Chapter 10 #5
“Good,” my father whispered. “Take out your frustrations on her. Use her to learn to control yourself.”
“Tell me you’re enjoying this. Tell me you’re enjoying me,” I slurred into her ears, holding her face close to mine.
She cringed at the words, moving her face away.
My fingers moved to squish her cheeks between them.
She didn’t reply. Her mouth was silent aside from the groans of discomfort her lips failed to trap. She wasn’t enjoying me. Her rigid body made it obvious, and it made me fucking angrier.
I thrust harder and faster, burning us with unprotected friction. Her tears rushed over my hand, her dry tongue trying to force words out, but nothing from her mouth was understandable.
“Put your hand between her legs, feel for the nub and rub.” My father’s voice was hazy.
His fingers, no longer shoved into the beanbag, had been replaced by an object I didn’t care to look at.
The hand not holding his cell phone, now rested on the tenting of his jeans.
The top button, undone, revealed a stomach that almost put me off.
I pulled my gaze away from him and the curly hairs that covered his spotty stomach, and I allowed my hand to lower from Jolie’s face.
I stopped at her tits, feeling her hard nipples beneath her soft satin pajama top. My fingers kneaded, focusing a second longer on her left side. Her soft flesh didn’t fill my hand—so small, and yet, still fucking fun to play with.
“Tell me you’re enjoying it.” I gave her one last chance.
And she threw it in my fucking face.
“Fuck you!” she spat, delivering venom to my cheek as her saliva dropped from my eyelashes, protecting my eyes from her poisonous hate. Somehow, her DNA burned more violently than my father’s phlegm.
“Fine.” I clutched her hair, using it as a vice. “Have it your fucking way.”
I drove into her, delivering the same level of hate.
My thrusts came hard and fast and too fucking deep for her to feel anything but pain.
But who the fuck cared? I didn’t. Now, through her own choice, she was no more to me than meat wrapped around my cock.
Something to use to make myself feel good.
And, physically, for me, it did feel fucking good.
My hand squeezed her tit hard, and I stole the fucking moan I craved to hear. The one she didn’t want to give.
My fingers traversed her stomach, feeling my way around in search of this little nub as I wondered if that’s what my shard had a little fun with earlier.
It didn’t take me long to find.
I rubbed my fingers back and forth, brushing my cock where we joined as I moved in and out of her.
The nub was sensitive, possibly pained from my previous nudging, but my touch ignited something her body refused to feel.
She backed up into me, trying to remove my fingers from her skin, but by doing so, she was giving my cock deeper access to her body.
She cried more fucking tears as I took advantage of her offering, and in thanks, I removed my fingers myself. But I didn’t offer any additional sympathy as I gripped her hips to drive into her even deeper.
She twirled her hair in her fingers, mesmerizing me as she searched for comfort through the feel.
Carpet burns left red patches of evidence on her knees.
And after a few seconds of being balls deep inside her, my fingers shifted position. Back to her cunt. Back to the nub. I pinched her this time, adding a little pressure.
A delicate moan evacuated her parted lips. Her teeth clamped down on their fullness as shame flushed her cheeks.
I’d have laughed at her misery if I wasn’t lost in a place of arousal.
Her fingers clutched at the carpet, round nails scraping through the dust around the planted threads. More evidence that would be thrown in her face when no police came knocking to hear her story.
“You know, he thinks about you when he fucks his hand. . . he calls your name. Have you heard him?” She had no fucking clue who I was talking about.
Apparently, it wasn’t as obvious as I thought, despite her having read our diary and all its intimate secrets.
Her round eyes moved to the bloated creep on the beanbag, and proved that.
I didn’t correct her.
I was done talking, no longer able to speak without slurring.
She gifted me another pretty moan from her pretty fucking mouth as I fucked her harder.
Her cunt soaked me. I returned to rubbing, and she got wetter and wetter each time my hand moved. Her pussy lips sucked my cock, thirsty for something to swallow.
And I fucking lost it.
I lost all sense of control, not that I had any to begin with.
She wiggled beneath me, creating more friction, disgusted by the fact, her body, like everyone else, had betrayed her.
I fucked her like the toy she was—a sex doll, gifted for my pleasure.
I rutted inside her, struggling to get my breaths past the swelling in my throat, trying in vain to get as deep as possible as I blew inside her tight cunt.
Her body shuddered. Her pussy clamping around me.
The silly slut didn’t have the sense to lower her ass as I disconnected. It was still in the air, much higher than her head, which dipped to the floor. Her sadness weighed her down, and she soaked the carpet with her sobbing.
“Please, go back to your room.” This plea was faint, muffled by heartache.
I was happy to. I was done with her. For now.
Until I looked down, seeing my creamy liquid leaking out of her wet slit.
My fingers moved to her cunt, pushing in as much of my cum as I could as I forcefully fucked her with two digits.
She writhed, trying again to get away. And this time, I let her, having no further use for her.
A light rustle loitered in the corner. Beans shuffled to safety beneath their cotton shield, now that they were no longer being crushed by my father’s wide load.
The floorboards shuddered as his monster-sized feet carried his monster-sized body closer. His shadow loomed over Jolie—who stopped dead, naked and terrified—and me. He examined my efforts, moving only when he deemed them pleasing.
“Well done. I’m proud of you.” He placed the phone that was no longer recording into his pocket and said, “Get that bitch cleaned up. Your mother should be home in a day or so, and you know how she doesn’t like a mess. If you want to keep your toy, get familiar with the rules.”
He hocked up phlegm, scraping his throat as he did so. His spit patted into Jolie’s hair, locking and mixing with her sweat and tears.
She kept her sobs quiet, praying for him to leave quickly, and for me to leave with him.
I felt a weird fucking feeling as he slipped from the room. I felt sick. My tiny muscles—every one of them—twitched beneath my skin, a cloud of confusion surrounding me.
I blinked once, twice, three times, each closure slower and harder than the last.
And then everything turned black.
Woody
I had no idea where I was. What had happened. Why I was naked in my sister’s room.
My hands clamped over my crotch, the stickiness lingering there puzzling me. My eyes darted from side to side as I searched the room for Nessie. “Ness?” my voice, lower and more child-like, questioned.
I spun to the bunk, and I let out a breath, relieved to hear the light snore she always did in her deeper sleeps.
Whatever my reason for being in here was, she hadn’t seen it, luckily.
My eyes fixed ahead; the door was open. A light from the hallway was switched on by someone walking away. The dense footsteps told me it was my daddy.
A snivel from someone hiding in the shadows called me back to my surroundings.
I twirled around, finding Jolie hiding behind the door, clutching a pair of satin shorts in one hand—a pair that had once caused an argument between my mother and father because he had originally bought them for her—a gift last Christmas, one that was two sizes too big for her boney frame.
Jolie held the wood of the door in her other hand, keeping the door wide, using it as a shield to cower behind.
Her eyes, wet and downcast, didn’t even glance up as I called her name. “Jolie? Are you okay?”
She wasn’t okay.
She really wasn’t okay.
She was sobbing, shaking, terrified.
And I didn’t know why, but I knew it was something to do with me. I knew she’d been put through Hell.
Jolie
Hell’s tone was different when he moved to me. Lighter, proving that he’d gone back to the darkness he thrived in. Woody was back, a terrified child kneeling before me, flustered by the confusion in his gaze.
I tried to hide, praying he’d leave. I didn’t have the strength to settle his fears, not when I couldn’t control mine.
But he didn’t. He stayed.
His shaking fingers settled on my knee, and I had nowhere I could sink to avoid it, though I still tried. He waited for my rejection to slap him away. Waited for me to scream for distance.
But I struggled to talk.
I lifted my eyes from the worn-down carpet that had caused as many marks on my body as Hell had, and I found his eyes staring into mine.
“Are you okay?” he asked, like he had no fucking idea what he’d done.
Because he didn’t have any idea what he’d done.
“Leave me alone.” The words rushed off my tongue much faster than I thought possible. . . but they were still soundless.
He blinked again, slow and hard, like he’d done so many times in the last few moments.
“Jolie. . .” his shaky fingers brushed my cheek, tracing a bruise caused by his hands squeezing me too tightly in his hold. “What happened?”
My nostrils widened sucking in gulps of oxygen. The room was stuffy with heat. The smell of stolen sex fumigated the air, overpowering the air freshener, that in Nessie’s words, smelled like rainbows.
“You’re bleeding.” Woody looked down, his eyes guiding my own to the mess between my legs where soreness lingered.
Pulling my short-sleeved shirt down as far as I could, I tried to shield as much of me as possible. . . but it was impossible. The shirt barely met my hips; the silky satin had no give, offering no sympathy for my situation.