A literotic sexstories: The Thirteenth Virgin by wantsomefun ,
“Igor, you worthless scum! Get up here!” the speaker in my cell ceiling squawked.
I hurried up the long stone stairwell to his laboratory. “Yes, Master?”
“This one isn’t a virgin! She’s been used! Weren’t you suspicious when you saw she was shaved? Didn’t you check? You’ve wasted my time!”
“But Master, she’s a neophyte nun. I thought she would be a virgin.”
“You thought? Since when do you think? Look at this! Look there, you cretin!”
He grabbed my head and forced it between the shapely blond’s knees to see her bald womanhood, cruelly exposed, a speculum stuck inside her. I staggered back when he released me. “Master, her head is bleeding.”
“Of course it is! YOU didn’t drug her enough, so she fought with me. I had to hit her with a wrench!”
“Did you kill her, Master?
“Imbecile! That’s your job! A dead subject is even less useful to me than an unclean one. Take her to the dungeon, wake her up, and chain her to the conveyor into the furnace, like the others. I want to complete my experiment by Halloween. Know this, Igor. If you don’t bring me a suitable subject by then, I’ll put YOU in the furnace!”
I undid her restraints and carried the young woman’s limp body down to my world. Master would do it. He used to burn the women himself before he made it part of my duties. He would chain me to the conveyor and feed me inch by excruciating inch into the flames if I didn’t fulfill his wishes. Either that, or he’d give me to the dogs.
When I first came to Master, I was a penniless young man, unable to get a job because of my appearance. My face and upper torso are covered with burn scars, my body twisted from the crushing force of the car that burned as it lay on top of me with my parents inside. Real doctors at a real hospital saved my life. Master worked there then in the morgue. He befriended me, staying in contact after he was relieved of his duties for reasons no one disclosed.
When my rehabilitation was as complete as it was going to get, I began working for Master, cleaning, caring for the animals he used in his experiments, and helping with his gruesome research. He paid my medical bills for me, something I would have spent the rest of my life failing to do. He gave me food and shelter when I had none. He enticed me into servitude with a promise of restoring my appearance to something acceptable in public if he succeeded with his experiments. But he treated me like a slave, forcing me to sleep in the dungeon below the medieval castle he called home.
When Master tired of his work on animals, he fed the few that remained to his dogs. Human research was next. When that began, my fate was sealed. There was no place for me in the world. I was a criminal, forced to help Master with his diabolical work, bound to him by my complicity in so much horror. I was doomed even by my name, “Igor.” Mom liked Stravinsky and never thought of the infamous creature by that name. Master did. He turned me into his fear-driven puppet, powerless against his evil cunning.
I lay the body of the young woman on the ancient hospital gurney Master had me use to use to prepare subjects for experiments or disposal. She was beautiful, a voluptuous girl torn from her life at its start.
She would live in the dungeon as long as I did. Master would kill me some day, but I was not going to my final judgment with the blood of a young girl on my hands. I had not killed anyone. I would not start now.
After bathing her and tending to her wounds, I dressed her in a faded hospital gown and pushed the gurney to the large cell my other captives called home.
“Another one, Igor?” Belinda asked. I always liked this young woman. Though she was blind from Master’s cruel attentions, she held no malice toward me. She was already hidden here when Master disposed of one of his subjects, before he left the task solely to me, so she knew where her loyalties must lie.
“Keep her quiet if she wakes up. If she screams and Master hears her, it won’t go well for anyone.”
“I’m good with the new ones, Igor. What’s her story?”
“I don’t know her name. I snatched her near the convent on the other side of town. She was dressed like a nun in training, so I thought she’d be pure, but she wasn’t. Master was furious that I didn’t check her.”
“I remember when you took me,” Belinda said, smiling at me with her ruined eyes. “I felt like someone was watching me when I left the library. I remember hearing footsteps, and then you grabbed me and held that cloth over my face. The next thing I knew, I was in your car, bound and naked, and you were looking at me.”
“I’m so ashamed you caught me. I didn’t want you to know what I did.”
“Igor, please. We’ve talked about this. You know I don’t care now. You could have been rough with me, but you weren’t. You were kind, risking your own life to take care of me after that monster’s machine blinded me. You’re the only reason I’m still alive. I wanted to be a nurse anyway, so I’ll do what I can.”
She put her head on my chest, and I stroked her curly hair as I always do. She hadn’t gotten a good look at me before Master’s abominable acts. Maybe that was why acted like she did. She never saw me. People always said I had a nice voice.
It was easy to see Belinda as she should be. I imagine her in big sunglasses at a swim-up bar, sipping a drink and nibbling on fruit. She wears a white bikini, shocking against the rich bronze of her Jamaican heritage. Her wild black mane is held off her high forehead by clips made of mother-of-pearl to match the piece suspended by a thin gold chain from her navel.
That’s how she should look, on her honeymoon with the man of her dreams, not dressed in rags in a dungeon with three other women and a disfigured kidnapper and accomplice to murder.
My nun replaced the last girl. She died of infection from Master’s skin-grafting attempts. He kept her in a cell off his lab, watching her deteriorate, until he commanded me to dispose of her. She lasted a few days with us, and then I cremated her remains.
My oldest captive, Sharon, struggled to sit up on her bed. “Can you bring her to me, Igor?”
Life changed for Sharon in January. She was a primary school teacher, saving herself for her intended to have when he came home from the Navy. Master was very pleased with her beauty and obvious intelligence. Knowing the rarity of an intact woman of that age, he attempted to impregnate her before consigning her to her intended use in his experiments with limb-reattachment. His technique failed, so I was ordered to feed the screaming, footless victim into the firebox, but I couldn’t. Somehow, I kept her alive.
Sharon dangled her useless legs off the padded platform where she spent most of her time and examined their new roommate. “Are you going to be able to get us anything for her? We need antiseptic and bandages for that head wound.”
“How does she look?” Belinda called.
“Beautiful. Long blond hair that should hide the scar. Her breathing and pulse are good. You did a nice job cleaning her, Igor. Let’s see if she wakes up.”
“I’ll steal some clothing and things for you. I have to go out again to find a replacement for her.”
Belinda groped her way over to me. “Don’t Igor, please.”
“Master will kill me if I don’t. I’m ready for that, but what would happen to you?”
Belinda frowned for a minute. “I guess we’d die of thirst.”
“Assuming the rats don’t get us,” Frieda said. “I read a book about that once. I hope I black out first. It’s not like I could stop them.”
Frieda was the result of Master’s dabbling in spinal cord surgery. The girls and I took good care of her, spending hours every day bathing and massaging her, and working the muscles of her limbs. We wouldn’t give up on the former gymnast. I knelt on the floor next to her and combed her hair with my fingers. “I must go. If I fail him tonight, Master will do horrible things to me, and then he’ll put me in the furnace. If it would help you, I’d jump in myself, right now.”
“I think you would, wouldn’t you? Well, go do what you must. Hopefully you’ll find a way to overpower him, and then we can all get out of here.”
She blinked back a tear, and kissed my hand when I held it to her. It was her way of telling me she understood.
Guilt ruined the farewell kiss from Sharon and the tight hug from Belinda. In my cell, I dressed in my hunting clothes for the evening, nondescript dark things a young man would wear on an autumn night, a backpack with supplies ready. With my hoodie and glasses, I could get close before someone knew what I was.
In my car, I looked back at the castle. Master watched from the tower window.
Halloween was the one time I could be in public without a disguise. Master always gave me light duty that day and encouraged me to go out and enjoy myself. I wouldn’t run. I couldn’t tell anyone what we did, because Master would know. He’d find me and hide me from the police, doing things to me that would never happen in the worst prison for as long as it suited him to keep me alive.
Halloween was my brief escape from Hell.
Earning the privilege of surviving to enjoy my holiday would take work and luck this year. Master’s horoscope told him that was the best night for success with his insane work, since the planned experiment would be number thirteen in his dastardly series of studies on young women, his lucky number.
I drove to a club near the university campus.
“Hey, Igor!” said a kid in killer clown make-up.
“How do you know my name?”
“What else would a dude call himself tonight in that costume? Hunchback and everything, like in old movies. Very nice.”
“What kind of crowd does this place draw?”
The kid gave me a sly look. “What are you into?’
“Young.”
“Whoa, dude, that’s so wrong! Like, how young? The chicks in there are legal. They’re all at least eighteen, ‘cuz it’s a campus crowd.”
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