Erased Night and Carved Teeth Marks

The rip of tearing cloth shattered the silence of the hospital room. Na-bi's eyes flew wide, but she could not even scream. Her tongue had gone rigid; her throat felt paralyzed. No sound would come. The muscle relaxant was dissolving every muscle in her body. She could not so much as twitch a finger—a total, drowning helplessness, as if her soul had been left behind in flesh that had already died.

"What's wrong? You're supposed to enjoy this."

The Hospital Director's crimson eyes poured down over Na-bi's face. He raked his gaze greedily across her naked body: the pallor of her skin, the chest where the bandages had been sliced away, the thighs shivering with terror.

He crushed his mouth over hers. His tongue drove in like a snake, scouring the inside of her mouth. Na-bi choked and gagged, but he would not let go; he clamped her jaw as if he meant to pulverize it.

A nauseating crack—her jaw joint slipping out of place.

"Hhgh—!"

Her mouth was forced open. He tore his lips away and closed one hand around her throat.

"Don't breathe. Not without my permission."

With his other hand he kneaded her breast, squeezing as if to wring it out. His nails dug into the areola. Blood welled up. He took the nipple into his mouth as if to taste it and sucked hard—then set his teeth and chewed, grinding down. Pain tore through her as flesh gave way; her body convulsed, but her arms and legs hung limp, useless. Only her eyes still moved, shaking, screaming for someone to save her.

"Delicious. Meat marinated in terror."

He left a vivid bite ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mark on her breast—a swollen red oval, a brand. Smiling as if satisfied, he climbed onto her stomach.

"Now let's eat what's below."

He spread her legs wide to either side. The muscle relaxant had stolen every ounce of resistance; they fell open without a struggle. Her pubic bone lay fully exposed, the red inner flesh utterly defenseless.

He lined himself up against the entrance of her vagina. No lubricant. Dry, and rough.

He drove in.

Na-bi's eyes rolled back. The scream never left her throat; it only circled there, a silent howl. The pain of tearing flesh raced up her spine and slammed into her brain. But her body would not answer. She could not run. She could not close her legs. All she could do was take it.

He began to work his hips. It was not a simple piston. He seized her pelvis as if he meant to crush it and jammed himself into her the way a man might force a broken machine part back into its housing. The unlubricated inner walls shrieked with the heat of dry friction. Each time the head of him shoved in, the parched mucosa was stretched beyond what it could bear, and the faint pop of bursting capillaries rang in her ears.

"Hh—nngh—!"

The muscle relaxant had paralyzed her vocal cords, but the pain traveled her nervous system with perfect, pitiless clarity. Every time her head lolled weakly to the side, her unfocused eyes wandered the empty air. He seemed to like the look of it. He did not slow. He crushed into her as if determined to iron flat every last fold of her inner walls.

"Look. Watch how your insides break."

He forced her thighs even wider, laying the junction of their bodies utterly bare. Each time that thick shaft drove in and out, the entrance of her turned inside out—dragged along with him, then shoved back in. Blood, seeping in place of any gel, served as lubricant, and the sound it made was nauseating: not the sound of coupling at all, but the wet rupture of meat being tenderized.

He targeted her cervix with deliberate, relentless precision. Every time the head of him knocked against that tightly closed uterine mouth, her lower belly convulsed as if it might bulge outward. Deep in her guts, something twisted; her organs felt as though they were being shoved out of place, a hideous foreign presence rearranging her from the inside.

"This is your weak spot, isn't it? Your womb flinches every time I touch it."

Savoring her reaction, he buried himself to the root and rolled his pelvis in a slow circle. The tenderest flesh inside her was scraped raw against the veined surface of him. A pain like a burn took dominion over her entire lower body. Instinctively she tried to pull her hips away, but the drug-soaked body only slithered helplessly across the sheets, as limp as some boneless thing.

There was nowhere to run. All she could do was endure the sensation of that terrible pillar stirring through her entrails, until her brain burned white.

The mating of a beast. No—the use of a tool. He gripped her pelvis, dragged her toward himself, and drove in to the hilt. Every time he struck her cervix, her head slammed against the headboard.

"That's it…… bite down nice and tight……"

The drugs had slackened even her vaginal muscles, but he enjoyed the looseness itself—the transgressive thrill of violating a corpse. He slapped her across the face.

"Open your eyes! Look at me! Watch exactly how you're being taken!"

Na-bi forced her eyes open and looked at him. The madness in his gaze. The sweat gleaming on his forehead. The ugly motion of him ravaging her body. And more terrible than any of it was the knowledge that all of this would be wiped from her memory. The pain won't vanish. It will stay in my body. If only the memory disappears—does that mean I have to repeat this hell forever?

He wrenched her left arm. The joint folded with a sickening crack.

"Ghhk!"

He did not touch the right arm, where the IV needle was seated. The drugs had to keep flowing. Instead he concentrated his assault on the left arm and shoulder—biting into the shoulder, pinching the forearm and twisting it.

He tore into the nape of her neck. A red bruise bloomed near the carotid artery. A mark of ownership.

The first ejaculation. Hot semen flooded the depths of her womb. He pulled out, panting. There was no rest.

"We're nowhere near ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠done. I told you the night is long."

He shoved himself, already hard again, into her face. The stench of blood and semen filled the air.

"Open your mouth."

Her jaw was still dislocated; she could not close it. He jammed himself into that forced-open mouth. Her airway sealed shut. Because of the muscle relaxant, even her gag reflex would not fire properly—and he had counted on exactly that. He used her throat as he pleased, scraping the inner wall of her esophagus, stabbing against the uvula, going deeper, and deeper still.

Tears slid from Na-bi's eyes and ran into her ears. She could not breathe. The world went dark. The terror of asphyxiation—a tightrope walk along the threshold of death. He drove her to the brink of unconsciousness, then pulled out for a moment.

"Hah… hah…"

The instant she dragged in a desperate breath, he thrust back in.

"Mmph!"

Again. And again. Her throat swelled and tore until she could taste blood. He worked his hips without pause, as if he meant to use the inside of her mouth as a receptacle and nothing more. He came, filling it. There was no order to swallow. He simply let it overflow. Semen refluxed through her nose, and she coughed and choked in agony.

Na-bi's consciousness flickered. Through the IV, a high-concentration sedative and a memory-wipe agent were invading her brain. The sense of reality drained away, replaced by a swimming, dreamlike haze. Watching her eyes go dull, the Hospital Director giggled.

"The drugs are kicking in. Now comes the real thing."

He flipped her over. Facedown. Her anus lay fully exposed.

"Have to use this too. Every hole has to be used."

He spat onto it—a contemptuous pteh—and drove in without a moment's hesitation.

Na-bi's body jerked. A silent scream, a shriek that never found a voice. It was the pain of a rectum splitting open—and yet her mind was being wiped white even as she felt it.

Watching her memories slip away only made him more sadistic. He seized her by the hair, slammed her face into the mattress, and kept thrusting. His nails raked her back, drawing red lines down the skin.

All night long. When she fainted, he woke her. When she fainted again, he woke her and took her again. Her body was a wreck of semen and blood and sweat—less a human shape than a slab of meat a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠beast had mauled.

Morning came. But the hospital room had no windows; there was no way to tell dawn from dark. The Hospital Director stood beside the bed and looked down at her. Na-bi slept as if she were dead. Bruises and teeth marks covered her from head to toe, along with the crusted traces of semen.

"Time to wake up."

He closed the IV line. The flow of drugs stopped. But her brain cells had already been bleached white. The memory of last night—no, of the hellish tableau that had lasted until this very dawn—had been deleted, cleanly, completely.

Na-bi opened her eyes, slowly. An unfocused gaze found the ceiling.

"Nnh…… my head……"

She groaned and tried to sit up, but her body was heavy as lead. There was no strength in her limbs. Everything ached, but she had no idea why.

"Sleep well?"

The Hospital Director asked it almost tenderly. Na-bi stared at him, dazed.

"Uh…… Doctor……?"

"How are you feeling? A little refreshed?"

"Yes…… but my body is a bit…… stiff……"

She looked down at herself. She was naked. Red marks covered her here and there. And yet, strangely, none of it felt wrong. Must be from the treatment.I must have overdone it exercising yesterday. Her brain was rationalizing on its own. A side effect of the drugs.

Inwardly, the Hospital Director crowed. Perfect. The memory-wipe agent had been a complete success. Na-bi had no idea she had already passed the night of Day Five and woken to the morning of Day Six. Time itself seemed to have stopped; she was simply… blank.

"Today we're going to do a special treatment."

He wheeled over a cart. Cold metal instruments lay arranged on top of it: a set of long, smooth metal rods, silver implements of graded thickness, each one thicker than the last.

"What…… is this?"

Na-bi asked it with an instinctive terror she could not name. Her body was shaking. She did not know why, but she had a premonition that those metal rods were going to go inside her.

"It's a uterine massage instrument. Loosens up knotted muscle."

He lied easily, and picked up the thinnest dilator. The cold metal caught the fluorescent light and flashed.

"Don't worry. It'll feel good."

A slick smile on his face, he moved between her legs. She wanted to run. Her body would not move. Between the residual muscle relaxant and the drugs still being administered on a cycle, she had no strength left to resist.

"Now. Spread your ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠legs."

At his command, Na-bi's legs fell open as if she had been hypnotized. The entrance of her, swollen and wrecked from the night's abuse, lay fully exposed. He looked at that wretched sight and clicked his tongue in appetite.

"Shall we begin."