“And how long is my stay?”
“That all depends on you.” He stood up and cleared a spot of the edge of the desk, sat in front of her. “We’re giving you something in exchange for your participation in our research.”
“What’s that?”
“When you leave here, you’re going to be thin.”
How bizarre that he believed this was acceptable payment for torture. “That’s the deal? I’m going through this shit because you’ve put me on some kind of diet?”
He returned to his seat, leaned back in the chair. “Well… yes. You can leave once you’ve lost the weight. This is why we accept larger women into the program. Nothing too big though—gets in the way of… research.”
“Did it ever occur to you morons that gang-raping a woman would be more traumatic than her carrying around extra weight? What kind of justification is that, anyway? You’re out of your mind. And did it ever occur to you that some women like the way they look? Some people are happy with the way they are.”
“Hell no. And certainly not you. You’re in classic denial, Zoey. You were investigated before you were brought here. You’ve been miserable, and we can make you happy. We can make you thin.”
Investigated? When? They picked her up shortly after her conversation with Mel. When the hell had they researched her?
He must have noticed the confusion on her face. “Oh, did you think Mel’s approaching you was a coincidence?”
Dry tongue slid across dry lips. Tears threatened to fall. “But it doesn’t work that way…” she whispered. “I’m happy the way I am. I want to go home.”
“You are home, Zoey. And it really is that simple. We’ve had hundreds of test subjects come through here. Very few were disappointed with the results. Jesus, most women will do anything to be thin. Do you know that a study showed that formerly overweight women would rather lose a limb than gain back the weight?”
Palmed away tears that trickled toward her mouth. “What about the others?”
“What others?”
“The few that you said were disappointed in the results.”
“Oh. They’re—around.” He shook his head. “We’re getting off track. How do you feel about being overweight, Zoey?”
Oh, but was this a trick question? Even if she hated being fat, it didn’t mean she wanted to be fucked thin. “I’m not that big.”
“True, but I know you hate it. I’ve seen your file. We may take extreme measures, but we get results. Our guests are happy. Our overweight guests lose weight; our corporate clients get their research.”
“Corporate clients?”
“Absolutely. This is big business, Zoey. Sexual research is conducted for all aspects of the industry—condoms, lubricants, sex toys, magazines, clothing, the list goes on. Haven’t you ever wondered how they came up with results for an orgasm study?
That was one of my favorites, by the way.”
Nausea repaid a visit, stronger than before, inciting her stomach to riot. She closed her eyes, waiting for the feeling to pass.
“We’re done for today. I wanted you to have some insight into this, Zoey. Maybe you’ll be more cooperative now that you understand the program. I want you to enjoy your stay here.” He lowered his head, studied the papers on his desk.
Session apparently over.
She followed the guard down the stairs.
Back in the cafeteria, James motioned for her to sit with him at his table. “Have a good visit?”
Reluctantly, she sat across from him and stared at her plate. Runny eggs and burnt toast made for a less than appealing breakfast.
“You don’t seem happy, Zoey.”
Her fork clattered on the plate, and she looked up at him, unsure if she was allowed to speak. But his eyes were transfixed on hers, as if anticipating her response.
“This place,” she said through clenched teeth, “is a festering cesspool. This has been the worst experience of my life.”
Tilted his head and lowered his eyes, now addressing the breasts clearly outlined through the fabric of her shirt. “So dramatic, Zoey,” he whispered, glanced up again. “There have only been a handful of women I’ve been really attracted to. I was hoping you would enjoy being here. Spending time with me… how can I change your mind?”
“You can’t.” Her gaze matched his, unwavering, solid, hers aflame with hatred.
“I can try. You’re special, Zoey. Maybe someday you’ll feel the same about me.” He got up and walked across the room.
She chewed a piece of toast. “Not a chance in hell…” she mumbled, deciding he was more delusional and psychotic than she had given him credit for.
A few minutes later he was back. “Come with me,” he said.
Jill, Kim, and several other women Zoey didn’t know by name followed James to Room Eight. The walls were mirrored from ceiling to floor, the floor foam padding. Track lighting adorning the perimeter was soft, calming.
“This is what I call the touchy-feely room. It pisses me off.” He laughed, and traced the corners of his mouth with his finger and thumb. “But I suppose it’s a breather for you ladies. Robin, you’ve done this room before, right?”
Robin, the guard, nightstick on her belt, was small in stature but powerfully built, like a pit-bull. Her long black hair was pulled behind her ears and tied in a ponytail. “Yes, I have.”
James left. Another guard stood vigil by the closed door.
“Shirts off,” Robin said.
No one hesitated. T-shirts were removed and tossed to the side.
Robin leaned against the wall. “Everyone pair up.”
Zoey’s partner was Jill. Thinner than Zoey, with apple-sized breasts, large, dark nipples. Jill’s nudity embarrassed Zoey, the close proximity of her breasts, the sweat shining on her skin. The other women didn’t wait for further instructions and embraced, began to explore one another.
Zoey blushed, looked away from her partner. This was something she’d never done before, had never even considered. There’d been one drunken frat party years ago where she’d kissed another woman, but it was just something she’d wanted to try.
“Lay down,” Robin told her. She bent Zoey’s knees, her feet flat on the floor. Took Jill’s hands, laid them on Zoey’s body. “Explore her,” Robin said. “You’ve done this before. Touch her breasts, caress her.”
Jill obeyed but worked mechanically, eyes squeezed tight, face turned toward the floor.
“You’re doing it wrong. She’s a guest, like you. This is your chance to bring comfort to another prisoner’s life, make her feel good, feel some real happiness. Are you willing to steal that from her?”
Jill started to cry, turned away from Zoey.
“Jill, knock it off. Get it right, or you know what’ll happen.”
Using the nightstick, Robin tapped Zoey’s knees, spreading them.
Jill sighed, and with a hesitant touch began to caress Zoey, to massage her breasts, her ribcage, fingertips tracing delicate patterns on her stomach and abdomen, stroked the tender flesh between her legs. She leaned over, suckled a nipple, trailed her tongue along the same route her hands had traveled.
Zoey closed her eyes and pretended Jill was Barry. He’d dumped her when he said she’d gotten too fat, but that didn’t matter now. Barry with the puppy-dog eyes and hint of facial hair that never grew no matter how hard he tried. Using him in this way was poetic justice for the way he had treated her. Feminine fingers probing her body belonged to Barry. That tongue, laying slow kisses along her stomach, dipping into her belly button, glistening traces of spit on her inner thighs—all Barry. His hands spreading her legs, soft lips separating her clefts. She tilted her pelvis, hot breath on her clit, moist tongue probing, licking, sucking. Arched her back, thrust her hips to the eager mouth, warm wet lips expertly bringing her to climax, exploring deeper and deeper until she came, until she shuddered and spasmed and came again.