Chelsea’s eyes twitched open as the California sunrise flooded the room with light. Another night of fun was over, and with that came the knowledge that it would be at least another couple of weeks before her body could handle doing that much substance at once again.
“Two weeks of hell, for a night of heaven sounds like a fair trade.” She said as she stretched her sore body, and flipped open her phone to check the time.
“Ugh. Why didn’t I walk back to my dorm…” she trailed off, unable to get the image of whatever she had used last night out of her head.
She looked down towards her pants, her imagination going wild as she slowly begun to remember what she did last night. I mean, it couldn’t have been real; it was probably one of those plastic dolls college girls buy for shits and giggles. That would explain the prison outfit and the size.
She could have lived with screwing a doll; then it moved, And Chelsea realized much to her horror that whatever it was that she decided to plaster her insides with last night was still alive.
“Oh god. I think I’m gonna be sick.” She whispered to herself, almost in pain at the indignity of her situation, “Please tell me I didn’t fuck somebody’s gerbil or pet scorpion or… WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS THING.” She cringed in fear and disgust as the creature in her panties brushed against her clit.
Enough was enough; 5:00 AM on a Monday morning was way too early for this shit. Reaching around her hands found the frail bendable object sandwiched beneath the tight fabric of her clothes and the skin of her right thigh. Without a moment’s hesitation she closed her hand around it, and removed the invasive creature from her crotch; all the while shamefully preoccupying herself with her flip phone; too disgusted with both herself and the slimy shivering beast in her palm to even look at it.
Ok Chels, you got yourself into this mess. Now ya gotta get yourself out, thought Chelsea who steeled her nerves for the worst, and turned to face the ejaculate soaked mess in her hand.
There in her palm unconscious, halfway curled up in a ball was the prisoner; exactly as she remembered seeing him last night, albeit with much less clothing than she remembered. He looked somewhat older than her, but given his condition it was hard to tell.
Hopefully he was still alive; she tended to lack self-control when it came to sex. After all, it’s not often that a girl has to be physically gentle with someone; in fact, with every partner Chelsea ever had she could pretty much get as wild as she pleased because she knew that they consented and could more than match her in intensity.
Speaking of consent, there never was any; he could have been trying to get her help, but instead of doing anything for him, she raped him. Worst still, was that she actually liked it. The idea of being able to squeeze her legs and pop someone’s body open like a grape, that kind of power, as it turned out was quite potent for her.
The sound of coughing brought her back to reality. Looking down at her hand, she could see that he was waking up. From her perspective he seemed so frail… so breakable, the way he clung against her skin like a child to its mother. Without her this miserable speck of humanity would be nothing but a smear on the floor.
“Umm. Hey?” she whispered casually.
The man fled to the back of her hand the second she spoke. Upon realizing where he was, the pathetic creature dropped to his knees and sat square in the middle of her hand like a trapped rat.
Normally she was awkward when it came to meeting new people, especially since this particular person’s first impression was formed when he waist deep inside her; however, for whatever reason she didn’t seem nervous. Maybe it was a power thing.
There was an awkward silence for a while as the man struggled to gather his bearings and simultaneously come up with a response. “You’re actually… talking to me?” he said sounding slightly surprised.
For Chelsea, His voice was very faint; not high pitched like one would expect, just soft. Looking around she spotted the water bottle she finished off last night. “You look terrible. Here drink this”. There was only a sliver of water left, but given his implausible size, she figured it would be enough.
“Now when you’re done, I want you to tell me everything you know.” She commanded in a strong voice before pouring the water onto the table and placing him next to it.
The second his feeble legs touched the table, he took off limping towards the droplets of water and damn near dived into them.
“Alright.” He said between labored breaths, “I’d be more than happy to tell you all the shit that’s happened, on one condition.”
Chelsea felt her blood simmer; there was something instinctively irritating about hearing someone, who in the back of her mind she still considered a sex toy, attempt to bargain with her.
“I want you to promise, cross you heart and hope to die, scouts honor… whatever it takes. Just promise me that you’ll guarantee my freedom.” he said.
A selfish request; still, she intended to keep her word, “Deal. Now tell me everything” Said Chelsea.
****
“Wake up Cynthia! Wake up! WAKE UP!” sputtered Eric Payne to no avail.
Little did he know that Cynthia had heard him just fine; she just wanted to test how far her new alarm clock would go to perform his duties. Of course, judging by the sound of his voice… not very far; she hadn’t even opened her eyes yet and she could tell by the tremble of his voice that he was late.
“Hello? Umm… Mistress? Goddess?” spouted the obsequious little man on the bedside table, his pathetic attempts to quell her loathing for him with honorifics pissing her off even more.
He inhaled deeply. This time he would succeed. “WAKE UP!” shouted Eric at the top of his lungs, his arms swinging with frustration and fear at the monolithic monstrosity of a woman, who for the past several hours had tortured and killed several people.
This time the response was immediate; a massive pale hand slammed into the wooden counter, throwing him off balance and filling the air with a disturbing aromatic mixture of fruity hand soap, dried blood, and Cynthia’s natural body odor.
Before he could respond, the colossal shadow of her nude body had darkened the oak ground around him. “Poor little guy. You failed as a person, and now you’ve failed as my alarm clock.” She cooed and licked her plump little lips. Looking closely, he could see handprints on her lips from where her victims had smeared her lipstick in a desperate final struggle before having their lives cut short.
“What the hell am I going to do with you?” she teased bitingly.
“Probably kill me. I…I deserve it.” he replied, swallowing his pride.
“Aww. I don’t want to cut what little time you have left short. Assuming there’s a god, you’ll have all of eternity to suffer for the crimes you committed.” Said Cynthia gleefully.
She put her hands on her hips, and placed her twat right up against the edge of the desk, just to remind him how pathetically weak he was compared to her. “I think a day without food is punishment enough for failure. Since I’m merciful, I’ll at least let you drink.” Said Cynthia as she leaned over the table; unorganized ropes of golden blonde hair cascading across the immaculate curves of her enormous muscles, before puckering her lips and spitting out a large translucent glob of warm bubbling spit that hit the wooden table with a muffle smack.
Eric cast his head towards the ground in shame, “Cynthia, I’m sorry I was late. Please let me eat.” A hint of despair entered his voice, “I won’t make another mistake, I swear.” Whimpered Eric.
Cynthia turned around and posed against the table, this time she let her butt take up most of the room. “Well… Oh’kayyy.” She cooed “Only if you can explain to me why you’re sitting on that table.”
Eric got on his hands and knees; his feeble voice was barely audible to her. “Bitch, I can’t hear you. Ya gotta be louder if you want to eat”. Cynthia pulled a person out from inside the desk, an obese man in his mid-forties adorned in neo-Nazi gang tattoos.
She gaged the height with her eyes, then when she was sure she knew the right distance she released her hand, dropping the fat man to the floor. “How about this. You explain why you’re up on the table to this guy, and I’ll give you something to eat.” She said walking over to a pile of clothes.
Eric looked down at the man on the floor, both his legs were broken and he was wide eyed with shock. This was his fault, if he had the strength to follow his orders properly, this man wouldn’t have to suffer. “The reason is simple.” He yelled, “I deserve to be up here because I am a…” he hesitated.
Cynthia finished pulling up her track shorts, “Go on!” she said as she slipped a pair of badly worn pink running shoes over her long black athletic socks.
“The reason I’m up here is because I am a disgusting evil human being.” He spat through gritted teeth, “I did terrible things, and the only reason I’m not dead is because my gracious master Cynthia allows me to live.” He finished.
Cynthia walked over to the desk and angled the toe section of her shoe over the struggling skinhead on the floor. Super hardened Clumps of dirt, compressed by the raw power of the many thousands of footsteps she had taken in those shoes rained down onto her miserable target, knocked loose by Cynthia casually wiggling her foot in anticipation.
She leaned her foot forward causing the leather of the shoe to creak and bend across the curvature of her dainty toes, “So close, but not quite.” She said, the sound of a grown man squealing filling the room.
Eric looked away, not because he was afraid to see death, but because he knew that one day that would be him.
“Eric” she beckoned in a silky gentle tone. “I want cha to see this. Look at my foot.”
Without even thinking he immediately directed his attention to the screaming shaking man on the floor whose body was pinned beneath the incalculable weight of Cynthia’s body.
Cynthia’s powerful calf twitched as she applied pressure, “Good. Now the real reason why you’re up there Eric is because I want you to suffer.” She said twisting the rubber sole of her shoe side to side; using friction to slowly grind the skin away from the feeble racist’s body. “I want you to feel as helpless as your victims felt Eric. I want you to understand what you took away from them.”
His eyes widened, how could she possibly know what he did. He told her he was in for tax evasion.
Enormous leg tendons, each one stronger than a fully grown elephant pulsed as she raised the bus sized shoe a good 50 feet above her target, streaks of red and ribbons of Caucasian lining the troughs of her shoes treads, “Aww, surprised your little lie didn’t work. You see I NEVER forget a face, and I specifically remember seeing you on television 2 years ago.
“After you raped that poor girl in Sacramento.” She said, bringing her foot down hard; slamming the filthy shoe into the hardwood floor with all her might. A thunderous boom, cascading across the room, and creating a shockwave powerful enough to shake Eric to the bone.
It seemed to happen in slow motion. The man looked up from the floor, and threw his arms up a vain attempt to protect himself from the fast approaching wall of worn grey and pink rubber. Realizing the situation was hopeless instinct took over, but before he could run Cynthia’s leg had already built up enough speed.
A mere half a second later, his body flattened out as if he was made of gum, filling the treads of the shoes and staining both the dirt darkened leather and the floor with red.
Cynthia pivoted on her heel, smearing what remained of the once proud man into indistinguishable brownish red grime. “I’ll see you later my little pet, I have to feed all the other worthless nothings in the basement.” said Cynthia before cheerfully jogging out the door making sure to step extra hard on her right shoe.
The door slammed, and Eric vomited over the side of the table. That would be him someday, and there was nothing he could do about it. He deserved to die; the blood of every single one of Cynthia’s victims was on his hands. After all, he was the one who made her this way.
Payback can be such a bitch.
****
“Jesus Christ! Many people are in there?” said Chelsea as she stared at the enormous pile of boxes that sat in the corner of the basement.
“Everyone.” Said Gerome clinging to the edge of Chelsea’s thumb; his badly bruised and exhausted body only remaining upright thanks to her vigilance.
Chelsea was in shock; Maria Cruz was one of the kindest girls she had ever met, And not in an artificial sorority sense of ‘nice’ either. She truly was the most generous, charitable, and all around approachable person in the entire damn chapter. Just the idea that a person who was so upstanding could inconsiderately commit such terrible crimes against humanity was enough to make Chelsea’s head spin.
“Please tell me she at least had a good motive.” Asked Chelsea as she gently ran her hand across the top of one of the human packed containers; the faint sound of thousands of moaning screaming people cascading into her ears, overwhelming her sense of empathy with fear as she struggled to comprehend the horror these people had witnessed.
Gerome looked up, “She had good intentions.”
Chelsea could almost feel them, every last trapped soul. Each one a person with dreams, desires, and emotions just like her. Now, they exist as mere shadows of their former selves. Destined to die of humiliating brutal deaths in a world they were no longer fit to occupy.
Chelsea had no choice, she had to call the police; these people need help, and Maria despite her good intentions deserved punishment for her crimes. “I’m ending this right now.” She said flipping open her Motorola RAZR and dialing 911.
Then a thought occurred right as she was about to press call. Getting the police involved at this time would be a disaster. Despite her heroics, the fact that she was a drug user, and a pretty heavy user at that, would still land her with charges as well as get her expelled from the university. That is, if Caltech itself isn’t liquidated; there were more people suffering in those boxes than there were attending the school. This single incident could destroy her entire career.
Gerome was getting impatient, her finger was right on the button; what possible reason could she have to hesitate. Maybe she figured out he didn’t really tell her everything, he never was very good at lying. Hopefully, she’d keep her promise and not hand him over to the police. “Well? What are you waiting for?” he said.
“Shut up. I need to think about this.”
If it wasn’t for the fact that she could kill him at any moment he would be cursing her out right now. He took an enormous risk escaping from Maria, and Chelsea swore that she would see this through. “What the hell do you mean by that? There’s nothing to think about, please Chelsea. Help them.” He pleaded.
“No. I can’t do it.”
And with those words Chelsea, an 18 year old drug abusing sorority brat had sealed the fate of over 8000 people on a whim. It was for the greater good. As much as she hated to do this, the fact that the prisoners of the Mount San Antonio prison were still alive needed to be kept a secret; not just for her own good, but also for Maria’s and everyone else involved.
She needed only to check the news to justify her decision; it had only been a day since the prison disappeared and already there was talk of everything from a foreign conspiracy, to a sign that 2006 would mark the end of days. Several nations closed their borders to the US out of fear. The incident was so bad it even forced the recently re-elected president Bush to station a military presence in LA for fear of an impending attack. If these shrunken people were to ever find themselves in the hands of the media, the resulting confusion would cause a catastrophe on an international scale.
It was a longshot; a secret this big is not easy to keep, and she knew that two girls couldn’t keep something like this a secret by themselves. They needed help.
“Are you insane? Can you not hear these people? They. Are. Dying.” Screamed Gerome as loud as he could, his anger and outrage at Chelsea’s decision blinding it its ferocity.
“I know your upset, but trust me. This is the right decision I know it is.” Said Chelsea who had nothing but empathy for her shrunken informant.
He could feel her hand begin to close. “Fuck you, you stupid cocksucking whore! How the hell can you stand there and justify this!”
“You really don’t understand do you?” said Chelsea disappointed while typing out a text message with her other hand.
“Don’t worry Gerome. I didn’t forget about our promise. I’m going to keep you safe from now on.” Said Chelsea as she brought her thumb down onto her phone, sending out a mass text.
[Attention everyone, Maria Cruz has a secret. Anyone who wants to know meet me in the kitchen one hour from now.] Read the message which she had sent out to every person on her contact list who was in the sorority.
“Chelsea. Why?” he cried, his heart now completely broken. She had taken his hope, his future, and without even asking simply threw it away. He had nothing but hatred for her, fear was now the only thing that kept him obedient.
“Don’t worry about why. Just know that I’m doing this for your own good.” She said before stuffing him into her left pocket, his sobbing muffled by the denim of her shorts.