Chapter 34: Bound By Law: Part 4 - Diarrhea of Degradation

Sylvia half passed out, half asleep, drifted in and out of consciousness for many hours. Her body ached, and exhaustion weighed heavily on her as she lay there, too drained to move. A couple of hours later, Officer Emeka quietly approached her cell to check on her condition. Having undergone basic medical training, he knew enough to assess that she was not in any immediate danger of dying. Satisfied that she was stable, he stepped back without a word.

Meanwhile, the fat man, who slept through Sylvia’s ordeal, finally stirred from his drunken slumber. Groggy and disoriented, the fat man began to blink his eyes open, but before he could make sense of his surroundings, Sergeant Mwanga’s voice boomed from the hallway, cutting through the silence.

“Emeka, get him out of there,” Mwanga commanded.

Emeka, without hesitation, yanked open the cell door and pulled the fat man to his feet. “C’mon, get up, you’re done sleepin’, man,” he muttered, dragging the overweight man out of the cell.

The fat man, now fully awake and taking in the sight of Sylvia’s naked, limp body, started to grin. “Hey, who’s that naked white woman, eh? She’s gorgeous ... Come on, let me stay in there wit’ her,” he yelled, leering at Sylvia’s unconscious form.

Mwanga, sitting back at his desk with an air of calm authority, looked at the fat man with cold disdain. “No, you fucker,” he snapped. “You’re under arrest. If I were you, I’d behave unless you want to be interrogated with the electric dance machine until you pass out, just like that woman in there.”

The fat man’s smirk quickly faded as sobriety took hold. He realized that this wasn’t a joke, and now that the fog of alcohol was clearing, it dawned on him that he was in real trouble. Wisely, he shut his mouth and lowered his head, following Emeka’s lead without further protest.

Emeka pushed him to get up on the interrogation podium, his massive body wobbling slightly. He was only in his pants, his shirt long forgotten, perhaps left behind at the bar or tossed aside somewhere during his night of heavy drinking. His bare chest gleamed with sweat under the harsh light of the station.

Mwanga didn’t waste any time with pleasantries. “I know who you are, so we’ll skip the formalities,” he said, his voice steady and sharp. The fat man knew better than to argue. He was well-known in these parts as the owner of a pig farm on the outskirts of town—a shabby, dirty place. Despite the squalor, the man had money, thanks to his farm.

This wasn’t just any pig farm. The fat man was known for a special breeding technique passed down from his father, and his father’s father before that. The secret lay in training the male pigs to become so horny that they could breed on command. It was a strange talent, but it kept his farm running non-stop. He had six massive male pigs, always ready to mate, and three dozen females constantly birthing piglets, which he either ate, sold, or raised for future breeding. It was an unusual operation, but that’s how he stayed one of the few men on the impoverished island who had enough money to eat and drink whatever, and whenever he pleased.

Mwanga, however, had no intention of going through a real interrogation, much less torturing a man with money in his pocket. He leaned back in his chair, giving the fat man a knowing look. “What will it be? Prison, or what do you suggest?”

The fat man swallowed hard, considering his options before replying. “Five piglets,” he offered quickly.

Mwanga scoffed. “No. Ten. Five for me, five for Officer Emeka.”

The fat man hesitated but knew better than to push back. “Okay, ten piglets,” he agreed, nodding. Then, after a pause, he added, “But ... you keep me here for three days, I assume you gonna have to send that white woman to prison after three days?”

Mwanga caught the implication and let out a dry laugh. “You fat, horny bastard.” He considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “Alright, ten piglets. And you can stay with that sex-crazed white whore ... for three full days.”

The fat man’s eyes lit up. “She’s a sex-crazed whore?” he asked eagerly, his mind already drifting into twisted fantasies.

Emeka, grinning from ear to ear, chimed in. “Yes, man! She already got a nickname from the town folks. ‘Ass spreader.’ Hehehe...”

Mwanga stood up, clapping his hands together. “Alright, let’s go for dinner. Your treat, fat man. We’ll fill you in on the details over some food.”

With that, the two policemen and their hefty prisoner headed for the station’s pick-up truck. This time, the fat man was not bound or tied down. He climbed into the back, sitting casually on the truck bed as Emeka drove off. Mwanga sat down on the truck bed with him, and the two men laughed and chatted as they made their way to the local diner—a stark contrast to how they had treated the white woman earlier. Unlike the innocent white woman, left behind and abandoned helpless and penniless, this man had pigs to offer, and on this island, that made all the difference.

By the time they returned to the station, the sun had long dipped below the horizon, casting the island in thick darkness. Emeka turned on the single bulb that hung over the police table, its dim yellow light barely illuminating the space. Mwanga reached for two other switches, and bright lights clicked on, casting harsh beams onto the cage where Sylvia was being held. The stark contrast between the light and the surrounding shadows made the small, enclosed area feel even more isolating.

To their surprise, they found Sylvia crouched down in the farthest corner of the cage, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. She pressed herself as close as possible to the wire fence, as if its thin metal bars could somehow protect her. It was a futile attempt, but Mwanga assumed it provided her with a false sense of security.

Her head jerked up as soon as she heard them enter. Her face was a mess of dried and fresh tears, her eyes swollen from crying for hours. Wet streaks still glistened on her pale cheeks, telling the story of her despair. She looked up at the three men, her wide eyes filled with a mix of fear and desperation, but she said nothing, just sobbed softly. The sight of her, vulnerable and broken, stirred something in all three of them, but it wasn’t pity.

They exchanged glances, each one thinking the same thing—gosh, she’s so pretty, like a movie star. Even in her disheveled, tear-stained state, there was no denying her beauty. It seemed to only amplify her vulnerability, which in turn fueled the twisted excitement in their minds.

Emeka approached the cage with a smirk, pulling out a rusty key from his pocket. The lock clicked as he unlocked the door, and it creaked open. The fat man, eager and impatient, ducked down to squeeze his large frame through the narrow opening. His body was too big for the door, and he almost had to turn sideways to fit through. His breath was heavy and labored, but his grin was wide, anticipation gleaming in his eyes.

Sylvia’s eyes widened with terror as she realized what was happening. She scrambled backward, pressing herself harder against the wire fence, her voice trembling as she stammered, “No ... no ... please ... p-please ... I ... I can’t stay with him ... please...” Panic overtook her, her words spilling out in desperate, broken gasps.

Emeka, standing just outside the cage, leaned in with a mocking smile. “Hey, you see any other jail cells around here? There’s no woman’s or man’s jail, just a cage for criminals. Sharing or not sharing is not your choice.” He locked the door behind the fat man with a loud, final click, sealing her fate.

The fat man moved toward her, his heavy footsteps making the floor creak. His grin widened as he saw her trembling, but that didn’t stop him. Sylvia tried to shrink away, but there was nowhere left to go. Her back hit the fence, and she whimpered as the fat man reached out, grabbing her ankle with a rough yank. With ease, he dragged her toward the middle of the cage.

Sylvia screamed in terror, her voice high-pitched and desperate. “Please! Please, don’t let him do this to me! Please!”

But her cries fell on deaf ears. Mwanga, watching from his chair with a sadistic grin, laughed loudly. “Hey, lady! You commit a crime, you’re in jail. Might as well have the full jail experience, eh? Hehehe...”

The two policemen stood just outside the cage, watching with satisfied smirks as the fat man hovered over Sylvia in the center of the small enclosure. The fat man crouched over her, his bulky frame casting a shadow, while the officers leaned casually against the bars, their laughter mixing with Sylvia’s desperate sobs. To them, this was nothing more than entertainment, completely detached from the horror unfolding in front of them, their indifference palpable as they watched the fat man prepare to take his twisted advantage.

The fat man wasted no time once Sylvia lay trembling beneath him. His thick fingers fumbled with the waistband of his pants, unfastening them with an eagerness that made Sylvia’s heart race with panic. Her breathing quickened as she watched him push the pants down past his knees, exposing his large, sweaty body. The cold air of the cage did nothing to temper the heat radiating from him, and his predatory gaze locked onto Sylvia’s helpless form.

“No ... no...” Sylvia whimpered, her voice barely audible, choking on her sobs. She tried to twist away, but her body felt frozen, paralyzed by fear. Her hands scrambled to cover herself, but it was useless. Her mind screamed for escape, but the cage offered no refuge, the metal bars mocking her desperation.

The fat man’s heavy body pressed down on her, his weight crushing as he climbed on top of her. Sylvia gasped, the air forced from her lungs as his bulk pinned her to the cold floor. Her entire body tensed as she felt his hot breath against her neck, and the stench of sweat filled her senses, overwhelming her.

“No, please ... please stop...” she begged, her voice breaking. Tears streamed down her face, but her cries were met with nothing but laughter from the two policemen outside the cage.

Emeka leaned in closer, grinning as he watched. “Ain’t no stopping now, woman,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “This is what happens in jail.”

Sylvia’s pleas grew more frantic as the fat man’s hands roughly gripped her, his touch invasive and harsh. Her body recoiled under him, but the more she squirmed, the tighter his grip became. She turned her head to the side, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to block out the horror, trying to disconnect from what was happening. But she couldn’t escape the feeling of his flesh pressing into hers, his weight, his smell, his relentless presence crushing her spirit.

The sound of the policemen’s laughter echoed through the room, indifferent and cruel, as the fat man’s assault continued. Sylvia’s sobs came in heaving gasps, her body convulsing with each desperate breath. She felt utterly powerless, trapped in a nightmare that she couldn’t wake up from, her cries lost in the cold, uncaring night.

Sylvia was the embodiment of fear and submission, her natural instincts always driving her to avoid confrontation, no matter the situation. She wasn’t the brave heroine seen in movies, fighting back with fiery defiance. Instead, her protests, though genuine, felt weak, almost futile, as if she knew deep down there was no escaping what was about to happen. Her resistance wasn’t because she was okay with what was happening; in fact, she hated it more than anything. But she was so terrified, so utterly paralyzed by fear, that even her attempts at resisting seemed half-hearted.

The fat man, easily overpowering her with his sheer size, grasped both of Sylvia’s delicate wrists in his large right hand, pinning them above her head with little effort. His other hand roamed her body, groping her breasts roughly. Sylvia winced as his thick fingers dug into her soft, pale skin. Her large breasts, which had often been the subject of unwanted stares and comments, now became the focus of his twisted pleasure. His enormous hand squeezed and kneaded her flesh as though it was his to claim, his touch vile and violating.

Beneath him, Sylvia lay helpless, her legs forced apart by the weight of his body. Her thighs trembled on either side of his hips as she felt him shift, positioning himself to enter her. Her breath caught in her throat, fear constricting her chest as she realized what was coming next. She squeezed her eyes shut, whispering desperate, broken pleas.

“Please ... no...” she whimpered, her voice barely above a whisper. But her protests fell on deaf ears.

With a grunt of satisfaction, the fat man pushed himself inside her. Sylvia’s body stiffened at the invasive sensation. She felt him slide into her, filling her completely in one swift, smooth thrust. There was no resistance, no struggle for him to penetrate her. She was already wet, the moisture making it easy for him to enter her without effort.

The fat man paused, clearly taken aback. A grin spread across his face as he turned his head toward the officers outside the cage. “Hey, officers, this white bitch is all wet! Don’t believe her lying protest,” he called out, his voice full of amusement.

Emeka, leaning against the bars with a smug expression, responded with a laugh, “Told ya, she’s a sex-crazed whore.”

Sylvia’s mind reeled. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Her body had betrayed her in the worst way imaginable. She hated herself. Her Hyper-Libido Disorder, a condition she had always struggled with, was now her worst enemy. Despite her terror, despite the horror of the situation, her body had responded to the fat man’s touch with eager arousal. Her vagina was wet, slick, and ready, even though her mind screamed in agony. It was a cruel twist of fate, and she despised herself for it.

Her heart pounded in her chest as the fat man began to move, each thrust filling her with both physical sensation and emotional torment. She felt trapped inside her own body, hating the way it responded against her will. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her sobs muted and helpless. She wanted to fight, to scream, to make it stop, but all she could do was endure, paralyzed by fear and shame, her body giving the fat man exactly what he wanted.

All the while, the two officers outside the cage watched, laughing and making crude comments, indifferent to Sylvia’s suffering. To them, it was just another display of power, another moment of entertainment at the expense of the vulnerable woman trapped beneath the weight of a man who had no regard for her pain.

Sylvia’s body betrayed her in ways she could never control, a prison within itself. The cruel irony of her condition—Hyper-Libido Disorder—meant that her body responded to touch with a sensitivity so heightened, it seemed to defy her mind’s desperate pleas for it to stop. She hated it, despised it, but no amount of self-loathing or internal resistance could silence the physical reactions that consumed her.

As she lay beneath the fat man, pinned by his weight and trapped in her own submissiveness, her fear and humiliation only seemed to amplify the unwanted sensations that surged through her. Her skin was cold, her mind distant, but her body? Her body was warm, pulsing, alive with sensations she wished she could numb. The roughness of the fat man’s touch, the invasion of his body—everything should have repelled her, made her body seize in resistance, but instead, it responded with an unsettling eagerness.

Each movement sent jolts through her core, a deep and involuntary response to the physical act. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts, her face flushed with a mixture of shame and unwanted arousal. She could feel herself nearing that edge, the building pressure within her body growing unbearable. It was something she couldn’t stop, no matter how much she wanted to. Her mind screamed at her to resist, to fight it, but her body only drew her closer to that inevitable climax.

It didn’t take long—so much quicker than she wanted, quicker even than the fat man. Her body betrayed her again, reaching orgasm with a force that only deepened her shame. She gasped, her entire body tensing as the pleasure hit her, a moment of physical release she despised even as it overtook her.

The fat man, grunting in satisfaction, followed soon after, his body shaking as he released inside her. Sylvia felt it—his presence, his weight, the grotesque merging of her humiliation with his pleasure—and then something worse. Her body, so overwhelmed by the conflicting sensations, responded in another uncontrollable way. She felt the surge of liquid, her muscles tightening, and before she could stop it, she was squirting and urinating at the same time, the fluids mixing with his as his body was still inside her.

She froze, mortified, her face burning with shame. The fat man, still panting, paused in shock, looking down at her with a mixture of confusion and disgust. His satisfaction was replaced by irritation, the unexpected mess surprising him.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, sitting up slightly, his eyes wide. “What the hell is this?”

Outside the cage, Emeka burst into laughter, nudging Sergeant Mwanga with his elbow. “Look, Sergeant, she’s peeing again! This white woman’s a real mess.”

Sylvia couldn’t even speak. She couldn’t defend herself, couldn’t explain. Her mind was clouded with self-hatred, her humiliation complete. All she could do was lie there, her body still twitching in the aftermath of an orgasm she never wanted, as the policemen outside mocked her, indifferent to the agony playing out inside her mind. The torment wasn’t just physical; it was psychological, the deepest kind of suffering—knowing that her body, even in the worst moments, would betray her over and over again.

Afterward, Sylvia lay motionless on the rough, dirt ground of the cage, the gritty earth clinging to her skin, mixing with the dampness of sweat and other fluids that only deepened her sense of degradation. The fat man had finally pulled away, his heavy body leaving her side, but the imprint of his weight still pressed into her, both physically and emotionally. She curled into herself, her knees drawn up, her arms limp at her sides, as if any movement might shatter what little remained of her sense of self.

The dirt beneath her was cold and uneven, small stones digging into her bare skin, but Sylvia barely noticed. The overwhelming disgust she felt within drowned out any pain the ground might inflict. Her body still trembled, not from cold, but from the residual shock of everything it had endured, and worse, how it had responded.

Her mind raced, trying to make sense of the chaos. She felt so violated, so utterly exposed, but the worst part wasn’t just what had been done to her—it was what her own body had done. Her Hyper-Libido Disorder, that cruel, invisible affliction, had betrayed her in the most humiliating way. She could still feel the lingering echoes of the orgasm that had ripped through her against her will, her body reacting in pleasure even while her mind was screaming in horror. And then, the uncontrollable release afterward—the wetness of her urine mingling with everything else, soaking the dirt beneath her, leaving her feeling more ashamed than ever.

She hated herself for it. Every tear that had fallen, every tremor that still shook her, was laced with that deep, gnawing self-loathing. How could her body react like that, to such horror, to such pain? The fat man had been right—her body had welcomed him in, despite her desperate, pleading protests. It had been wet, ready, traitorous.

The fat man had rolled onto his back a few feet away, breathing heavily, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. He had gotten what he wanted. Sylvia, however, was left broken in the dirt, her mind spiraling into deeper despair with each passing second.

Outside the cage, Emeka leaned against the bars, still laughing as he pointed at Sylvia. “See, Sergeant? Told you she’s just a pissin’ mess,” he said, shaking his head with a mix of amusement and disgust. “This white woman’s got more problems than we thought.”

Sergeant Mwanga smirked, giving a small shrug. “Let her be. She ain’t worth more than the dirt she’s lying on,” he muttered, indifferent to her suffering. They turned their attention elsewhere, as if what had just happened was nothing out of the ordinary.

Sylvia, lying in the filth, barely heard them. She was trapped in her own mind, reliving every agonizing second. The mocking laughter from the policemen faded into the background, her vision blurring as fresh tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks. She wanted to move, to clean herself, to find some small measure of dignity, but her body felt heavy, as if the weight of everything that had happened had rooted her to the ground.

She wasn’t just lying on the dirt; she was part of it now, a broken woman, trapped in the shame and filth of her own existence.

As the night dragged on, the fat man’s breathing had slowed, his loud snores filling the small, grimy cage where Sylvia still lay motionless on the dirt ground. Her sobs were soft, barely audible, but her body shook with every breath, curled up on her side next to the man who had just violated her. She felt utterly abandoned, both by the world outside and her own body. The cold air clung to her skin, mingling with the dirt that stuck to her legs and back. Her tears soaked the ground beneath her cheek, mixing with the filth, leaving her feeling more degraded than she ever thought possible.

Mwanga, leaning lazily against the table just outside the cage, glanced over at the fat man. The satisfied grin on the man’s face even while snoring was enough to confirm what Mwanga already knew. He shifted his weight and called out casually, “So, fat man, you ready to go home now?”

The fat man stirred slightly, his snoring interrupted for a brief moment. He grunted as he turned over, his eyes still half-closed, and muttered, “No ... no, I wanna stay. She’s good, man ... real good.” A disgusting chuckle escaped his lips before he drifted back into his heavy slumber.

Mwanga rolled his eyes, not surprised in the slightest. He motioned to Emeka, who was leaning against the wall, picking his teeth with a piece of straw. “Let’s get outta here. We’ve got what we need.”

Emeka straightened up, nodding. “Ain’t no point hangin’ ‘round. He’s happy, and she’s ... well, she’s where she belongs.” His voice was laced with cruel amusement, as if Sylvia’s suffering was little more than an afterthought.

They both gathered their things, the sound of the cage door being locked behind them echoing in the empty room. The two officers walked out into the cool night, their footsteps fading as they left the station. They didn’t care about what was left behind—the broken woman, the snoring fat man, and the unspoken agreement that had turned this night into one of twisted satisfaction for the man in the cage.

As the night wore on, the streets of the town slowly came alive again. It was after dinner now, and groups of teenagers and young men roamed through the narrow, dusty roads, looking for entertainment to fill the hours before dawn. Word had spread earlier in the evening about the white woman locked up in the station—a story too curious for them to ignore.

A few of them snuck toward the police station, keeping their voices low as they approached the open-air cage. The sound of the fat man’s snoring was the first thing they heard, his deep, rhythmic breaths carrying through the quiet night. As they crept closer, their eyes fell on the sight of Sylvia, lying on her side in the dirt. Her body was curled up in a fetal position, her back turned toward the fat man, her bare skin pale and trembling under the dim light.

She was still sobbing quietly, her face half-buried in the ground, tears mixing with the dirt. Her body shook with each soft sob, but she didn’t have the energy to move or defend herself. She was exhausted, both physically and emotionally drained, and all she could do was lie there, trapped in her misery, while the fat man snored behind her, oblivious to the world.

The young men whispered among themselves, snickering as they watched the scene unfold before them. To them, it was a spectacle—a rare and twisted sight of the white woman they had heard about, so far from her world, now reduced to this. One of them leaned in closer to the cage, his breath hot with excitement. “Look at her ... can’t believe she’s still cryin’. Thought she’d be used to it by now.”

Another nudged him, laughing softly. “Guess not. Ain’t nobody gettin’ used to that. But look at the fat man, snorin’ like he just won the lottery.”

They continued to watch, their eyes wide with amusement and curiosity, while Sylvia lay helpless, unaware of the eyes now studying her every move. Her sobs grew softer, more broken, as she tried to block out everything around her—the dirt beneath her, the fat man behind her, and the cruel world outside the cage that had abandoned her to this fate. But she couldn’t escape. Not from this. Not from herself.

And so, she stayed there, sobbing into the dirt, while the night grew darker and colder, and the young men outside continued to whisper and laugh at her misery, their presence a shadow over her already shattered soul.

Sylvia had fallen asleep, exhausted from the relentless torment she had endured throughout the day. Her small frame, trembling even in rest, lay curled on the rough stone floor of the cell, her arms pulled tight to her chest as if they could somehow protect her from the horrors of the world around her. Her breathing was shallow, her face etched with discomfort even in her slumber.

In the corner of the dimly lit room, the fat man stirred. He was enormous, his bulging belly spilling over the waistband of his pants, which lay crumpled beside him. His skin was slick with sweat, shining faintly under the flickering light of the cell. Groaning softly, he pushed himself up to a sitting position and blinked, still groggy from sleep. The sound of distant voices caught his attention. The fat man’s eyes flicked toward the barred door of the cell, and he spotted them—the three men outside, leaning against the metal bars, their eyes locked on Sylvia’s delicate, pale body. Their hands were moving feverishly between their legs, their faces twisted in lust as they watched the beautiful white woman, defenseless and unaware.

The fat man’s lips curled into a vile grin, his uneven teeth glistening as he snickered to himself. “Hehehe ... men, you’re about to see a show,” he muttered, his voice low and throaty, thick with an accent that rolled each word lazily off his tongue.

He reached for his pants, fumbling through the pockets until he pulled out a small jar. It was greasy and well-used, the label peeling, but it didn’t matter to him. He unscrewed the lid and dipped his thick fingers into the cooking oil he had stashed from the restaurant during dinner. With slow, deliberate motions, he smeared the oil over his already engorged penis, coating it until it gleamed under the dim light.

The fat man’s eyes flicked back to Sylvia’s sleeping form. He shifted closer, his heavy body casting a looming shadow over her. Her thin arms were still drawn to her chest, her legs pulled in, but there was no escape for her, not now. With a cruel grunt, he reached down and grabbed her by the shoulders, jerking her limp body onto her belly with one swift motion.

Sylvia gasped, startled from her sleep, her eyes snapping open in panic. Her heart pounded violently in her chest as the reality of her situation crashed down on her all at once. She struggled weakly, trying to pull her arms free, but the fat man was far too strong, his weight oppressive as he pinned her down beneath him. Her legs, still sluggish from sleep, were wrenched apart, her thighs trembling as they were forced wide open.

“N-no ... please...” she whispered, her voice barely audible, quivering with fear. Tears welled up in her eyes, the shame and terror overwhelming her senses.

The fat man merely chuckled in response. His massive body shifted, pressing down heavily on her small frame as he leaned over her, his greasy belly smothering her back. Sylvia’s breath caught in her throat as she felt the cold, oiled tip of his penis pressing against her exposed anus. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying for it to stop, but it didn’t.

Without hesitation, the fat man pushed forward, forcing his thick, oiled penis into her anus. Sylvia’s entire body jolted violently in response, her back arching as a sharp cry of pain escaped her lips. The intrusion was brutal, the oil doing little to dull the agony as her muscles stretched painfully to accommodate his girth. Her fists clenched tightly, nails digging into her palms as her face contorted in a mixture of pain and shame. Tears streamed down her cheeks, falling onto the cold stone beneath her.

She sobbed quietly, her body trembling under the fat man’s weight as he began to thrust into her, his movements slow at first but growing more forceful with each passing second. Sylvia could hear the sickening sounds of the men outside the cell, their laughter and guttural grunts filling the air as they watched the scene unfold. She knew they were still watching, their hands moving rhythmically as they pleasured themselves to her torment.