Chapter 8

After sending the text message to the group, informing them that the plan was in motion, Endora set down her phone and regarded the unconscious Mr. Messina. Despite lying on a dusty concrete floor, he seemed oddly at peace. His strong facial features were completely relaxed, and he appeared almost angelic in repose. She bent to feel his pulse, finding his heart rhythm strong and steady, and he breathed normally.

Assured of his health and safety, she went upstairs to wash up in the girl’s restroom. She hardly recognized the person she saw in the mirror. A frightful image. Her dark hair hung in stringy clumps, glued together and pasted to her head with mud and leaves, and her pale face was streaked with dirt. The t-shirt she’d thrown on was a ruin of dark stains, with a gaping tear in the front where it had snagged a tree root. Her dark jeans, her favorite pair, which she had artfully distressed by opening the knees and fringing the cuffs, were now tattered beyond repair because a large flap of denim had been torn back to expose her shin.

Endora looked into her own eyes, but felt no sympathy for the creature staring back from the mirror. She looked like garbage. She was garbage. Something contemptible. The same unseen force that had compelled her into the basement, now moved her to undress and throw away her clothes. To strip bare this worthless animal. When the last of her wet, stained garments went into the trash bin, she turned to stare at her naked form, and her lips turned down in a disapproving frown.

“Just look at you. What a disgusting beast you are.” Her hollow speech and chilling laughter echoed off the white tile walls, reverberating in her ears like the voice of another. “You’re absolutely hideous!”

Wanting to see what she looked like under all that grime, Endora tried to rinse herself off in one of the bathroom sinks, but it was far too small to properly get the job done. Then she remembered there was a mop sink in the utility closet. Perfect. The place where dirty mop water was disposed of would be a far more appropriate spot for her to bathe.

She had to hunch down in the filthy sink’s shallow pan, using the spray head on the wall to rinse herself off until the water circling the drain ran clear. With the blades of her hands, she squeegeed off as much water as she could, then blotted herself dry with handfuls of paper towels.

Returning to the girl’s restroom, she closely studied the she-beast in the mirror with a harsh, critical eye, now fully revealed in all its horrid glory beneath the glare of bright, unforgiving lights.

Awful. Simply awful. Just looking at you makes me want to puke, you know that? Look at your saggy, lopsided tits and those huge, ugly nipples. She laughed again. Are you sixteen or sixty? And god, you’re so fucking fat and out of shape. Look at that belly. She bared her teeth. I said, look at it, you disgusting hog!

Her vision blurred as tears brimmed in her eyes.

Oh, that’s it. Cry like a little bitch, you fucking slag. You worthless piece of dog shit. Look around, loser. No one cares. No one gives a fuck about you. You’re fucking scum.

Tears broke loose to stream down her cheeks, and she stifled a sob.

No one loves you, and no one is ever going to fuck you. Not now, not ever. Just look at yourself. Who could ever be turned on by something as wretched and nauseating as you? You’ve got one chance, and he’s down there in the basement. You know what to do. You’ve been planning it for months, so what are you waiting for? It’s now or never.

Endora sniffled and wiped away her tears. Her reflection stared back at her, and the longer it did, the angrier she became.

“Fuck you, you stupid, ugly cunt!”

She spat on the mirror, then turned on her heel and stalked purposefully to the basement stairs.

In the storage room, she collected a thick sheet of charcoal gray polyurethane foam and a light blue moving blanket, from which she fashioned a makeshift mattress. In a box on the shelf, she found a spool of LED strip lighting, which she strung from the giant machines like a garland of string lights. Finally, she brought the flight case from the storage room and set it on the floor next to Mr. Messina.

He was heavy and she was weak, but with great effort, she managed to roll him onto the foam mattress and maneuver him onto his back. Next she removed his clothes, neatly folding each garment she took off. When he was naked, she took a moment to appreciate him. She’d seen him naked before, many times, so she knew what to expect, but that had been on video. This was real life. Flesh and blood.

Kneeling beside him, Endora poked his chest. First with a single finger, then with several, astonished by how firm it was. She poked his abdomen next, and there was hardly any give. He was a solid mass of muscle. Next she placed her hand on his flaccid cock and gripped it. The first dick she’d ever touched. Even though it was soft, it still impressed her, but she wanted to see it hard.

From the flight case, she removed the cocktail of vasodilators. Four complementary treatments that could be combined for the desired effect. She was uncertain if it would work on an unconscious man, the literature had been unclear, but she saw no reason why it wouldn’t. She began with the papaverine and phentolamine, injecting his penis along the shaft on both sides. Then she sat back to wait.

It took fifteen minutes for his large cock to swell to its full size, and the impressive results were worth the wait. The drug cocktail had done its work and then some. Veiny, red, and turgid, perfectly shaped in every regard, his gorgeous cock throbbed with every beat of his strong heart. It stood very nearly upright, angled backward only slightly over his pelvis, and she noticed from the side that it had a slight upward hook to it that was hardly noticeable unless you viewed it from the proper angle.

When she touched it, the heat radiating from his skin shocked her at first. Then it stirred in her a memory, and all at once the temperature felt all too familiar. A particular sensation against her fingertips. Blood, warmed to the body’s core temperature, rapidly flowing to a person’s genitals when they were aroused. She’d experienced that very same heat between her own legs just hours before in her bed, and feeling it now in Mr. Messina’s cock had an immediate effect on her own arousal.

Taking care to be gentle, she slid her hand up and down. The thin skin over his shaft felt soft and smooth, and moved with her hand, independent of the firm, spongy flesh underneath. When she looked at his face to gauge his reaction, she was disappointed to find it expressionless, but of course it was. He was deep under, in a dreamless unconsciousness, unaware of anything happening to him.

Undeterred by his lack of responsiveness, and emboldened by her control over him, Endora leaned over to put the broad, domed head into her mouth and closed her lips around it. Her first time doing that as well. Using her hand and her mouth together, she stroked and sucked his cock, then used her other hand to massage his scrotum. The way she’d seen in the porn videos she watched. She let her imagination take over, and it didn’t take long for her to lose herself in graphic imaginings of Mr. Messina gripping her hair and sliding his large cock repeatedly into her open mouth.

With every imagined thrust, she took him deeper, and began to emit small, grunting noises from the back of her throat. Her head bobbed faster and faster. Soon she felt the tip of his cock touch the back of her throat, and the sensation of it made her groan. She let go of his shaft and braced herself over him as she forced her head down to take him as deep as she could.

She wanted to make him cum. She wanted to taste his semen flowing into her mouth. She wanted to swallow it all. Despite knowing what she would find, she cracked open her eyes to look at him and see how close he was, but just as before, his face was placid. The stark reality of it caused her to slow down, and finally stop. His stiff dick was shiny, coated in her saliva, and she looked at it longingly and with deep regret.

Her eyes flicked to the open case. To the vial of flumazenil. It was a benzodiazepine antagonist. An antidote to the powerful sedative she’d injected into his neck. She could administer a small dose. Just enough to bring him back to a state of semi-lucidity, but not enough to fully awaken him.

They bought the flumazenil as insurance, in case he overdosed on the flunitrazepam or, god forbid, refused to wake up at all. But it carried with it a different set of risks. She could accidentally give him too much, in which case he might wake up enough to overpower her. There was also a small chance it could induce seizures in him, especially if the concentration levels were too high.

The Robotics Club had spent countless nights practicing with each other. Administering tiny doses at a time of flunitrazepam and flumazenil, then logging the effects. There was a reason anesthesiologists made so much money, and part of it was due to the inherent dangers involved when administering such powerful drugs. The wrong dose, an undiagnosed allergy, or any number of other, unforeseen factors could easily lead to seizure, heart failure, or death.

They’d been as meticulous and careful as they could be, employing the scientific methodologies that had been drilled into their heads for years at Scirewood. Mrs. Nair, especially, had been a fountain of knowledge, particularly with respect to clinical techniques, and the eight girls taught themselves as much about pharmacology and anesthesiology over the past three months as any med school student at a top tier research university could ever hope to learn.

She knew what to do, and she knew she could do it.

Her decision made, Endora drew several cc’s of five percent dextrose solution into a syringe, then added a small dose of the flumazenil. An amount they had already worked out ahead of time by estimating Mr. Messina’s body mass and composition. Then she prepared another of the thin syringes with a second dose of the flunitrazepam, this time in solution, just in case she needed to resedate him.

From the flight case, she unwrapped an alcohol wipe to clean the bend of his arm, then carefully inserted the needle into his cephalic vein to administer most of the flumazenil solution, keeping some in reserve in case it wasn’t enough. With the spare syringe of flunitrazepam ready in her other hand, she waited for the antidote to take effect.

She didn’t wait long. A few minutes later, Mr. Messina began to stir. First his eyes fluttered, then he moaned softly. Endora tightened her grip on the backup syringe, prepared to sedate him again if he started moving too quickly or showed signs of awareness, but he remained in a groggy, semi-lucid state.

She stroked his forehead. “Mike,” she said softly. “Mike, can you hear me.”

It was the first time she’d ever called him by his first name, and to do so was a thrill. He responded to her voice with small movements of his head and a wordless groan. She put her hand in his.

“Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

His fingers tightened around hers, but only just barely. She leaned over him and peeled back his eyelid. His pupil was tiny. He was just barely on the cusp of consciousness. She debated whether to give him the rest of the antidote, but decided against it. Better to keep him a little bit under than risk awakening him too much. She set the sedative on top of the case to keep it close at hand and moved her face closer to his.

“Mike, can you talk? Say something.”

His lips moved, but what came out of his mouth could hardly be considered speech. More a semi-articulated string of mumbled gibberish, but it was enough. He was reactive, which was what she wanted. To test how reactive, she wrapped her fingers around his impossibly stiff cock and began to stroke it. A low, slow groan escaped his lips and Endora smiled.