a fighting arena.  She saw several dead bodies strewn about.  She saw a man drag away the latest victim.

“That’s what happens when you refuse to fight.  Fight or die!” a man said.  He was carrying a nine millimeter handgun.  “Who’s next?”

“You?” he pointed a gun at one of the women crouching in the corner, she stood and nodded her  head.  “Good!  That’s one fighter.  Who will fight her?  Fight or die,” he said scanning the room for another woman, an opponent for the first.  

The man was huge and muscular, wearing a tight t-shirt, cargo pants, and boots.  He reminded Trina of a drill sergeant from her police academy days. 

“You?” he asked another woman, she shook her head.  He grabbed her arm, gun to her head, pulling her to the center of the room, tossing her on the concrete.   

“Your answer is no?” he asked her.

“Please, don’t.  Please let me go,” she begged. Trina decided to act, hoping she could trick him with the empty shotgun.

“GET DOWN!  NOW!  ON THE GROUND!” she barged into the room, pointing the gun at him, yelling.

“Whoa, whoa, easy, easy,” he calmly said, watching Trina take her aim.  “I’m going to put the gun down.  Let’s all remain calm.”

Confused, Trina watched him slowly set his gun on the concrete.  She moved in front of the naked women crouched in a corner, her eyes not turning away from the large man.

“There.  See?  Now, I think you should put yours down too.  Because you and I both know it’s empty,” the man said.  Trina glared at him.

“I know who you took it from.  He loves that shotgun.  He keeps it empty though.  We want all the women we bring here to live long enough to experience their special treatment,” the man said.  “So please, put it down.”

Trina gulped when she felt two more nine millimeters come to rest on the back of her head.  Her eyes darted from side-to-side, seeing two more men in her peripheral vision. She cursed herself for rushing and not seeing them in another corner of the room.  Trina took a deep breath, slowly squatting down, setting the shotgun on the concrete, standing and kicking it away, behind her.  It landed a foot away from one of the women in the corner. She did this on purpose.

“Good, very good.  See?  It’s ok,” the man said walking toward a woman tied and bound by her wrists and feet, her mouth taped shut.  She was standing, the rope at the end of each limb held her up, arms stretched out.  She was essentially tied to the wall, her hand hanging low.

“Did you know a small percentage of men are victims of domestic violence?” he calmly asked Trina.  “I think it around 15 to 20 percent or so.”

He paused at the tied woman.  “I was a victim. Hard to believe isn’t it?   A big guy like me, who works out, getting slapped, kicked, hit, having things thrown at me by my girlfriend,” he caressed the woman’s face.

“Friends would say fight back; you could take her, or suggest I leave.  It was easier said than done.  I don’t want to go into it, but needless to say I learned of this place and felt freed by it. All the different rooms for all different types of women.  This one is for those that are especially violent at home, with their partners or children.   We will take that violence and use it against them.  We force them to fight one another or else they will be killed.”

Trina listened to the man explain his situation, as he lovingly caressed the bound woman’s face.  “I came on board immediately.  Of all the abducted women we’ve brought here, I got the boss man to abduct mine and asked specifically to oversee this room.  When we’re done here, she’ll be the only one left.”

He kissed her forehead.  “Remember that time you whacked me across my back with a frying pan?  That really hurt, sweetie.”

He reared back, balled his fist, and punched her as hard as he could in the stomach.  “It really did,” he calmly added.  “You called me a little bitch after you did it,” he chuckled. “Hoping to add insult to injury I suppose.”

He kneed her in the gut, then gave a quick right hook across her face.   He leaned in and whispered to her, “I think it’s time I use our uninvited guest to show you what I have in store for you later on.”

He stood tall, nodding to his associates behind Trina.  They kicked her in the back, sending her tumbling forward.  She was met with a right hook as well, this one landing on her cheek.  

Kneeling down, she felt her cut cheek throbbing, watching the man circle around her.  Trina acted fast, punching him in the gut when he reached for her.  It felt like punching a wall.   She squatted and gave him an uppercut, busting his mouth open.

“Ah!  That was pure luck,” he yelled, turning to his tied up girlfriend.  “I will fight back this time!  I will not be a victim to a woman anymore!”

Trina tackled him, punching him over and over, her fists raining down on him.  He was rolling from side-to-side, doing his best to block them.

Rolling to his side, Trina still straddling him, protecting himself with his left arm, he rose up.  His size and strength enabled him to fling Trina off him.  He lunged at her, grabbing a handful of hair, dragging her to the ground.  He was on top now, punching wildly.  

Blocking his assault as best she could, several powerful blows landed on her face.  Her lips were busted open, she heard her nose crack and break, her left eye was nearly swollen shut.  “There is no fight or die!  All die!” he yelled as he relentlessly punched her.  

“There!” He paused, turning to his captured girlfriend.  “This is what I should’ve done to you!”  He grabbed Trina by the hair once more, ready to deliver the final attack.  Gunshots rang out in the large room, everyone’s ears ringing.  He released Trina’s hair, getting off her.

“What the hell!”  he yelled.  One of the women from the corner was beating his associates with the shotgun, the other man had been shot several times.  Trina’s gamble paid off.   One of the women shot the remaining man.

During this distraction, Trina crawled the overseer’s gun, grabbing it, quickly standing, pointing it at his head.   “Goodbye, little bitch,” she said.

He turned around, eyes widening, his last sight before a bullet entered his skull was Trina smirking and pulling the trigger.

 

Fraud

Trina collapsed to her knees, blood trailing down her cleavage, some dripping and landing on her white tank top.  On her boring patrol route none of the elderly folks ever assaulted her, she never had to sprint and chase a crazy old man down, never had to fight or exert herself.  Her nose dripping onto the concrete, her beaten and bloody face was new for her. She gathered her composure, ignored the pain, and helped one of the women untie the dead man’s girlfriend – or ex-girlfriend.  She watched them put their arms around her and leave.  

Trina checked how many rounds were left in the nine millimeter – six.  She watched the other women grab the two remaining weapons and lead the way out, hopefully to a full police force waiting outside, ready to storm the place.  

Trina turned left down the hall, after seeing the women disappear to the right.  “They’re leaving!” she heard a man yell as a door 20 feet ahead of her opened.  

She was too slow; the dazed state from her fight, dulling her speed and reflexes.  The man opened fire toward her.  Trina slammed into a door to her left, barging into another nearly pitch black room.  Landing on the floor, more pain coursed through her, taking her breath away.  

The low light from the hallway was obscured by a man, looking down at her, his body a silhouette.  Trina raised the gun as best she could and shot him in the chest.  She quickly stood, looking down to his lifeless body.  She slowly turned to her right shoulder, blood was pouring out of the bullet hole.   

Things started moving in slow motion.  Trina slowly turned around, facing the darkness in this new room behind her.  Her left rib and side, just under her left breast was met with a powerful blow from something dull and sharp at the same time.  

Time still crawling, gunfire in the distance echoing, Trina slowly looked down to see what looked to be a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire stuck to her left side.  She watched it pull away from her body, ripping and tearing her tank top, blood oozing out of the wounds.  She looked forward, seeing the man who did it, the man who apparently oversaw this new room.

She watched him rear back, ready to swing at her head.  Trina raised the gun and shot him in between the eyes.  

She fell against the wall, sliding downward; a trail of blood from stab wounds was left behind her.  Trina sat on the floor, holding her left side with her trembling right hand.  

“Ok, so this is bad.  This is getting pretty bad. I’m in a lot of pain,” she said out loud to a silent room.   

“Never been shot before, and I’ve never been hit with a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire.  Seems like Richie watched some kind of wrestling show that had that.  Anyway, um, here I am, sitting here, still alive, talking to myself.”

Trina looked around the room.  In the light from the hall, she saw nothing but blood, mangled bodies, presumably of the women brought here.  An arm nearest her had the word “liar” cut into it.  

“The cum bath was nice,” she continued, her breathing shallow.  “Well except for whatever was at the bottom of the tub.  It wasn’t a pleasant surprise.  But taking a bath in semen?   Fairly erotic in my opinion.  Any of you ladies agree?”

There was no response.  No whimpering in pain or breathing in the room – only the silence of death.  Trina couldn’t tell how many dead bodies were in there, but it appeared pieces of women were everywhere, strewn about the room.

“Childbirth.  That was rough.  That was worse than this.  But,” Trina paused, talking to no one alive, thinking of her son.  “It was worth it.”

“Alright.  Well, I’m going to keep going.  See if there’s any other women alive in here,” she said, grimacing as she stood.

She took a few more deep breaths, each one hurt, assuming her ribs might be cracked. Trina exited the room, turning to her left.  

Trina saw a man exit a door up ahead, to her right.  She opened fire and shot him.  She walked to the door, entered it, seeing a table, chairs, fast food trash and more men.  She fired her gun four more times, taking them by surprise, before they were able to attack her. One by one they fell dead.  She didn’t care. Trina felt nothing as she killed all of them in the room.  

She was out of ammo.  “Hey!  You ok?” Trina turned around seeing a nude woman from the previous room.  

“Hmm?  Yeah great,” she lied.  

“Good.  The police are on the way.  But more guys have shown up, they are trying to get in and take this place back,” the woman said, grabbing the weapons of the men.  “We’ll be ready for them.  We’re waiting in the lobby area.”

“Great,” Trina smiled, giving the woman a bloody thumbs up with her right hand.   She watched her leave.  “Hope I don’t need a weapon.”

Trina reached the end of the long hallway.  No more rooms to her left or right.  She was done.  She nodded and sighed a sigh of relief, it was time to leave.  Then she felt it.  

The wall was cold to the touch, almost pleasant against her wounds.  Trina looked over the wall and saw a lever, not a door knob like all the crudely constructed doors had.  She pulled the lever with her left hand, a cold blast of air exited – it was a freezer.

 

Treachery

The pain in Trina’s shoulder, ribs and stomach, back, face all seemed to wither away when she walked into the freezer.  It was huge, like ones found in grocery stores or certain restaurants. It was a walk-in freezer perfect for storing large quantities of meat.  

The reason for her temporary distraction from her pain was what she saw in the freezer. Trina counted four women, tied up, hanging, freezing, shivering in there.  Each one had a large letter T cut into their torso – starting above their breasts and going down in between them to their stomachs.

She approached one of the women, reaching to her face.  Suddenly the woman’s shivering stopped, her eyes unblinking.  

Trina looked to another woman.  She watched her look to her right, toward the back of the freezer, her head barely able to turn.  Trina went to untie the woman, but it was too late, by the time Trina reached her she had stopped shivering too, lifeless, frozen.  All of them were still and lifeless now.

Trina sighed, looking in the direction the woman was facing.  She saw another lever, perhaps an exit out of the freezer.  

The lever on this door was warm to the touch, not painfully hot, but the condensation on it told Trina something warm was behind the door.  When she opened it she heard a woman screaming.  The screams sounded somewhat familiar.  

“Here we go,” she paused, before quickly opening the door all the way, a blast of hot air hitting her.  

She saw a crude, makeshift fireplace behind a large steel table; a huge, roaring fire was behind two people.  The woman was on a table, tied, bound, screaming, while a man was on top of her, pinning her down pumping his hips back and forth, raping her.  

He was naked, save for some kind of black, bondage mask.  He wasn’t a huge man.  He wasn’t muscular or obese, just average shape and size.  He had a large knife to her throat. Both of them were soaking wet with sweat. The woman turned to Trina, fear in her eyes mixed with shock of who she was looking at.  

“Kelly!” Trina called out to her sister.   “Kelly!” Trina moved closer.

“Hold it, stop right there,” the man said, grabbing the knife, pointing at Kelly’s throat.  

“Andy, he must’ve found these people and had me,” Kelly tried to say, speaking of her ex-husband.

“Shut it!” The man said, pressing the knife into her skin.  “Yes, your ex did find me.  He asked me to take you here.  He asked me to punish you for your cheating, your betrayal of his love, your treachery.”

The man turned to Trina, “I’m sure you saw those ladies out there.  Did you know that when people sweat out in the cold, hypothermia is almost sure to set in if they don’t get some place warmer?  Heh, sweat in here with me, I carve them up, then let hypothermia set in within minutes out there.”

“Yes, I saw that,” Trina replied, her eyes darting to her sister, the knife, the man’s black, leather-masked face.

“If you take a step closer, I’m pushing the knife straight through her throat,” he warned.  Trina wished she had a weapon, this would all be over.

“Now, then I’m going to carve a T into her, then hang her out there to freeze,” the man said.

“No, wait, do me instead,” Trina blurted out, Kelly’s face showing more shock.  “Let her go, do me instead.  Please.”

The man tightened his grip on the knife, turning to face Trina.

“I cheated.  I’m a cheater too,” Trina nodded. Kelly shook her head, begging her not to do this.  “I was married once.  Years ago I was in the police academy.  His name was TJ.  He was in my same class.  We became friends, one thing led to another.  My husband walked in on us.  TJ was taking me from behind on our bed.  My husband left me and my son, he hasn’t had anything to do with us since it happened.”

“Trina,” Kelly pleaded.

“I deserve to be there in her place, please let me do it.  What you’ve done here, what you’ve created is incredible.  It’s a place for women like me, to be taken, and punished like we deserve.  There’s a room for women who lie, slutty ones who sleep around,” Trina approached the man, noticing he didn’t try to stop her.

“There’s a room for women who are gold diggers, all they care about is money.  Another room for the ones who don’t take care of their bodies,” She took several more steps toward him.

“A room for those who physically assault their men, and one for overdramatic women who throw temper tantrums.  It all makes sense, what you’ve done here.  We need this,” Trina said, now inches away from the man.   

“Please let her go.  Let me take her place. All I ask is that after you carve me up, let me stay with you, let me keep helping you with this operation you’re running,“ Trina glanced at Kelly, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder.  

“You’re a cop,” he said.

“Yes.  I know plenty of women that could come here.  Prostitutes for the lust room.   Maybe even drug users and alcoholics for the gluttony room, right?  That stuff destroys one’s body just like overeating.”

Trina leaned in close, whispering, “Please? This is amazing, I want to be a part of it.  Let her go, do your ritual on me and let me be by your side.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter, if she leaves this room she’ll be killed before the makes it halfway down the hallway,” the man said.

Trina thought about how none of his associates were left and continued her trickery, “Exactly.”

“Good.  I’ll take satisfaction killing a cop if I think you’re acting suspicious,” he backed away from Kelly.  Trina observed a similar, double-dong, massive strap-on around his waist, pulling out of her sister.  

“Holy shit, that’s big,” she thought to herself, seeing it up close.  Before he had a chance to untie Kelly, Trina went to her knees, taking the top dong, slowly licking and kissing along its length before engulfing the tip.  She ignored the fact she tasted her sister’s pussy on it.  

Trina stood helping him untie Kelly.  “Go, leave,” he ordered her.  

“Trina, please,” Kelly begged one last time.

“Trust me,” Trina whispered in her sister’s ear, giving her a quick hug.  “Go,” she nodded her head.

Trina watched Kelly enter the freezer, quickly moving across it, as the door closed, leaving Trina alone with the creator this torturous place.

Trina turned around, quickly tearing her tattered tank top off, throwing it across the room.  She pulled her panties off, kicking them to the side.  Eyes locked on the man, she flung her arms around him, jumping into his arms, straddling him.

Taking him by surprise, he cupped her ass, holding her up.  She removed his bizarre, leather mask, looking into his face.  He looked normal; balding, mid-to-late 30s perhaps, around Trina’s age, pleasant looking face. Trina wondered what woman or women royally screwed him over to cause him to create this sickening house of torture.  To continue her ruse, she kissed him hard, moaning as she did, her tongue slithering into his mouth.

He was surprised, but kissed back, moaning as well.  He slammed her on the table, the fire still roaring behind them.  He broke the kiss, stood, guiding the tip of the bottom dildo to her anus. “This is going to hurt.”

“I know.  I deserve it,” Trina said, trying her best to relax her asshole, hoping her sphincter would stretch without too much resistance or pain.

“Ahhh!!” she screamed out when he jammed it into her.  She thought how worse it could have been.  Trina settled down, arched her back, lying still for him.  

Grabbing her breasts, tweaking her own nipples, she waited and watched him slide the entire foot long dong into her ass.  When he was done, she was calm, nodding her head to him.  

Next was her pussy.  Taking the equally sized top dong, which had been lying on her tummy, the man bent it back, and guided it into Trina.

The sensation was much different, pleasurable even.  Trina never had a cock so long and thick before – not from a person or sex toy.  She felt her pussy lips stretch and slide over it, welcoming it into her depths, moaning lightly when it landed against her cervix – in as far as it would go.

The man got to work. He slowly slid the double-dong strap-on in and out of Trina’s two access points.  She had trouble focusing, remembering her plan, especially when he started going faster.

“Ah!  Ah!” Trina moaned loudly, with each increasingly powerful impact into her.  She felt so full, so good.

“Focus, wait for a signal,” she told herself, wrapping her legs around the man, her left hand reaching behind her to hold on to the edge of the table.  

“I, I’m cumming!” she cried out.  Trina wasn’t faking it either.  A combination of those two massive dongs thrusting in and out of her, coupled with visualizing her plan paying off, sent her over the edge.

The man grabbed her, stood, and bounced her up and down on the two cocks.  “Yes!  Yes!” Trina cried out, the man staring into her face as she climaxed.

He slammed her back down on the table, pulled out, undid the harness of the strap-on, and started furiously jacking off in Trina’s direction.

Drenched with sweat, Trina moaned and watched him, lying back, waiting for him to blow his load and grab the knife.

“Ughnnn, ahhh,” he moaned, spraying semen all over Trina’s tight, flat tummy.  The hot, little furnace of a room dulled any sensation of warm goo landing on her.

The man, out of breath, paused a moment, collecting himself.  He turned around, bent over and grabbed the knife.  

Trina spread her legs for him again, welcoming him on top of her.  “I lied to you,” he said, still catching his breath.  “I’m not going to let you join me or help me with my project.”

He traced the edge of the knife across her chest, above her breasts.  “The fact you’re a cop, is even more reason to not trust you.  I’m going to carve you and then hang you up to freeze.”

He dug the knife into her skin, searing pain coursing through Trina’s body once again.  She grit her teeth letting him go straight across her chest, above her breasts, carving the top line of a capital T.

“I hope you enjoy this hell I’ve made.  There’s so many men who have been wronged or betrayed by women in this country.  They came to me asking me for help when word spread of my project,” he explained finishing the slice across her body.

Just as he was going to start the vertical line of a T down her chest, in between her breasts, Trina spoke up.  

“If this is hell,” she gave him a fast left jab across his jaw, causing him to recoil.  She unwrapped her legs from his waist, kicking him hard in the gut, she grabbed the knife from him.

“Then I’m the demon,” Trina brought the knife down hard into his neck, stabbing it, cutting the jugular vein.  She pulled it out, blood spurt with each heartbeat, covering her face and body.  She stabbed him again, and again, and again – the knife going into his chest, shoulder, neck repeatedly.  

He was a gurgling, blood spurting mess, unable to speak, his vocal chords severed. Trina took one last glimpse of him.  She brought the knife down, stabbing it in his eye socket, leaving it there.

She hopped back on the table, brought her legs back and kicked him as hard as she could, causing him to tumble backward, falling into the fireplace.  Getting off the table, Trina stood, watching his body slowly catch on fire. He rolled off the logs onto the floor, face down, his back charred and burnt, blood forming a puddle.  

“I lied too,” she said, before limping out of the room.

 

Rescue

The only sounds she heard as she traversed back through the low lit hall was police sirens. They finally arrived.  

Entering the lobby area she woke up in earlier in the evening, she saw no one.  She could make out red and blue lights flashing through a window pane.  The only thing left for Trina to do was to leave.

There were two rows of SWAT team members lined up on either side of the door.  “Ready? On three,” a Sergeant whispered.  He counted with his fingers, and was about to open the door when it opened from within.  They drew their weapons, ready to fire, watching it slowly open.

A woman appeared.  Her right shoulder and arm was bleeding profusely, she had several bleeding stab wounds on her left side, her face was beaten and bloody, she was limping, her back was covered in more stab wounds and blood, and her chest had a long, horizontal slice across it, her nipples dripping blood.

The men lowered their gun.  One of them spoke up.  “Tr-Trina?”

She turned to the direction of the voice; the SWAT team member took off his helmet.  “Oh hey, Mike,” she managed to smile.  His mouth hung open, unable to reply.

Trina looked around, seeing ambulances in the distance, EMTs treating victims that escaped. “Say, Mike, you think there’s a spare EMT that can look me over real quick?”  Trina collapsed to her knees.

“Over here!  Now!  Move it!” the Sergeant yelled in the background.  Two EMTs rushed over, her sister, Kelly following them, draping Trina in a towel, assisting her to lie down.  

*

Trina woke up with a splitting headache. Everything was blurry.  She heard a muffled male voice, pleading, crying somewhere in the room.   She slowly opened her eyes, recognizing the voice.  It was her son.

“Please wake up, I need you mom, please.   I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” her son was crying, holding her hand, his head resting on the rail of the bed.

Trina didn’t know how long she was asleep. Light was coming through the window, it looked about mid-day.  The room became less blurry.  Trina cleared her throat.

“Sorry for what?” she quietly said.

“Mom!” Richie wanted to hug her, but didn’t want to hurt her.  Trina smiled, extending her left arm, bringing him in for a hug.

“I’ve been here all night, I didn’t think you’d wake up,” he cried into her good shoulder.

“No, I’m fine.  I must’ve dozed off for awhile,” she joked.  Most of her head was wrapped up in bandages, her arm wrapped and in a sling, she felt like she was covered in stitches, the IV unit delivering medication, taking the edge off the pain.

Richie nodded, ending the hug, staring into her blue eyes.  She caressed his face, staring back at his.

The nurse interrupted them, entering the room, checking her vitals, bringing her a tray of food. When she left, Richie helped her sit up.

“So what are you sorry for?” Trina asked taking a few bites of jello.  

“Mom,” Richie began.  “I saw you, I mean I looked at you while, um,” he gulped and sighed, guilt overcoming him.  “I watched you and that guy, you know – “

“Have sex?” Trina asked, smiling, putting the spoon down.

“I’m so sorry.  I guess the thought of losing you made feel like confessing.  Please, please forgive me.  I just – “

“Richie, stop,” Trina placed her hand on his.  “I know you’ve been peeking in on me for the past few years.  If you saw me with a man in an intimate moment and it scarred you for life, well that’s your punishment!” she laughed, ignoring the dull pain in her ribs.

Richie chuckled. “No, it didn’t scar me for life,” he thought about her on all fours, her butt in the air, moaning, grabbing the sheets, cumming again.  

“Good.  Then no harm done.  You were curious.  Which reminds me, after this little ordeal I’ve been through, maybe it’s a sign that you and I need to be closer.  Perhaps if you have more female interaction you won’t feel the need to spy on ladies being naughty?” his mother smiled.

“Maybe,” Richie hung his head low.

“Give me another hug,” Trina extended her arm.   “You’re gonna have to take care of me for a while.  Sorry if that ruins your summer.”

“It won’t,” Richie closed his eyes, hugging his mother as carefully as possible.

*

Several weeks later, Trina was examining the scar across her chest.  “Not bad,” she said. She closed her bathrobe and waited for Richie.

It had been a long day testifying in court.  Kelly had taken the stand that day, telling of her ordeal, of her sister’s heroics.  Kelly’s ex had been arrested in his involvement, many men had.  

“Hey,” he smiled, entering his mother’s bathroom.  “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes.  I was hoping to take a bath.”

“Oh, yes of course,” Richie turned on the bath water, testing the temperature, getting some soapy bubble bath mix for his mother.

“How’s that?” he asked her to test the warm water.

“Perfect,” she answered.  He smiled and turned to leave.

“Richie, wait.”

“Huh?  I was going to give you some privacy.”

Trina paused a moment.  “Maybe you could stay?   Keep me company?”

“Uh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I mean, I – “  

“Richie,” Trina undid her robe letting it fall to her feet, standing nude before him.  “It’s fine. You’ve seen this before.  Plus, we’re closer now.”

Richie slowly nodded, glancing over his mother’s nude body, still in great shape.  She extended her hand.  He took it, assisting her into the hot water.

“There we go, perfect,” she smiled.

Richie sat by the tub, glancing at her shoulder, “The scarring isn’t too bad.  Looks better than I thought.”

“Mmhmm,” Trina smiled, closing her eyes, enjoying the water and company.

She slowly opened her eyes, staring into his. They smiled softly at one another.  Trina extended her hand, placing it on her son’s.

The end.

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There will be a sequel, an incest story, featuring Trina and her son.   I’m thinking a fight for survival in the woods, bad guys chasing them, maybe an explosion or two, and her and her son ending up together.
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