Three months ago I wrote a letter to the Government, demanding an investigation into my unjust arrest and imprisonment. I received a prompt reply, apologizing for my ordeal and explaining that it was a simple case of mistaken identity. The letter said little else and basically branded me a liar for accusing the prison authorities of condoning torture. I tore up the letter and burned it, but then I cried for a whole week afterwards.

The woman who should have been arrested was Irina Salako, a civil rights activist who has since fled the country. Instead the police arrested me, Irina Vargas, and charged me with organizing a violent demonstration against the President. I told them they'd got the wrong person, that I wasn't Irina Salako, but the policemen swore at me and said I fitted the description: a slim woman of twenty-four with long black hair and grey-green eyes.

In terror and confusion I was thrown into a dark, dank, windowless cell. There I sat alone on the cold floor, shivering in my thin blue dress. After a couple of hours the door opened and four male guards swaggered into the cell. They were big men, all of them swarthy and scruffy. They tore off my dress and grabbed my arms, two of them holding me tightly while the other two took turns to slap my face. I screamed and struggled but the men were too strong, and they just laughed at me. My nose started bleeding but the slaps still continued, even when blood spattered onto my white bra. After thirty or forty hard slaps my face hurt terribly and my head felt dizzy. Chuckling and jeering, the guards threw me onto the floor and kicked me around the cell like a rag-doll, until my arms and legs were covered in bruises. I lay writhing on the filthy concrete, yelling and sobbing, believing that I was being beaten to death, but all of a sudden the kicking stopped.

I prayed that the men might leave me in peace, and I begged them to stop hurting me. The beating did indeed halt for a short time, but only to allow a vile sexual assault to begin. My bra and panties were ripped off and I was pulled up by my long hair and forced to kneel in the middle of the cell. All four guards unfastened their trousers and stood around me, rubbing their erections and making crude comments about my body. I was forced to suck their penises, the taste making me retch. I felt sick, and my face showed it, my twisting features angering the men. They called me a useless little bitch and slapped my face if I hesitated, or if I didn't use my lips and tongue in the way they wanted.

I was glad that none of them ejaculated into my mouth, but all four raped me on the floor of the cell. They shouted and hooted and laughed, egging each other on and cheering whenever a particularly brutal thrust made me squeal. Feeling their hot semen spurting inside my body was absolutely horrible.

I felt sure that they would leave me alone after the rape, but I was wrong. Again, two of them grabbed my arms and dragged me to my feet, holding my naked body securely while the other two gave me a savage beating. They were so cruel! I was a small defenceless woman and they were huge men who towered over me, but they punched my face and body with all their strength. Their fists struck hard, hurting me so badly that I was sure I would die. The pain was terrible. Four of my teeth were knocked out and my right eyelid was torn. Blood poured from my shattered nose and gushed from my split lips, splattering crimson patterns all over the front of my body.

Beating me up got the guards aroused again. Barely conscious, I was raped again, but this time in my anus. Only two of them, I think, performed this disgusting act on me. The pain was so excruciating that I almost fainted. Then, like a piece of garbage, I was flung onto the floor and given a few more kicks. The four guards left the cell, leaving me dazed and naked, taking the shreds of my torn clothes with them.

A dim yellow bulb in the ceiling provided the only light and I lost track of time, because my watch had been taken during my arrest. Hours passed, in which I tried to sleep, but I was cold and thirsty and I ached in every inch of my face and body. I lay curled on the floor in a pool of my own blood.

The door burst open and two of the guards reappeared. Wearily I raised my head, expecting another rape or another beating, but instead they picked me up by my arms and dragged me down a corridor to a room with a big steel bathtub. The other two men were waiting there, grinning as their friends threw me into the water. I gasped, splashing around in spite of my agony, trying to get out, for the water was icy cold. The guards pulled me up by my hair and forced me to stand. The water was knee-deep and it chilled my feet and legs to the bone. I stood naked and shivering, my teeth chattering, while the four men washed my body all over.

The washing was intimate and humiliating. While I sobbed and whimpered, my tormentors smirked and sniggered, their fingers penetrating every orifice: my mouth, my vagina, my anus. Three of them performed oral sex on me, which felt somehow more degrading than the rapes. I couldn't understand how they could feel aroused after what they'd already done to me. I must have looked a complete mess, my mouth bruised and cut and my nose badly swollen. When one of the men licked between my buttocks I freaked out and tried desperately to climb out of the bathtub, but strong hands held me securely and I was forced to endure a crude anal assault by tongues and fingers. In despair and helplessness I stood weeping, offering no resistance but praying that my torment would end.

After what seemed like an eternity I was hauled out of the tub and dried off with soft towels. The guards dried me with a strange tenderness that unnerved me, pausing occasionally to kiss my breasts, thighs or buttocks. They told me I was very pretty, which sounded crazy after the way they beat me to a pulp. A white cotton dress was put on me, but no underwear, and I was half-carried back to my cell. Later, an elderly male doctor visited me, giving me an injection which sent me into a deep sleep. When I woke, after God knows how many hours or days, a man in a dark suit came to my cell and told me that the female prisoner who had beaten me up would be given a month's hard labor. He apologized on behalf of the prison authorities and promised a full investigation. I nodded, for I didn't want to cause any trouble. Needless to say, I never saw him again, nor did I ever encounter the four guards who raped me.

After ten days I was released and all charges against me were dropped. A month later I wrote my letter of protest, but it wasn't worth the cost of the ink and the paper.

THE END

© 2004 Brendan X

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