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079 :: The invisible man
The door opened. A man led Jack and Naomi down a corridor. They entered a room. It had five people sitting on sofas. Three men. Two women. The man pushed Naomi to the middle of the room. To a wooden stool. He commanded her to strip. She did not understand. She did not understand what they were saying. She did not understand why she was the centre of attention. She looked at Jack. He was looking at the floor. Backing into the shadows. He knew something. He had expected this to happen. The man told Jack to make Naomi strip. He nodded. His head stayed bowed. His eyes watched the man. He opened Naomi’s Skroll. He typed. He showed her the writing.
These are bad men.
You must take off your clothes.
Sorry.
A tear rolled down Naomi’s cheek. She blinked. She did not make any sounds. She breathed slowly. She did not want to take off her clothes. This was not like the masters. She breathed slowly. She looked about the room. Old furniture. Dark wood with stained coverings. Dirty walls. Damp. Mould. Bright lights. Strip lights. For the cameras. Six strangers. Five seated. One standing. And Jack. Jack jerked his hand. Hurry up. Naomi looked down. A tear dropped off her chin. Onto the floor. The dirty wooden floor.
The man moved. Naomi looked up. The man slapped her. Hard. Naomi collapsed. Wailed. Then stood holding her face.
Naomi started to hum to herself. Not clearly enough to work out the song. She started taking off her clothes. She lifted her shirt. Stopped. Sat on the stool. She undid her ehhlies. She placed them under the stool. She puller her tee over her head. She flattened it. Folded it twice. She placed it on her ehhlies. She stood. Pulled down her trousers to below her hips. Sat again. Peeled the tight trousers from her legs. Folded them. Three times. Placed them on her tee. She just had knickers on. Black hipsies. A heart at the crotch. The type you put on for a date. She looked at Jack. He nodded. She lifted her bum slightly. Slid off the knickers. Put them on the trousers. Stayed seated on the stool. Knees together. Proper. It was not a proper situation. Proper did not belong in this room. Her eyes flicked to the door they had come in. She was hoping to be rescued.
The room was silent. Naomi looked about the room. At the five people sitting on the sofas. Her eyes stopped at the man in the shadow. The only shadow in a bright room. He had a drink in his had. It was the man who had been to her house. The man who had turned off the playback of her dance. The invisible man. The man Peter feared. The invisible man would not help her. No one would help her.
The man next to Jack moved. The faces in the room turned. Like the audience watching tennis. Naomi was the show. Naomi and the man. The man knew the script. Naomi knew nothing. These films are always bad. They always shock. The man stepped towards her. Naomi whimpered. A whimper that died in her throat. The man put his hand on her side. She flinched. She did not make another sound. Her tears rolled silently down her face. The man pulled her up. Turned her. Bent her. Her hands rested on the stool. He lifted her arse. He examined her exposed cunt. Naomi tensed. She squatted.
The man slapped her. Hard. An instant red mark on the right arse cheek. The man pulled her arse up. The man rubbed his fingers on Naomi’s face. Wet them with her tears. Brought the fingers to his mouth. Dribbled spit on them. Lubricating them. He grabbed her hair with his left hand. Pushed her face down to the stool. He stuck the lubricated fingers into her cunt. Lifting her arse. He leaned down to her ear. He growled.
You fucking love it. (Man)
Naomi was shivering with silent sobs. She looked at Jack. Pleading him to stop this. To give up what he came for. To lead her out of the room. To say sorry. To explain. To swear to revenge her.
Give it to me now. (Woman)
The man stood. One hand on Naomi’s head. Two fingers in her cunt. He watched the woman. She was talking to Jack. Holding out her hand. Jack kept looking at the floor.
Jesus. You stupid cunt. How did you think this would work. Give it now. (Woman)
Jack kept his head down. He handed Naomi’s Skroll tot he woman. The woman lent back. She opened the Skroll. The man next to her leaned over. He took the Skroll from her. He whispered something to the woman. He stood. Left. Four people left. Just the woman and the man in the room now.
You motherfucking little cunt. You fucking weasel. You think this is a game. You were the one who asked for this little meeting. You were the one who offered your little girlie in exchange. Then you try to fool us with the wrong Skroll trick. You do not know who you are fucking with. You roll his name about on your tongue and you think about it. He is not a dumb fucking cunt. He makes sure he knows everything before the shit goes down. There is no pulling a fast one on him. I do not want a word from you. You are going to bleed. Little motherfucking cunt. Bleed. (Woman)
She held her hand out to the man. He took his hand out of Naomi’s cunt. He pulled a knife from his pocket. Flicked it open. Handed it to the woman. He yanked Naomi’s hair. Turned her to look at Jack. The woman lifted his tee. She walked around him. Pulled the tee over his head. Twisted it about his hands.
You hold your hands up there. If you move your hands I will give him the node. You do not want me to not at him. (Woman)
The woman held the knife to Jack’s chest. She ran it gently along the nipple. It left a fine red line. Little beads of blood pressed out. She pushed the knife in. Indenting the skin. Suddenly she flicked. Through the nipple. Below the nipple. Jack screamed. He brought his hands down. Stopped as the tee caught his head. Put his hands behind his head. Clamped his arms to his head. Eyes screwed shut. Blood ran down his chest. The woman ran the knife across his chest again. She pressed against the other nipple. She flicked. The nipple dangled. It flapped. Rested. Then the blood ran freely. Jack wailed.
You keep your hands above your head. You cunt. You hear me. Open your eyes now. You are going to watch what happens to your little bitch. This is what you did. This is what happens when you think my man is your bitch. (Woman)
The woman crossed over to Naomi. She took hold of her head. She pressed it into the stool. The man dropped his trousers. He spat in his hand. He rubbed his cock. Wetting it. Stiffening it. He placed the tip at Naomi’s cunt. He thumbed his cok in. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. The woman leaned on Naomi’s head. Naomi twisted her head slightly. To breath. The man’s thrusts turned into rocking. Turned into nothing.
Bitch is no my type. (Man)
The woman glared at him. He pulled up his trousers.
Just do not tell him. (Man)
The pair left the room. Naomi picked up her tee. She sat on the stool holding her tee over her chest. One minute. Two minutes. Jack had found a cloth. He had torn it into strips. Tied them together. Wound them round his chest. He sat on the arm of the sofa.
Tee in hand. Staring at the floor. Three minutes. Four minutes. Naomi dressed. Put on her ehhlies. Stood waiting at the door. Seven minutes. Jack put on his tee. He opened the door. He opened her ehhlies. His. He untethered his drivewheel. They returned home. Following the wrists and turns. Sometimes on camera. Usually not. At her front gate he said one word.
Sorry. (Jack)
