Page 78 of Feral Werewolves

They put us all in there and then, they, um…

They had sex with us.

I mean, they raped us.

It was odd, because I was still all curled up inside my body fortress, so it was like I was there butnotthere.

I remember thinking weird thoughts, like I was glad that the wolves were only putting it in my vagina, not my mouth or my ass or anything, and that it was totally fine this way, like I could handle that, as long as they just kept it there.

And I don’t know how many wolves or how many times.

I did… have orgasms, but that was strange, too, because it was like I didn’t feel them all the way in. They happened to my body, but me, the real me, it was inside, curled up, and the things that were happening to me couldn’t get me there. So, they didn’t feel good exactly. It was like… a sneeze. My body just clenching on itself, going through the motions, on auto-pilot.

And I knew then that there were awful levels to this thing that had happened to me.

You maybe couldn’t say that being a tithe was a fullyconsensual experience, but there was what had happened with my mates and there wasthis, and they weren’t the same thing.

And eventually, it was over, and I lay on the floor, still handcuffed, numb.

I slept.

19

clementine

I WOKE UPto my handcuffs being removed by some guy. His face was all scarred up and he barely looked at me. He had a big bin he was tossing all the handcuffs in.

The other women were sitting up around me, some of them looking around with frightened-rabbit looks, waiting for a blow to come from any direction. Others just looked blank, which was probably me, too, I thought.

I still felt numb.

My body didn’t hurt. I was a tithe. I was all healed up. Fit as a fucking fiddle.

I looked up at the guy and I had a wild thought about fighting, but that just made me laugh. Stupid, stupid thought.

Fighting.

I collapsed into wild giggles at the thought of it.

The guy glared down at me.

I stopped laughing.

There was a huge plastic bin by the door, and it had clothes in it. Women were standing up over there, sorting through it, putting things on.

No one told me what to do. It was all wordless. I just followed what the others were doing.

I went over there and waited in line, waited my turn, and then I found a pair of drawstring pants that fit and a littletanktop that was clingy enough that it would hold up my breasts. Later, I’d think that I should have worn something shapeless so as not to give them ideas, but that would make me laugh too. As if what I was wearing mattered at all.

I realized that sort of thinking, it was the kind of thinking that people do when they’re beaten and helpless, in a situation where they have no power. They grasp at straws to think that they could have protected themselves somehow.Maybe if I didn’t wear a short skirt, he wouldn’t have raped me.

Yeah, sure, tell yourself a little story if it helps. Tell yourself that you could have possibly done something, anything.

It was almost orderly, that was the thing, the way we all did whatever they wanted us to without them even having tomakeus do it. They had scared all the fight out of us, and now we were docile and obedient. We wanted to please them now. They had beaten us.

Inside, the part of me that was curled up was angry.

But I couldn’t afford anger and I knew it.

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