Pt. IX: Three Weeks Later
Jake Turner sat on the sofa staring vacantly at the TV, the sound turned off. Empty beer cans littered the coffee table in front of him. An ashtray overflowed with butts. His face was bearded. He hadn't shaved for three weeks.
He was about to pop another can, when he heard the mailman drop something in the box.
It was a small package. When he opened it, there was a video tape. The label affixed to the side said, The Necrophiles Have Your Wife.
Not wanting to, but unable to help himself, he slid the cartridge in the VCR.
He knew it was Janet's scream even before anything visual appeared on the screen.
A door was open, and he saw a muscular, blond man shove Janet into a room full of old, bald men. They obviously weren't worried about being recognized, for none of them wore masks or disguises of any kind. He could tell by the expensive looking gold watches and diamond rings, they sported, and well-fed looks, that these were wealthy and, no doubt, powerful men.
The door closed and Janet, in her skimpy, black dress, was left alone among them, unsuccessfully trying to fend off their groping, clutching hands. Laughing, a couple of the old geezers grabbed her. Jake could hear her pleading with them. Tears fell from her eyes. The beer can imploded in his hand. But there was nothing he could do now. What he was seeing was history. He ground his teeth together, crying out in rage and frustration at his impotence. Was there no God in heaven who gave a shit what happened to his creatures?
Working behind her, one of the old bastards started unzipping her dress. Frantically, eyes wide with fear, she tried to turn and stop him with one hand, while holding the hem of her short dress down with the other, but too many hands worked against her. One of them yanked the front down revealing her medium sized, well shaped breasts. Others ripped the taped-on transmitter from her body.
"Oh, my God," Jake moaned.
He watched in horror as Janet tried to cover her breasts with her hands, but old, wrinkled hands grabbed her wrists and pulled them away. The old man behind her finished unzipping the dress. It fell down to her hips. She twisted from side to side, her breasts jiggling profusely as she attempted to avoid pinching, poking fingers. One grinning old man grabbed a pink nipple between his thumb and forefinger and stretched it out as far as it would go. Janet's screams filled the room. There was a popping-ripping sound as the dress was jerked loose, falling down to her ankles.
Wearing only thong-backed panties and her spiked heels, Janet's struggles increased dramatically, for it was apparent, now, that they would soon have her naked.
What they would do to her then, Jake didn't want to think about.
Now aroused to a fever pitch by the sight of her near nudity, they crudely yanked away the skimpy covering of silk, leaving red marks on her totally naked body.
Two men held her arms while two others grabbed her legs at the back of her knees and raised her off the ground, spreading her legs apart.
Jake didn't want to watch what was bound to happen, but he couldn't look away. It was as if the TV were a magnet drawing him into the depths of the depravity it was revealing.
A fat man with an enormous cock, fully erect, got between her legs. The camera did a close up of Janet's face as the guy entered her. Her eyes suddenly went wide, her mouth slack. Jake could hear her gasp sharply several times. Slowly, the camera moved down to her heaving tits, then farther down to the firm, undulating belly, and then farther to her--
Jake couldn't believe it. Her cunt had been shaved completely clean! When had that happened? And why? Had that dyke FBI agent shaved it? And why had Janet let her?
