Author Topic: How I was ruined (added two new chapters 12/16)  (Read 3457 times)

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December 08, 2016, 09:56:09 PM

Offline Ararria

Warning!    You must be 18 or over to read these stories of rape and non consensual sex. If you do not like such stories, please turn back. I don't promote rape or non-consent sex. This is only a story, fiction, if you do not understand the difference between reality and fantasy, read no more. Rape is a heinous crime and the penalty is many years in prison. Anyone who commits rape are despised everywhere. But fantasies are all right so long as no one is hurt.

In addition, I'd like to add a trigger warning. Some scenes in this story are extremely painful emotionally as it is told from the victims perspective.

Extra Moderator Warning:  Extreme Content, mutilation

HOW I WAS RUINED by Ararria

(contains a wide variety of rough, rape, violent sex, and is told a bit more personally than is common)


The Beginning

I've always heard that good stories should start either at the beginning or jump straight into the action. That way, the reader instantly connects and understands what is going on. I guess that that means I could tell you my life story, or jump to some hot or depraved sex scene. But I think I'll do a little bit of both. I'll start with the day I "died". At least the day the old me died.

My name is Ally, or at least that's close enough to my real name as to make no difference. At the time of this story I was 14, growing up and thought I actually knew shit. I lived on the outskirts of the largest city in Kentucky, which isn't exactly saying much if you've ever been to a real city. We, by which I mean my mom and I, lived in a shitty but serviceable 2 bedroom trailer in a shitty trailer park not far from the Outer Loop and I-65. It wasn't much, but it was more enough to be a home. Grew up mostly normal, at least for the people around there. Never knew my dad, barely knew most of the stream of men my mom "dated" as I was growing up, but besides glances and a couple drunken gropes, no one ever hurt me.

Things took a turn, for good and bad, when mom started dating Teddy. He did kinda seem to care for her, but he was a toxic son of a bitch and dealer to boot. Suddenly, around when I hit 12, we had "money" which should of meant something, but didn't. We still lived in the same shitty trailer, it just suddenly had overpriced shit in it that belonged in a much better house. Also, mom went from being a "light" alcoholic to being often strung out or drunk alot, and it was all I could do to keep the home in order. Teddy's "friends" were over at all hours, and as I started hitting puberty, got lots more glances, comments, and gropes. Again, that was it. Sure it was crappy, but I dealt, well, not like Teddy dealt but you get the picture.

I kept myself mostly occupied at school or with my friends. I wasn't a bookworm by any means, but it keep me out of the house and I often walked to another much nicer trailer park a bit away. Had a couple friends over there, Tabitha and Justine, that I often spent time with, especially when mom was drugged out and losing her 10th job in a row by not showing up. They were both good friends to me. Tabitha was the "mature" one, dating a 16 year old and had "gone all the way" while Justine and I hadn't graduated past handies and blow jobs and barely any of those at that. But before you think we talked about sex, or had naked pillow fights - we didn't. Things were normal, we were poor, but nothing wild. We'd sneak beers occasionally or coolers, pot a couple times, but mostly we just talked, watched shit on Netflix, and laughed at our stupid parents.

It was a normal, maybe a bit below normal life, but it was ours, or mine I should say. At 14, I was coming along nicely with puberty almost done. I had smallish breasts, B cups, and at 120 lbs and 5'4, I wasn't the smallest nor the biggest girl in school (Justine had me and Tabitha beat combined there, with 36D's already but she was curvier) but I knew from the attention of Teddy's friends that I was "hot" or "fuckable". Not that I thought about it too much, especially with those guys, but I knew my way around my body and enjoyed it and while I hated the creeper's that Teddy's business brought in, I only mostly hated the attention. I never tried to flaunt it or flirt with them, but I knew it was there and that was more than enough.

Anyway, I had hit Tabitha's house since Thursday, spending a couple days there, just to avoid the current drama with mom's drinking and her fighting with Teddy. He was cutting her off again (again, in his own fucked up way he loved her I think) and she wasn't dealing well. So I crashed but I had only brought enough clothes for a couple days and while her parents were pretty cool, I was wearing out my welcome. So I decided to head back home. Summer was in full bloom and it was hot as hell outside, even when the sun finally sank, and despite being told I could stay another night (with very reluctant parent voices) I headed back home. I had my shit in my backpack, and since it was so hot, i just had a stupid little white tee on and some jean shorts on. I was being a good girl tho, my shirt just barely revealed my belly button and i had my bra and panties on. Cheap pair of Wal*mart tennis shoes completed the ensemble as I headed back for the short walk home.

Tabitha lived at the end of a dead end street and while I could cross through a couple dozen trailer park "yards" on my way back to my house, or zig zag through the trailer park roads, there was a small bit of woods that ran along the edge of the trailer parks and I-65. Not pretty woods, just run down shit with some trails the kids used to cut around or just get out of sight of their parents or pretend they were somewhere else than the shitty edge of Louisville. I pulled my backpack with my clothes and shit and headed out, and hit the trails there. The moon was out and having walked them a hundred times at all hours, I wasn't worried about anything. I was just dreading hitting home and what bullshit I would find there. I was walking, maybe a third of the way through my short little trip when I heard the creek. Mud creek is usually just that, mud, but thanks to some recent rain it was living a bit more up to the creek part and you could hear it and the drone of the cars on the interstate. There I found myself dreading heading home, when I heard a sound behind me. I started to turn, but felt a sharp pain in the back of my head and briefly thought "What?" before I blacked out and hit the ground.

December 08, 2016, 09:56:40 PM
Reply #1

Offline Ararria

Dazed and Confused

If you've ever seen a movie, and I'm sure you have, then you'll agree that in the movies, when someone brains someone upside the head enough to knock them out, they seem to be a bit groggy, then they shake their head, and ready to get back into it. Well, I hate to tell you, real life isn't like that. Never having been knocked out before, I didn't know that, but as I slowly came too, I learned that quickly. At first I didn't even know where I was or what the fuck was going on. I was walking, in starts and stops, but the ground didn't feel right and my back kept hurting. It took me what felt like 30 seconds to realize despite my walking, I was staring at the tops of trees. Slowly, I realized that my legs weren't moving but I was. The brilliant detective that I was realized the reason why my back was burning was that I was being dragged, by someone holding my feet.

Now, in the movies, this would be where I heroically kick the villain and try to make my futile escape. Nope. I wondered instead why he didn't have me up on his shoulder if he was helping me. I still hadn't quite figured out what the fuck was going on. I did start mumbling, barely making a coherent word, trying to ask the man if he was taking me to my trailer. Suddenly, he spun and kicked me upside the head and I almost blacked out again. I did go limp and pee myself a bit, my left ear was hurting as he started dragging me faster. I was starting to sob now, still not understanding what the situation was, just confused, dizzy, and hurting.

He pulled me hard one last time, and from what little I could make out in the dark and dizziness, we were in a tiny clearing around a few trees. A couple beer bottles and trash were on the ground nearby but that was it, and I didn't recognize it as anything on the trails. Suddenly my feet hit the ground and the man was over me. I couldn't focus worth shit and all I can tell you was that he was a big man. I don't mean football big, but more like fat biker big. You know, that weird mix of strong and out of shape that some guys have. I felt his breath as he knelt over me and I started crying more as I noticed he was wearing my backpack. I don't know why that scared me but something about it did. He snorted and said something and I whimpered a feeble "What?" again, as I tried to understand what was going on.

"I said you're just like all the other cunts, aren't you?"

I whimpered at that, as my slow confused brain started to realize just what was going on. "N...no...please....just take my stuff"

At that,he laughed, as he grabbed my face in his hand and put his other meaty hand right on my left tit. My chin hurt from his squeezing it and my chest and tit felt smushed under his weight. He smiled again. "There are only a couple things worth taking from a worthless cunt like you." He then grabbed my head and lifted it up and hit it on the ground, which was at least "softish" from the rain. Still hurt and left me dazed as he stood up again over me. He then threw my backpack to the ground and pulled out a scary knife that if you asked me at the time, I would have said was a foot long. I don't know how long it actually was but it made me freeze. He smiled again when he saw that and whispered "Smart girl".

He then pointed it at me and said "Move, and I'll kill you" and I was still so dazed and unable to think straight, I did as he said. He then unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out and again, waved the knife at me. "Get on your fucking knees cunt and suck this. Try anything, and I will fucking cut a hole in your chest and fuck you to death with it". I was hysterical by now, sobbing, but I was trying to keep quiet as I didn't doubt him. I'd never seen the look he gave me before. It was cold and it scared me in a way I had never been scared before. I struggled to get to my knees, and he decided to help my by grabbing my short brown hair and jerking me up. I had only sucked 2 cocks before and neither smelled like this one, nor were they as big. He wasn't huge, but thicker than I'd ever seen in person.

Before I knew what was happening, he shoved himself in my mouth and put the flat of his knife against my cheek and said "Suck you piece of shit whore" and I started to. It tasted wrong, dirty, but I didn't have long to worry about the taste as he shoved it in deeper, gagging me hard as my eyes ran and snot flew from my nose. He quickly started ramming my throat and every time I tried to pull back, I felt that knife again, but this time by my neck. I struggled there, on my knees, as he pumped my throat for what felt like forever. I retched once and he backhanded me, then went back to it as he raped my throat. Then, without warning, I was pushed off and kicked hard in the chest and i hit the ground painfully. Coughing desperately for air, I sobbed, holding my chest, my back burning from dozens of scrapes and small cuts as he leaned over me again and asked me if I wanted him to make me pretty.

I felt that cold steel drag across my cheek and felt a sudden warmth as he lightly cut my right cheek. I didn't know that it was light at the time, I just started to scream and he covered my mouth and waved "no" with the knife. I just sobbed, limp and terrified as he did that. Then he took the knife and slid it under my shirt and he lay over me, and cut it away. I instinctively tried to cover myself but he just said "Don't" in such a calm and cold way, I just stopped. He then cut my bra off, and jerked it off me and threw it by my backpack. I just whimpered and pleaded with him and he stared that same cold stare and said, "I think it's time to improve you".

December 08, 2016, 09:57:07 PM
Reply #2

Offline Ararria

My "Death"

"I think it's time to improve you"

Those are not the words you ever want to hear from a 250+ pound man on top of you with a knife in their hand. I didn't know what was going to happen and I didn't want to find out. I started to scream and I say started because the second I began, a fist slammed into my face and I went limp again. I was conscious but not much more than that. I felt blood leaking heavily out my nose and I just laid there as he started playing with my left nipple. I whimpered and whined under him, too weak to do much else as he massaged it stiff and then pinched it hard but when I started to scream again he put the knife against my face and whispered "It's quiet time cunt".

Somehow I held it in as he squeezed and pulled it hard and I felt like he was going to tear it off. After playing with it for a minute he leaned in and asked me, "Vertical or Horizontal?" I honestly had no idea what he was talking about, I was running off a concussion, adrenaline, and fear. I muttered "Vertical?" as in, "What the fuck do you mean by vertical?" but as I was barely there mentally, apparently that was enough.

The next thing I knew, he held my nipple firmly in his fingers as he took his knife and sliced it right in the middle. I just screamed wordlessly, some unhuman sound coming out of my mouth as I watched in terror as my nipple parted in two as his razor sharp knife split it to the base and started bleeding. I began to thrash and he held my mouth with his hand and held me down as he leaned in and sucked and tongued my torn sliced nipple. Lapping up the blood and parting it with his tongue while I almost went in shock. He then raised up and put his hand on my belly, and said something I'll wake up crying to for the rest of my life.

"What a beautiful smooth belly cunt. Let's ruin it"

I started fighting as hard as I could but he outweighed me by twice and just grabbed me and slammed me into the dirt again. Then once I was "calm", he jerked my head up some to watch. I saw, in silent terror, too numb and scared to do more that grunt, as he quickly sliced my stomach, not deep but god long and bloody. A second quick slash and I just blacked out, after watching two red gashes appear above  and below my belly button. It was just too much. The only thought I had was "he gutted me" and though that wasn't true, my mind didn't know that and I just shut down and everything turned black for a minute.

When I came to, my pants and panties were gone, my face felt both warm and cold from the blood and my stomach was a bloody mess. He was just finishing taking off his pants, and I moaned in fear as he approached me again. I then realized something was off and where my panties were, shoved deep in my mouth. I started to pull them out when pain shot through my arm as he kicked it hard and said keep my hands down. I cried and nodded as he knelt down and flipped my legs up and slammed against my pussy, no warning. My eyes bulged and i screamed as he pulled back and rammed again and again. He then pulled back and kicked me in the pussy and I curled up, shaking in agony. He then knelt again and spread my legs up, but this time smeared my pussy with my own blood on my stomach and slammed in again. This time, my hymen tore and he went most of the way in. He then grabbed my hips and pulled me close, ramming in deeper and deeper, holding my mouth and the panties in them shut as he just fucked the shit out of me. I thought I had been in pain before, but between my pussy being raped and the ground under me scratching the shit out of my back, I was in agony. His eyes burned into mine as he slammed deep again and again. Muttering nonstop.

"Take it you whore. Take it you piece of shit. You're like all of them. You're shit, you're shit"

I sobbed as he raped my pussy, wished that I could pass out, when he finally pulled out of me. I foolishly thought maybe he had cum, and was trying to beg him to leave me alone when he spun me over. His hand was hard on my cut cheek, shoving my head against the ground as he jerked my hips up. I felt his spit hit my ass as i squirmed. He let go of my head for a second and I hoped to run but suddenly screamed as he punched me right in my lower back. I just sobbed and drooled around my panties as he raised my ass up again and started pushing but though it hurt me, he couldn't get in. After a short bit of trying he hit my back and kidneys and kicked me away. I lay there sobbing, shaking violently as he smiled at me. He actually leaned down and kissed my cheek and told me, "I guess I need to loosen you up first".

He then walked away outside my view - not far as I could hear him but I hurt too much to attempt to do anything except cry. I felt him lifting my hips up and this time he jerked my head off the ground and told me to relax before the worst pain in my life started. 

He had grabbed a stick, about 8 inches long, rough and jagged, and started forcing it in my ass. I screamed in agony and this time, even when he hit me, I couldn't stop. He started jabbing it and i could feel something tear and suddenly my ass got looser as it plunged in deeper. I was just hysterical as he raped my ass with the stick, and when i looked back, all I could see was the blood on my legs. After a minute or two (fuck, it might have been 15 seconds), I felt another sharp pain as he jerked it out. By this point I was truly in shock. I couldn't accept what was going on. I just knew I was going to die.

He knelt behind me again and this time the pain was lower, as he shoved the stick deep in my pussy in one push. I tried to crawl away, but he jabbed it a few more times as he mounted me again, ramming into my ass on the first try as he fucked the bloody mess. I was just jerking and spasming under him as he hit my head, my back, my sides, again and again. Sometimes, he'd pause to ram the stick in and out, then he'd start again on my ass. I just was...numb. I hurt so bad. Part of me wanted him to kill me, to finish this. To end it. He was ramming me hard when he leaned over me and wrapped his arm around my neck and squeezed.

"Relax cunt. Relax. It'll soon be all over"

He said those words, again and again as he raped my busted ass, choking the air out of me and letting no more in. I honestly wanted to die at that moment but no matter how much you want to, when your body wants air, you can't choose to not breathe. So I fought, I flailed, I spasmed, I screamed around wet panties as he pounded me harder and choked me tighter. Just telling me to relax. And I did. I hit a point I couldn't fight, I just hurt, that was all I was, a ball of hurt, and even the need to breathe went away. I felt my bladder and bowels release, and I felt myself cum as I did so, as my eyes rolled back, my body cumming hurt most of all and at that moment, I quit. Oh he kept choking and fucking me harder, but I was already dead. And about a minute later, my body caught up with my mind and everything went black and I died.

December 08, 2016, 09:57:46 PM
Reply #3

Offline Ararria

The next morning

Cold. Wet. Pain.

That's the only thing I understood at first, as the world and life seeped back into me. I had no idea where I was, what was going on. I didn't even know what had happened. There was no real awareness, the concussion had saw to that. That, coupled with the lack of air, had robbed me of any coherent thoughts, at least for the moment. Just pain. Just cold. Just wet.

Even the thought of movement brought agony and sobs to me. Somewhere, I vaguely heard cars driving by and the flash of headlights. I think I tried to move and something grabbed at me and I curled up more, whimpering, confused, as I remembered what had happened. As things slowly came back into focus and I hated that. I hated waking up. If I was a better person, a stronger person, someone worthwhile, this would have been when they struggled and stood and proclaimed that they would get revenge or that this wouldn't break them. If I was a better person, maybe. Instead, as realization hit me, I only had one thought.

Why wasn't I dead.

I actually hated the idea that I wasn't. I was shit, I was ruined, I had came. I deserved it. I had fucking let go.

Why the fuck wasn't I dead!

I shifted a bit and felt something grabbing at me again and i whimpered, but this time, I was focused enough to see through the moonlight and cars passing by, I was in a bush. The many small branches and leaves were what was "grabbing" me. I shuddered as another car passed by. I couldn't see much but I was much closer to the interstate than before. The creek could be heard right nearby even though I couldn't see it in the dark. Every part of my body ached. I started to sit up, to get my bearing when I screamed in pain. I spasmed, sobbing, as i reached down, and felt it.

I was apparently still naked, dragged to this bush, and dumped in it. I was away from the trails and trailers, and while close to the interstate, the bank was so deep that unless someone stopped to piss I'd likely not been noticed. Had he known? Did he mean to let me live? I sobbed, reaching down again, as i touched it. "My" stick. He'd left it in me, or shoved it in again. When I'd tried to sit up, I'd leaned on it and jabbed myself. I started to pull it out and the pain just overwhelmed me and I lay on my side, wracked with sobs.

Why hadn't he killed me? I was supposed to have died. I knew it. It wasn't fair. To go through all that and live. I should have hated him, but it myself I hated more at the moment in my pain. Trying again, I grabbed and slowly pulled it out, shaking violently in the cold wetness. Wetness? Fuck was I still bleeding? I quickly felt around, the bush and darkness making it hard, but no, I wasn't gushing blood. I felt the two long scars on my stomach. I swear he had gutted me but they were long, but not deep. They burned and felt swollen, but seemed to have mostly stopped bleeding. I thought about my nipple and decided against even touching it as i reached down and felt my pussy. It was swollen and was a mess, blood, both wet and dried, all on my lips. I cried for a minute, then slowly dragged myself, inch by inch out of the bush, finally collapsing in the muddy edge of the small creek. Sometime after he had "killed" me, it had rained for a short bit, that was the wet, or at least most of it. It was still dark outside, I could tell that as i stared up at the sky. My face ached, I could tell now my lip was busted bad, nose was swollen too. Nothing felt broken there. But any quick head movement made me want to throw up and things kept moving even when I think I wasn't. I laid there for probably ten minutes in the dark, half hoping he'd come back and pounce on me like a cat torturing a bird. Except hopefully he would end the pain.

But he didn't, he wasn't there. All there was, was just what was left of me.

I glanced slowly around as cars drove by above me, but I saw no trace of him, nor of any of my clothing. My backpack, clothes, even my socks and shoes were gone. I sobbed again and tried to sit up, my crotch and ass hurting so bad I would have believed they were literally on fire. It probably took me another ten minutes to move and crawl to a rock to help get up on my feet.

I puked hard then, and almost fell down again. Everything wouldn't stop spinning and I tried to focus on something. And there it was, in the flashes of light, as the cars passed by, was the stick. I could see the red. I could only imagine what it had did to me. A stronger person would have broke it or spit at it.

I just couldn't understand why I was alive.

Finally I started back towards my trailer, the ground should have hurt my feet, and probably did, but I was too far gone to notice. The act of walking was pain enough and I was in such a dark place, pretty much anything I did was just a cruel reminder that I was still alive. Still drawing breath. I don't know if it took me 5 minutes or 50 to get back to the trailer. I just know I started walking and at some point realized I was in what little of a back yard we have. No one had seen me, at least as far as I knew. If they had, they'd avoided the naked bloody girl. I slumped at the back door and struggled to open it. No matter what I tried, the door knob wouldn't work. I was just crying there, trying to work it (It was simply locked and in my shape, didn't even realize that A) it was locked and B) I no longer had the key), when suddenly the door opened and nearly knocked me flat.

"Where the fuck have......" Teddy stammered, seeing the nearly dead thing before him. He grabbed me and pulled me in quickly. Don't think it's because he had to help - he was a dealer and simply didn't want attention.

I vaguely heard my mom scream drunkenly and Teddy grabbed me, shaking my shoulders, asking me what happened. But I just let go again, and fell back into the black.

December 08, 2016, 09:58:32 PM
Reply #4

Offline Ararria

"Recovery"

I know, dear reader, if you're here, you've read rape stories. Don't try to deny it, you didn't accidentally fall here. I've read them too. Almost all of them, no matter how hot, have the same problem. Much like how people in movies act like getting knocked out is no big thing, rape stories, at least the violent ones, act like a body can take all kinds of torture and just instantly rebound. Seriously, read a super hot story like "Beaten Broken Josie" which is brutally amazing and tell me you bounce back from that.

Real life, sadly, isn't that simple. Especially when you have an alcoholic mom and her drug dealing boyfriend there for you. What happened those first two days, I can only tell you bits and pieces of. See, my friend Justine, she never got why in movies and TV kids would wail about how they wanted their parents to stay together. To not get divorced. Justine, however, was cut from a different cloth. Her parents, both individually decent people as parents go, were toxic together. Justine, running against tradition in every family show sense, couldn't wait for her parents to divorce. She hated seeing unhappy people on TV, and yet begging for them to stay despite it all.

Sorry, I'm rambling. Anyway, I didn't understand it at the time but now I do. It's the same way I feel any time I see some perfect family on TV. See, when I last left us, I had made it to my home, and collapsed with what I guess you would call my family. Those closest to me and there to protect me.

So, imagine my surprise, when I wake up, later that day, confused as to why I was in my bed and not in the hospital. Or maybe not, because I was in and out of it so much that first couple of days, that it really didn't hit me how fucked up that was until later. See, despite my obvious bad state, good ol' Teddy decided it was best to "not attract attention" unless things got bad. Yeah....apparently what I had been through was not enough. He was scared the cops might think he might have been involved and they might find out his profession. So instead, they cleaned me up, he called a vet that supplied him with drugs on the side to stitch me up, and would help me "recover".

Again, I barely remember any of this. I was pushing a 103 fever and could barely function. Finally around Tuesday, I started to function with some semblance, eating again, getting up unassisted and without throwing up. Of course, that also brought me back to full to the reality of what had happened to me.

I stepped into the shower, the first one I'd taken since the rape. They'd given me baths and cleaned my wounds, but it wasn't the same as letting the hot water hit my body. I quickly had learned though that no amount of heat could clean me. All I was doing was making myself dizzy. So I turned down the heat and just cleaned myself. After, as i stepped out, I stared at the mirror as it slowly defogged.

To call myself a mess was an understatement. I still had a knot on the side of my head and a small gash on the back, where he'd hit me with whatever he had. I could feel it as I ran my hands through my hair, careful not to pull any stitches there or on my body.

My nose was swollen still and my upper lip was split as well, but I had been lucky there. Nothing broke, would likely heal just fine. My neck was still a massive bruise but mostly fine there as well. My hand drifted to my cheek and the small scar there. Teddy's vet friend had told him it might heal fully. I hoped he was right.

I then looked at my back as best as i could in the mirror. It was a mass of scratches and some ugly bruises, but nothing serious. My chest on the other hand was more serious. I'd lost half of my left nipple, and the angry nub that remained looked weird. But it was nothing compared to my stomach. Two red, swollen bits of stitched gashes remained, to remind me of what had happened. Unlike my cut on my cheek, these were going to leave scars. I didn't even realize I was crying until I thought I heard a sound and realized it was me. I jerked, wiped my eyes and leaned on the sink, trying not to hyperventilate.

After a couple minutes I calmed down and reached down to my holes. I didn't realize it at that moment, but that's what I thought of them as. Holes. My pussy, though still swollen, was mostly ok. At least on the outside. I winced as I parted my lips and I could feel the damage. Where I had once felt smooth and slick, I felt bumpy and jagged. I knew he had hurt me inside, but beyond slathering me with cream and keeping me clean, nothing had been done to fix it. It was hidden, but of all the wounds I had, even more than the cuts on my stomach, reminded me I was ruined. Once again I hated the fact that I had had the audacity to live. Hated myself for breathing. I suddenly had to sit on the toilet, which hurt, but I just collapsed into sobs.

I didn't explore my ass but I knew it was just as fucked up as my pussy, if not worse. It was why I had been so sick for 2 days. It was also the source of one bad argument as I flickered in and out as the vet had said that it was serious. Instead, triple antibiotic cream, animal antibiotics, and warm baths and cleaning had been the "solution" Even two days out, I had to have a pad or tampon to keep from bleeding, especially after going to the bathroom. God that hurt more than anything.

I got up again and looked at myself in the mirror. I had survived. I was going to live. But those eyes staring back at me seemed so empty. Just like how I now felt.

December 08, 2016, 09:59:01 PM
Reply #5

Offline Ararria

"Time moves on"


The next couple weeks mostly just dealt with me recovering, at least physically. Using the bathroom still hurt, sometimes so much I cried. But slowly, my body began to mend. Despite that however, I pulled away from everything. My friends came by to visit as by now they had heard about my "mugging" as Mom and Teddy described it, with their bullshit anecdotes about how "incompetent" the police were in getting any leads. I barely engaged with them, or anyone else. How could they know? How could I describe it. They were literally visiting a stranger. Their friend had died and never gotten back up. Me? I was an impostor. Just a cold, empty husk that shuffled around and sometimes cried for no reason.

It didn't take me long to pick up moms habit, or take, at least as much as I could get away with, advantage of Teddy's profession. Most days I was drunk or stoned out of my mind. It was the only thing that shut off my brain fully. I existed in a state of either emptiness, self-loathing, or wasted. Empty hurt in a way I never thought could exist. I mean, empty sounds like it should be nothing, a total void. And it was, but it's also like opening the door and expecting to see your dog waiting for you when get home and then remembering he had died at the start of summer and would never be there again. That awareness of that hole - that hurt as bad as any of the scars.

Self-loathing was there as well, mostly when I didn't feel empty. When I had a nightmare, waking up screaming, and hating, fucking hating that it was just a dream and I was still alive. That I had cum. That I'd fucking refused to just quit. The hate flew easy then as well. Even as painful as those moments were - they still hurt less than when I felt nothing.

So I started stealing mom's vodka. She sometimes seemed, I don't know, content sometimes when drunk. It never made me content, but it turned off my brain if I drank enough and I couldn't hear the silence and I didn't hate the dead bitch in the mirror. It had lead to some big fights at first, even the raging alcoholic that was my mom opposed me drinking, but they soon realized they couldn't stop me. They weren't heroes, they were shitty people and their best was quite lacking.

Teddy on the other hand, did fight me harder about raiding his pot stash, but again, it turned into just him giving up and limiting it. Still, I blazed until I was furniture as much as I could. Between the two drugs, I did my best to make IKEA proud. Fuck, I didn't even need assembly.

Weeks turned into a month, and school started again. By now, my friends had basically written me off. Oh, don't think bad of them, they really did try. But they were trying to reach a girl who didn't exist anymore. My teachers mostly didn't care as I was quiet in class, and rarely too messed up to be so obvious they had to do something. A couple did try to talk to me. They had remembered the cute, if unremarkable poor girl, that didn't do so hot in class, but tried. This new girl, well she was something different. She constantly had dirty clothes or sometimes the same clothes a couple days in a row. She usually smelled, not that nasty smell you get from some of those people at Wal*Mart or on the street, but that "I haven't had a shower in a couple days" smell that sneaks up on you when you get close to a person. Only with heavy prodding could Teddy or mom get me to even do my work. Mostly I'd just grab a fifth and go into the bedroom and try to go away. Hiding shit until I at least "tried" did the job enough for them tho.

One month flew by, then another. I staggered through each day, pretty much the same as one before it. We'd settled on a routine at home. Mom tried her best to keep whatever temp job she currently had, Teddy dealt, and I did the bare minimum I had to at school and that was about it. Both of them had basically given up on me and just ignored me, which was fine as I sure as fuck ignored them. Something harder was trying to ignore Teddy's "friends" who'd stop by, or sometimes come to parties. Getting groped had always been an issue, but when you slap a guy who goosed you, or pushed a guy who hugged in the wrong way and told him to fuck off, kept it to the joke status. You know, "I was just horsing around" type of shit.

The dead bitch didn't do that though. She hid away better, to be sure, but even she had to go pee sometimes. It still wasn't much, and most ignored me when they swatted my ass and got a drunk stare as I stumbled back into my room. At least, that's how it went, until it didn't.

December 08, 2016, 09:59:47 PM
Reply #6

Offline Ararria

"Crash and Burn"

You'd think a person would remember the second time they were raped. I mean, the first time, sure maybe someone spiked your drink or something. But your second time? Definitely should be aware of it. It's the moment that defines you after being a victim. You either fight desperately, swearing you will never let a man hurt you again. Or maybe you try to, but that first rape unleashed something inside you and your inner whore is free now and you completely submit. At least those would be dramatic. Entertaining to the reader.

I didn't even know I had been until I woke up the next day. November 1st.

Let me rewind a bit to the "party" Teddy had had for Halloween. Not any kind of "sexy" Halloween party. Just some of his friends, some of his buyers, and few others were there outside and in our shitty home. While he grilled, they drank, smoked, or did some blow. Like most of the time, I'd mostly avoided anyone other than to get a fifth to nurse while I vegged to Netflix till I fell asleep. By all accounts, the party was a complete success. Teddy kept everyone happy with food, liquor, or drugs. Mom managed to not get totally blitzed until the late hours, and everyone had fun, made out, played some poker, and just enjoyed each others company.

And, at some point during that, someone decided that they would enjoy my blackout drunk body's company. Whoever they were, they didn't seem to want to damage me. But I woke up and though hungover, I knew something was wrong.

The first tipoff was that I was at the base of the bed with my legs hanging off. This is not, nor has it ever been, the way I slept, even drunk. The ache in my pussy was the next hint, as I raised up and saw my sweats and panties were around my knees. Someone had wanted my 14 year old pussy and had taken it. I'd like to say when I felt down there and saw the dried cum, and the stain on the bed, I cried. Or I got angry. I didn't do any of that. I wish I had of. If I had reacted in any healthy or normal way, maybe things would have turned out different. Instead, I touched it, felt the mess still in me, and my scars, and laughed. Nothing big, not psychotically, just a chuckle. Who wouldn't have laughed? If I'd had a gun, I would have killed myself right there. If I wasn't terrified of knives, I might have tried a different vertical cut. But I didn't. I was too empty. There was nothing there. So I sat there for some half hour or so, just rubbing myself. Not really sexually, just feeling the scars inside my cunt, smearing the cum in me. And then I stood up. I don't know why. I didn't have a plan or anything. And I went out. It was just turning into morning, and those who worked normal jobs, well, they were at or heading to work or at least waking up. The kids, they were waiting for the bus, pissed about the start of the week. Going to school that Monday, it didn't even occur to me. I had slippers, some ratty sweatpants and dirty pair of panties, a pussy full of cum, and a tshirt so faded I had no idea what was originally printed on it.

On some level though, I did have a goal in mind. My internal GPS had a destination. Why I was going there though, I don't know. I hadn't stepped into that slim batch of woods behind our trailer park since the rape a few months ago. Now? I was rushing into it. The world spun some as I had drunk way too much last night, but I knew my destination. I found the general area easy enough. Not that it was that big of a woods, but it was the only clearish spot off the short trail. I simply paced around, an anger building up in me finally. Here, here is the point in the story where the heroine screams in fury and swears revenge, right?

Sorry, this isn't one of those stories. I instead started to hyperventilate. I staggered, almost growling as i grabbed at small trees and bushes and branches and ripped at them, tearing them free, throwing them down, ruining anything I could get my hands on, including my own hands. I didn't care as I scratched them as I tore at anything I could get my hands on, finally stumbling against a tree on the edge of the clearing. I clung to it for a moment, then slammed my fist into it as hard as I could. I jerked my hand back, in pain, knuckles bleeding, screaming "Fuck" as I punched it again. And again. I stepped back from it, having hurt the tree in no way, shape, or form. My hands though, were bleeding some on the palm and my knuckles had lost some skin and were bleeding a bit more. They hurt. God the hurt was so fucking good. For the first time, as I fell to my knees, crying, not that I knew I was, I felt something. Not emptiness, not hating myself, not wasted.

I felt alive. I knew I was alive. I screamed and hit the tree again, I kicked it and fell down on my ass but even though I was sobbing, I was laughing. I got a broken branch and slammed it against the tree. Again and again until it cracked and splintered, finally just a hunk of wood in my hand as I fell off balance and hit the ground again. I lay on the cold ground, half wild, crying and clinging to the wood in my hands as they bled. I reached down and felt my pussy through my sweats. An urge, a need, bottled up teenage hormones, mixed with pain and release surged through me, I laughed, the bad kind of laugh, the scary kind and rubbed myself and then swung my hand down, swatting my cunt.

Then I made a mistake.

I started to toss the stick aside but I hesitated. I held it in my hand and memories flooded back as I cried more and harder than I had in months. I should have tossed it, or smashed it, or broke it.

I didn't.

I pulled down my sweats and panties and though it was jagged, I shoved it in my pussy and fucked it. I fucked it like I wanted to be torn apart, like I wanted to be destroyed, like i felt I deserved.

Mostly, the pain just reminded me I was still fucking alive. I jabbed the damn thing in me, and I was on fire, mentally, physically. I was already scratching and cutting my tender flesh but nothing mattered except it and the pain. I shoved again and again, crying and making I am sure quite psychotic looks as I did my best to impale myself on the 5-7 inch piece of wood. My pussy was drenched, and not only from blood, as I bucked and quivered against it. In no time flat I felt myself shudder, spasming as I came in the early morning light. I lay there, body still twitching as I "basked" in the afterglow.

But from that high, came the awareness of what I did. I sobbed wildly, as i reached down and pulled the broken stick out of my bleeding pussy. I stared at the blood on it and I felt shame in what I had done. Again, a healthy person, a good person, would have thrown that stick away.

I clung to it. I cried and held the reminder of now not only the day that anything decent about me had died, but as now a reminder that I have fucking lived. That I was alive.

I slowly got up, my crotch burning as I walked back home, my panties ruined from the bleeding as I went back inside the trailer. Mom and Teddy were nowhere to be seen but they were likely asleep. I knew I had injured myself, hated myself for it, but I knew I had to clean myself. I halted as I went past my room. I looked down and I saw I still held that damn stick. I thought a great many things, but about throwing it away, it never occurred to me. I went to my dresser, stashed it, and absently rubbed my bloody pussy. Nothing felt too bad. Just what should be tender skin scratched and cut. I staggered into the bathroom, still rubbing and feeling what might be new scars and feeling different. Not better. There was no "better" about what had just happened. But maybe, that night maybe there hadn't been just a death. Maybe there had been a birth as well.

If I had known of what, I would have killed myself in the tub right then. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

December 08, 2016, 10:00:32 PM
Reply #7

Offline Ararria

"What I was"

I imagine everyone who gets raped feels guilty. I mean, you have to right? Some other person took hold of you and made you an object to use for their pleasure. They told you, in no uncertain terms, "Fuck you bitch, your holes are mine". So I get that, and understand it fully. You carry that guilt because part of you feels that if you had tried harder, been stronger, they wouldn't have "marked" you as their territory. That's why no matter how scalding hot the water is, you can't get rid of that feeling.

I know, without a doubt, anyone who cums while being raped feels like shit. Again, you have to. Not only did another person violate your body for their pleasure, but some part of you, whether instinctive or primal, felt pleasure as well. It doesn't matter if it was to protect you, by lubricating your cunt. You still came. You still orgasmed. Not only were you marked as territory and used, but they made you enjoy it. I mean, what kind of sick fuck cums while someone is hurting you, treating you as less than human as their cock slides in your bleeding pussy or ass, filling it with their cum. Try finding water hot enough to burn that guilt away.

And what does it say for a person, who can't breathe, being told it will all be over soon, and is in agony and knows, without a doubt they are going to die. And they still cum. What fucking defense or excuse can you have when that is what is happening. You know he's not only going to use you, but dispose of you. Because you're fucking trash. Nothing, just a piece of shit rapebait whore who cums as she is dying? What defense, what rationalization can you bring forward to justify your reactions then? There are none. Part of you still feels like you deserve to die, if you don't. Most of you believes the rapist is right, that you are just a cunt, a thing to use. Because no decent person or woman would feel the way you do, would have done the things you have done.

Three days ago, I was raped again at a party. It wasn't violent or humiliating. At least in the traditional sense. Because I wasn't even awake for it. I had drunk myself into another stupor and passed out and one of Teddy's shitty dope friends had thought, no one will notice. Bitch barely talks to anyone anyway. Well, no one did notice, and likely no one would have cared anyway. That's unfair. There were people who would have cared, but I had pushed them all away. I was a sinking ship and in my own twisted way, despite feeling like I deserved to go down, I didn't want to take them with me. So I pushed them away, I ignored them, hung up on them, yelled at them. Whatever it took. But it wasn't really about protecting them either. Some maybe, but honestly not much. It was mostly about making sure they didn't see their friend was dead and some "thing" had replaced her. I'd rather have been raped 100 times than risk, even for a second, them knowing what a disgusting fuck I was.

Now, now, dear reader, you're probably making excuses at this very moment for my actions. That it was "reasonable" and that people "often react this way" to trauma. Maybe, but I don't fucking care. Why?

Because only a disgusting fuck would have a bloody stick in a drawer beside her bed. After I had gotten out of the tub Monday morning, I had sworn to myself I was going to throw it away. I had cleaned myself off, put cream in my injured pussy and hoped I hadn't gotten an infection or something and headed back to my room. Outside, the sun was coming up, school and work was starting for decent people, and I was sitting beside my bed with the drawer open. Staring at the drawer. In it, wood and blood. In me, anger, lust, and self loathing.

I hated it so much as I reached my hand in and drew it out. Months of being empty. Just so fucking completely empty. And this....thing. It had briefly let me feel alive. I wanted to throw it away, but if I did, I would have been throwing what life I had in me away. I didn't understand it yet, but I needed something that it gave me. Hope? Fuck that noise. I had lost that completely. Happiness? I had drunk any chance of that away. No, it represented the future. Again, at this time, I didn't know any of that. I had instead cradled it and cried in bed. Later that night, after an argument with mom about why I hadn't gone to school, I went back to it. Not to fuck it, no. I was still too hurt for that. I was still applying cream to my injured pussy and had wrapped my hands after cleaning them. Then with it in my hands, I took it to the bathroom, cleaning it a bit.

It was about 6 inches, give or take, and phallic only in the sense it was straight. In all other ways, it looked just like a broken, jagged, branch. I could relate to the broken feeling. But I knew, if I ever decided to use it again, I had to fix it. I grabbed some sandpaper and one of Teddy's knives and started cleaning it. Shaving off the bark, smoothing the jaggies. Don't get the mental image of me carving a wooden dildo. That wasn't what I was trying to do. I wasn't planning on polishing it. Fuck, I barely had any plan. I just blunted the jaggies and smoothed away rough bark. Fucking it would still hurt. But it wouldn't likely make me bleed unless I went crazy. Ha. "Went crazy". I think once you start fixing a piece of wood to fuck, you're not allowed to think or talk about going crazy. You probably have already moved in and just not realized it.

After fidgeting with it for a couple days, I came home. Teddy was gone, mom was working. I was alone. I was "healed" enough. I wanted to see if I could feel something again. Just anything that reminded me I was still fucking alive. Something to fill that emptiness. School had just...existed all Wednesday and I was home. And I was back beside the bed again, cradling the stick like it was a baby. Like it was something special. I sure as hell knew I wasn't special. I hated myself so much for wanting that stick. It represented everything I had lost. But as I stood up, heading to the bathroom, that hatred just enhanced that primal pathetic need inside me. I knew what I wanted, heading into the bathroom. It had everything I needed. Baby oil. Triple antibiotic cream. Bandages. A shower to wash off any blood. I avoided the fucking mirror though. I knew what I was planning and the last thing I wanted to see was that dead eyed bitch looking back at me and judging.

No, instead I stripped. I ran my hands along my ruined nipple, down to the two long scars on my stomach. I then bent over the counter, so the bitch couldn't see me, and I spread my legs and felt the small scars along my lips, moaning as I pushed two fingers in my already soaked pussy and felt the scars along my vaginal walls. I started to cry, hating myself so much as I fingered myself roughly, while my other hand flipped the cap up on the baby oil. I pulled my fingers out easily and though I was soaked, I still had no plans to seriously injure myself. I just wanted, no scratch that, I fucking needed to hurt. I poured the baby oil into my cupped right hand and slathered it on and in my pussy, pumping my fingers in furiously. I grunted animalistically as my fingers pumped inside me, my left hand grabbing the stick. I pressed my face to the cold counter and screamed as I shoved in one thrust the modified stick inside me. Its rough edges still hurt and grabbed at my tender skin, but no longer tore. It was still painfully unyielding, but it no longer ripped me. And though I did start to bleed, likely from not being fully healed up from Monday, it was minor. I panted and growled as i shoved it in me again and again, as deep as it would go. Crying and sobbing and bucking like a bronco, raping myself. In my mind, I was in the woods again. In my mind, he was ruining me as I humped that stick.

My oily right hand started fingering my ass. I had never really done any butt play before the rape, but it felt right. A piece of shit whore needed her ass to hurt  I thought, my mind racing, lost, hysterical. I fingered it as i pushed the stick in again and again. It wasn't enough though, I needed more, so I pulled out that stick and shoved it against my ass, screaming in pain as it fought my sphincter. My ring had never really recovered from what the rapist had done with the stick, so it wasn't too hard a struggle but the pain was real. The hurt was so good, I was lost in myself. Pumping it, wanting to feel. I was so far away from reality that I hadn't heard anything in the trailer. I hadn't heard its door open. I hadn't heard anyone step in. And while I was screaming, I hadn't heard someone mutter my name.

I did hear the bathroom door get kicked in as it flew open, barely missing me. I jerked up and watch in terror as Teddy stared at me shoving a stick up my ass, half wild as my worst fear came true. Teddy, standing there, seeing me for what I was.

December 08, 2016, 10:01:22 PM
Reply #8

Offline Ararria

"Disgusted"

I imagine, for most people, there comes a time when someone finds out their darkest secret. A friend, a lover, an enemy. I imagine sometimes it's a horrible thing that causes more loss. Sometimes maybe it makes their bond stronger. But it must always be painful and intense. Naked in a way most people ever are. Exposed.

Holy hell, was I exposed. Maybe if it had been Tabitha, trying to reach me one last time. Or Justine. Or my mom coming home drunk early after being fired from another job. Maybe then, things would have been better. Anyone but Teddy. He'd never liked me. At best tolerated me and since my rape and subsequent spiral down the toilet, it'd just gotten worse.

Like a deer, startled by a strange sound, I stood there frozen. It was probably a fraction of a second, but to me, it might as well have been hours. My hands, ass, and pussy shiny with oil, 3 fingers deep in my pussy, and a hand shoving a stick in my ass. Exposed indeed. "God No" must have been about the most focused thought in my terrified brain. I don't have words to convey how much I hated and was disgusted at myself. Practically every day since the rape I had hated myself for not being dead and only twice, in the past few days, had I felt remotely alive. But that had brought a far different hate to myself. And here was my most shameful moment on display in front of the person who liked and cared for me the least.

Now, if this was a "hot" porno story, he'd have whipped out his cock and told me "I've got something bigger than you need baby" or something like that. He'd have a conveniently huge 10 in cock, and fucked my brains out. He'd have touched and used me in all the right ways to make me realize what I was missing and perfectly fill that hole, pun intended. Instead, I heard the most terrifying words I could imagine since "Relax, it'll all be over soon".

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

It was a knife sliding though my self-worth. Finally snapping to reality, I grunted as I pulled the stick out and stood, sobbing hysterically, whimpering trying to explain, as if I could put the words out there to make him understand or even make him want to understand. I wasn't even making sense, and as I stepped towards him, my face exploded in pain.

"Stay away from me you sick fuck! Is that a stick? You're fucking yourself with a stick?" he said. The look of hate mixed with disgusted burned away any remnants I had of a soul. I just wailed, holding my face where he had slapped me, dazed, still barely making sense as I talked.

"Please.........god..I...don't..I...you don't.....god...," I muttered, as a thousand different thoughts ran through my head. A dozen explanations tried to flow from my mouth at once as I stood there trembling, desperate to turn the situation around. If I could only make him understand, things could be alright. Better. I just had to understand. Except I wasn't calm, and Teddy had to do about the one thing to make things worse and in a way that he couldn't understand.

He tried to take the stick. Even after I had pulled it out of me, my left hand had clung to it. Holding it. It was safety. And he grabbed it and jerked it out of my hands.

"What the fuck is this. Are you fucking crazy you stupid shit!" he screamed. Rarely do people encounter in their lives a person who looks at them and sees nothing worthwhile. Maybe an ex from a bad breakup or a friend you failed in your time of need. Maybe a family member who gives up after trying to get you off drugs for the last time. But it should be rare. In a few short months, two men have looked at me as if I was complete shit. Worthless in every way. And maybe they were right to. But I wasn't coherent enough to be thinking that now. I just screamed and jumped at him and my stick.

Now, up to this point, I haven't really described Teddy. He was about 6', and while not heavy, he was broad. Maybe 190-200 lbs tops. Myself, on the other hand, in the past 3 months had gained weight, mostly from the drinking and just laying around. 140ish probably, chest and belly was where most of it had ended up. Still, at 5'4", I was significantly smaller than him. But I didn't care. He had just taken the only thing in my life that mattered at all. Pathetic huh?

So I flew at him and to my credit, I surprised him. I knocked him back and the stick went flying from hand. I was wild. I hit him in the face and my hands hurt from where I had punched the tree and tore the skin on my knuckles, not to mention the jaw itself telling my fist, "No". I pulled my hand back, yelping in pain, lost in that feeling and distracted by looking for the stick on the floor. If I had paid attention to Teddy, the outcome would have been the same but at least I'd have been prepared. Instead I looked up just to feel hit fist connect with my left eye and send me flying to the floor. See, in movies you see these small girls fighting much bigger men and holding their own but the truth is, unless you're some massive body builder, guys are much, much stronger than you. I was crazy and had hit him and barely stunned him, mostly by surprise, for half a second. His punch had exploded my face in pain and sent me hard to the floor, dazed. My head bounced off the carpet as I slid to a stop. Teddy, however was furious now and had no intention on stopping. He kicked me once, twice on the floor as I tried to curl up, screaming at me.

"Stupid fucking piece of shit bitch. Hit me! Hit me! Crazy fucking shit!" he screamed as he bent over me and hit me, again and again. My gut exploded in pain, my right cheek bruised instantly as his punch to it drove my left to the floor. Hit after hit. I was screaming in pain, jerking with each blow. I was screaming, and moaning. Suddenly the pain eased, and laying there I looked up at him, my left eye already swelling shut.

"You're getting off on this? You're fucking crazy!" he said, disgusted.

I didn't know what he meant until I followed his gaze with my good eye. I realized then why I'd been moaning. I had fingers in myself. I had, at some point during my beating, just curling up and started fingering myself. I froze again as that realization hit me. I hurt all over, I was exposed raw, and I was fingering myself. I didn't know why. But just like earlier in the bathroom, there was something primal in me that was sparked again and I leaned up kissed him. Kissed Teddy. I didn't like him. Most of me would never want him. But those were the leftover shreds of the girl who had died. I kissed him hard. Felt him respond. Felt his strong hands hold my chest as he suddenly threw me away from him. He was still looking at me with disgust. But I think there was some disgust for him as well. Along with need.

He slapped me hard and spun me around, telling me to get on my fucking hands and knees. I trembled as I did so, actually fucking eager for this. Again - you have to understand my mental state. This wasn't anything I wanted. It was completely about addressing a need. It was a sad pathetic need, but it was more urgent than anything I'd ever imagined. Was this what meth users felt like? A need for something so bad that nothing else in the world matters? I didn't care then, I just moaned as heat filled my cunt in one thrust as he mounted me. I could actually feel him trembling as he pounded in me, my knees sliding just a bit with each thrust. I started to speak, to beg him to fuck me harder when my head exploded in pain and upper body slumped to the floor. If I could have focused, I'd have realized he'd punched me in the back of the head. But I was in pain masked in a sea of confusion as he pounded my cunt. I vaguely was aware of him cussing and yelling at me. I heard fragments of words. "Cunt", "sick bitch", somewhere in that was a "Fucking hate you", and a "why couldn't you have disappeared" but honestly that might have only been a thought running through my own damaged mind.

Fists flew along my back, my sides, my hair was pulled so hard I screamed, he his cock slid in and out of my scarred vagina. He was pumping in me furiously. I was just in pain from all over when I shuddered, screaming and sobbing, as I squirted on his cock. My pussy leaking my juices as I spasmed without control.

"You fucking disgust me," Teddy said, as he sped up, fucking me now flat on the floor, spread wide as he reamed my cunt with his cock. I felt one more hit to my head and then heard him grunting as he filled my cunt with his cum. All I could do was lay there, the room spinning, almost about to puke as he came in me. Then a sudden grunt of pain as he pushed off me, using my back, and stood up. I heard his zipper pull back up. Then I was flipped over, and I looked at him, still half wild. My body was a mess of bruises and pain. My left eye swollen shut, my cheeks red, one turning purple. He pulled his fist back and it trembled and I don't know what I wanted more. Him to beat me or to stop. I'm not sure he knew any better. While he had fucked me, it had been much more a beating. He then threw me down again.

"Get yourself cleaned up you stupid sack of shit", he said. Again, the disgust in his voice was palpable. But slowly, reality began to seep back in. His disgust was nothing next to what I was starting to feel as the world returned. It took 3 tries for me to stand up, and I barely made it to the bathroom before I threw up. Heaving into it as the everything came back into focus. I didn't even bother to rinse out my mouth. I just staggered back into the hall and got my stick, crying. It was the cry of a small child, hurt by the world as I cradled it and went to my bed, cum leaking down my legs. I didn't care about cleaning up. I just wanted to know what the fuck was wrong with me. The old hate had returned with a vengeance. I stayed in my room until mom screamed at me ten times for dinner and I finally came out and sat down at the table. Teddy wouldn't even look at me. Mom, already blitzed didn't even notice until about ten minutes into the dinner.

"What the fuck happened to you?" she asked, slurring her words just a bit.

Looking down, unable to even glance in Teddy's direction, I muttered that I had gotten into a fight. She sighed at that. Made that frustrated sound every mom can master, even the shitty ones.

"God damn, you're just one massive fuckup aren't you?" She asked, disgusted at me.

"Yes mom," I muttered. And I knew deep down, both her, Teddy,  and my rapist were all right about me.

December 08, 2016, 10:02:15 PM
Reply #9

Offline Ararria

This chapter is very personal to me. It deals with subject matter that can be very traumatic to people who have had, or still do have, suicidal tendencies or thoughts. This chapter is not meant to, in any way, glorify or promote suicide. If you have suicidal thoughts, please get help. It's terrifying but there are people who care and who can help. If you are struggling, please go to You are not allowed to view links. Register or Login or call 1-800-273-8255. People do care and there is hope. Trust me.

EDIT: Cleaned up a bit, still not what I want it to be, but can't do more to it now.

"Suicide"

That night, after taking a bottle of vodka to bed with me, I laid in the bed. I still hadn't showered, or cleaned myself. Teddy's cum was still in me, dried along the side of my leg and in my cunt. The state of my mind as I was there would have been hard to explain. I was beyond tired. I was beyond numb. I had been so angry at first. At Teddy, at myself, at life. I had cradled that damned stick like a life vest in a roaring sea. My mind was a jumbled mess. I was still heavily nauseous, likely having another concussion from the beating/fucking I had received. I just wanted to make sense of it. Find some way to understand how I had acted. But I couldn't so I had cried and slept until dinner. Then mom had berated me and I was so fucking pathetic.

You'd think the final breaking of a person would be dramatic. That it would be huge, something to be in awe of. It wasn't even a whimper for me. When my mom, the alcoholic wonder, had called me massive fuckup, I just gave up. You'd think after all I'd been through so far, that wouldn't have fazed me much. But after whatever you would call what Teddy and I had done, I was hanging by a thread. There I was, my left eye swollen shut, black and blue, and she didn't even notice for like ten minutes. And when I offered her a weak excuse, she didn't even pry. She didn't even ask about it. She didn't notice that Teddy didn't want to look at me nor me him. No, she didn't notice any of that. Because she didn't care. And after what she said, I didn't either. I was just too tired of it all. I barely finished my meal, took some vodka, and hit my room and drank. And drank.

Sometime during the evening, I passed out. Too empty to even cry. Just....hollow. As I slept, my nightmares came as they did most nights. Relieving that first rape. And in it, my death. Most of the time in the dreams I lived, just like reality. But tonight, the dream had ended in my death and yet I hadn't woken up screaming as I usually did. I didn't wake up sobbing. I didn't wake up at all. I slept soundly. Probably one of the few nights of peaceful rest I'd had since that night. It's like I already knew. It was my minds way of saying it was time.

I woke the next morning, when mom tried to get me to school, but I wasn't having any of it. I told her to fuck off, and got back in bed. Teddy was still avoiding me. Not one word had exchanged between us since yesterday afternoon. I didn't blame him. I was disgusted with myself too. I was a walking pile of shit and I had gotten my stink on him. So yeah, he avoided me. Mom gave up without too much of a fight as she headed off to her temp job. Working front desk at some office. She even seemed to be completely sober for once. Teddy had already bolted out, for whatever errands he had to run. So I had the trailer to myself.

I hadn't really planned it like that, for the trailer to be empty, but part of me was glad that it was. It would be better this way. After my dream last night, I knew what my problem was. I simply had never corrected the situation. I was supposed to have died that night. And everything since then had just been a long reminder of that. I just simply had to stop struggling. It really was that simple and I wondered why I hadn't done something before then. I had wished that I had died a thousand times but never had done anything to make it happen. Till now. I had nothing left to give. I didn't want to fight. I didn't want to struggle. I just wanted to go away. Everyone would be happier without me. I truly believed that. I was just a mistake. And it was time to correct it.

I walked back into the bathroom, and started filling the tub with hot water. It was almost scalding but I didn't really care. I even poured in some bubble bath. Looking back, I have no idea why. Habit? Comfort? Who knows why we do things when we are nothing but balls of pain. After running my hand through the hot water, I stood up and walked over to the medicine cabinet. It was full of drugs, both legal and not. Of something sharp, like razors, I didn't even think about. Even before the rape I hadn't liked sharp things and I knew I would chicken out if I tried something like that. It was the blood I couldn't deal with. Even now I hated it. Seeing it. Why a bruise was fine and a cut was not. I don't know. But it was. I looked in the back I finally found some sleeping pills. The bottle was almost completely full and it offered the promise of what I wanted. What I deserved.

To relax, so that it would soon be over.

I took them, heading back into my room as the tub slowly filled. I found the vodka from last night, still mostly full and took it and my phone back into the bathroom with me. I climbed into the tub and the heat hurt in a good way. My skin was red almost instantly but nothing I couldn't handle. Indeed, the warmth quickly felt nice. It was bubbling well, and after another minute I turned off the water. I laid my head back and thought about what I was doing. If I hadn't pushed away my friends, I probably could have reached out to them. But it had been over a month since either had spoken a word to me. I had done too good a job ruining what we had. Go me. I put some music on, just the instrumentals of Les Misérables. I had always enjoyed Schönberg's music and I guess I wanted to hear it one last time. So I soaked in the hot tub, chugging away at the fifth and sometimes playing with and rattling the bottle of pills.

I wish I could say I had second doubts, or worried what others would think. Of who would find me. What my old friends would have thought upon hearing I was dead. But I didn't. I was a selfish cunt who just wanted the pain to end. I couldn't live anymore with the emptiness and what filled that emptiness scared me even more. I knew, deep down, I was beyond saving. I was just fixing a cosmic mistake. God had blinked and missed something. So I started taking the pills 3 at a time, swallowing them with vodka. Just one, two, three, swig. One, two, three, swig. It was easier than I thought it would be and I just wanted to slip away. Lean back and just cease to exist. I half wondered as I was getting fuzzy, from the drink and the pills, if I would drown. Would I fall asleep and slide down and that finish me? It honestly didn't matter. I didn't matter. I was a colossal fuck-up and it was time for me to go. I swallowed the last of the pills, closed my eyes, said goodbye. And went to sleep.

December 08, 2016, 10:02:53 PM
Reply #10

Offline Ararria

"Can't even do that right"

Suicide is an odd thing. It can, depending on the method, be very easy to attempt, or very difficult. Attempt is the key word here because you can always fuck it up. Blow your brains out, instead be left a vegetable. Slice your wrists and maybe just be left with new scars to explain. Take a bottle of sleeping pills, expecting to go on the long sleep and find out they don't work like that anymore. That's the problem with taking such an unoriginal way out. Tons have done it before you and so companies have tweaked their formulas. Maybe I should have done some study online first but research and study have never been my thing. So once again, I got to fuck things up.

One million people a year kill themselves, and I can't even do that right. Fuck my life.

The first thing that tipped me off that something was wrong was pain. Pain in my gut, my throat, and my cheek. Also all over my body. I couldn't focus worth shit, still so out of it even opening my eyes was a challenge. But pins and needles were stabbing my body all over. I didn't know what was going on. Well, I knew enough to know I wasn't dead. I was wet still, but it all felt wrong, I was sliding under water. Water rushing at my face, my body convulsing. Eyes half lidded as I bent over and hurled, my throat already so fucking raw. Why was my throat so raw? If I was bent over, why was my face still in water. None of it made sense.

The music from my phone was screaming at me. Just ranting and saying things that were all jumbled. I didn't remember any of it from Les Misérables. I tried to push the water away, trying to cry as my stomach surged again. I bent over and hurled as I gripped the sides of the tub. I couldn't see anything, my eyes were wet, water was still hitting my face as I struggled to get out from under it. There was a foul stink in the air as my gut convulsed again and I whimpered in humiliation as my bowels let loose. Strangely, for someone who wanted to die, I became worried about how they would find me. Apparently me dead and cold in a tub was fine, dead and covered in vomit and shit was not. I flailed as I was drowning again in the tub. Ashamed that they would find me having fouled myself. Again the pins and needles hit my body all over as I apparently pulled my face free from the water. I shuddered, so cold. It wasn't fair. I was supposed to go to sleep. Why couldn't I go to sleep?

My face felt a sharp pain again and I wondered if I had slipped and hit the edge of it. Had I slumped down? Nothing made sense, there was just too much noise from my phone. It was was screaming at me again to wake up, which didn't make sense. Why would my phone care about me. No one cared about me. I fucking didn't care about me. I struggled again, doubling up and puking. Water hit my face as I sobbed, my throat raw. Why couldn't I just fucking drown? I tried to focus again, arms pushing against the water in front of me but I couldn't hold it. It kept rushing through my hands as I fell through it. So cold. I felt another slap and I tried to grab at it. What? A slap? I tried to open my eyes, I was so fucking tired and I cried and just wanted to know what was going on. Did God hate me that much? What was wrong?

All I saw through the water as I tried to open my eyes was a blurry mess that made no sense. Something moved over me as my phone screamed my name and I tried to turn away. I just wanted to go away. Why couldn't I go away. Why did I have to hurt more as I curled up on my side and lost control again, puking and voiding myself. I was jerked upright and was drowning again. The cold needles hitting my face, teasing me, but not letting me suffocate. Why?

I heard my name again screaming at me as I started shaking violently, slaps ringing in my ears. I pushed hard and something pushed me back. Nothing was making sense. The blurry object was over me and my phone screamed at me with Teddy's voice. Why did my phone have Teddy's voice? Why was it telling me to wake up. I didn't want to. I wanted to quit. I had fucking said goodbye. Suddenly my vision cleared for a moment as my face hurt a bit. Someone was over me. My eye was pried open and my phone talked. No, not my phone. Teddy? I didn't understand.

"Ally! Ally! Stay awake dammit!" I heard it yell at me. I whimpered, sobbing, and my throat felt foul. My stomach and ass churned. I thrashed hysterically as Teddy held me as still as he could. I saw the shower head now, as he turned me a bit, hosing my backside. Then my face again. Something had gone wrong. I didn't know what. It was all I could do to think straight. He kept talking to me but almost none of it made sense. I tried to close my eyes but the sharp pain of cold water on my face and chest hit me again. How long this went on, I don't know.

Later on, I'd realize it of course. Sleeping pills and alot of vodka had been rejected by my body. Enough had been taken into my system however to fuck with me though. My lack of body control, my confusion, my disjointed memories of it, all side effects. Teddy kept at me the entire time though. Course he didn't call the cops or the hospital, but maybe he'd been through that before. It's easy to hate on someone and second guess them, but he'd came back and found me. Kept me from choking to death on my own vomit. It was all confusing as I found myself in my bed, like none of it happened.

Eventually I had stopped throwing up. Became more aware of what was going on, even if I couldn't focus much. The water got warmer. No. That's not right, it had gotten less cold. I think he turned on some heat once I started responding to him. I mostly just cried from what I remember as he cleaned me once I finally stopped vomiting and shitting myself. He had carried me to my bedroom as I clung to him. I had whimpered, a small child in his arms. Lost. So fucking lost. Then a bright light in my eyes and voices near me as he talked to someone. Apparently he'd found a body? No. That was me, he'd found me. Overdosed in the tub. Convulsing. I dozed in and out, only to be woken with a slap or another bright light to my eye. Voices, a hand at my throat. No, fingers. It's all so disjointed now. This morning I was going to die. I was going to fix everything. And I screwed it up. I just wanted to go. I couldn't do anything right. So I curled up, still chilled to the bone under the blankets and slept fitfully as Teddy watched over me.

December 08, 2016, 10:03:21 PM
Reply #11

Offline Ararria

"A rough few days"

I hallucinated some that first night. I don't remember most of it now except it had been terrifying. Dark shapes that weren't really there. Reality peeling away. Demons gutting me. But nothing in detail. Even though I had "expelled" most of the pills, what was left in me had really fucked me up. At some point, mom came home. I have fragments of her or Teddy taking care of me. Making me drink. Making me wake regularly. The next day wasn't much better. The hallucinations had stopped at some point but I was still completely out of it. They said I talked some. Would ramble on. Or cry.

Moving was still out of the picture. Teddy would take me to the bathroom or clean me up if I made a mess. Mom would clean the sheets. Otherwise I certainly don't remember much of it. Just flashes, sounds, the tattered remnants and jagged edges of memories. Mom would later claim she apologized to me. For not knowing the pain I was in. Maybe she did. They still didn't take me for help. Teddy had talked her out of it, saying that my beating might be blamed on them. Of course, he had done it. Always protecting his ass. Course, he had protected mine too. When he had found me convulsing and vomiting in the tub, unable to move, he could have shut the door and walked back out. No one would have known. But for whatever reason, he hadn't. He'd saved my life, such as it was.

Friday, two days later after my attempt, was when things started to make sense again. I still was disjointed, still felt sluggish. But I could move. They still helped me, but I could mostly get around on my own. I tried to eat and puked most of it back up. Water stayed down though. I was shaky and wanted a drink as well and when mom was out of the room, Teddy would let me have a sip. I think he knew better than my mom just how much I'd been drinking. She'd just been oblivious. To everything. But that was mom. Anyway, they didn't need to change or clean me any more. I was still on a close watch though. Mom sat on the toilet while I took my first shower under my own power Friday afternoon. Apparently I was having a bad case of the flu according to the school. Teddy had went out to pick up my work while I cleaned myself and enjoyed the heat. No one still had asked the big question. And I was terrified of it being asked. I still felt empty. The dead bitch was still in the mirror looking back at me. But something was different. I simply didn't care anymore. I was scared of the question being asked because I was scared it might make me care. That would be hard. That could hurt me. If I didn't care, I couldn't hurt. I mean, I had failed to do something that people, I thought, did easily. It just wasn't part of the plan. Some people don't get to take the easy way out. I mostly just took the shower numbly, the warmth on my body the only thing any part of me felt.

I got out, and mom helped dry me off and walk me back into the bedroom. I dressed in my pajamas and just shuffled through the rest of Friday and into Saturday. It was then when mom finally asked me why I had tried to kill myself. I can remember it so fucking vividly, years later.

"Honey, why did you try to kill yourself?" She had asked, doing her best imitation of a real mom. I had been finally fully aware, no fogginess, no confusion. I had strangely enjoyed, on some level, some of the attention I had been getting. From both of them even. It had been so nice. Numb as I fucking was, it felt like they were at least trying. It felt almost like we were a real family. So I tried. I told her the truth.

"I feel," I stammered. Looking for the right words. "I feel like i've been dead since I was raped," I said. "I just wanted to make it real mom. I'm sorry," I said. I wish I had cried but no tears came as I told her that. She held my hand, rubbed it.

"It'll get better honey," she said. She then patted my hand again and stood up. Looking sad. And then went back into the kitchen. And that was it. That was the entire discussion. Don't worry dear reader. I didn't break down. I didn't cry. I didn't despair at the neglect. I was past that now. I was empty. But I would deal. If I couldn't kill myself, if I couldn't get that right, I'd exist. I had gotten good at existing. So I went back to the school work in front of me, that I didn't care about. And later that night, I ate dinner that I didn't care about. And then I went to the bathroom and brushed teeth that I didn't care about. I looked in the mirror at the dead eyed girl. Her I really fucking didn't care about. And I went to bed, in my room, none of which I cared about. I closed my eyes and prayed for my nightmares. As fucked up as they were. They made me feel something. And that, I did care about.

December 09, 2016, 03:15:27 AM
Reply #12

Offline Ararria

"Apology"

Things began to settle down into a new, numb, normal. I just slid through one day to the next, fumbling blindly. I didn't care about anything anymore. Well that's not exactly true. I cared about the stick. I cared about my nightmares. I cared about the pot or vodka that helped me suffer through my existence. That was about it. Mom, she didn't see a thing. All she saw was her own shitty life and getting what she wanted out of it. Which surprisingly, for whatever reasons I fully admit I was too selfish to care about, meant she was actually trying for once at work. All I noticed were two things, how I never had to hunt anymore for some vodka, and how she was gone most nights, at least until late. She was working 2nd shift somewhere and holding it down. That was fine by me, except it left me alone with Teddy more.

For the first week, we'd mostly avoided each other. He'd barely spoken to me outside of a grunt since he'd saved me in the shower. It was like he hated to even be around me and to be fair, I hadn't sought him out either. I hadn't even thanked him for what he had done yet. Probably because I didn't know if there was anything to thank him for. Should I be happy I was alive or angry at my continued existence? That was a question I wasn't prepared to deal with head on.

One night about a week after my suicide attempt however, he came into my room. I was in an oversized tshirt, stoned out of my gourd, with Netflix playing some cartoon on in the background. He opened the door, frowned at me, then walked on in. Out of it as I was, I sat up nervously. Only now was my face recovering from the black eye he'd given me. He seemed to hesitate as I sat up, then continued on beside my bed and sat down on the edge of it. He refused to stare at me and instead focused on his hands, fumbling with them for a moment before he finally spoke up.

"Did...did you do it because of me?" he asked. The words didn't come easily from him. It seemed like he fought for each one. Or maybe I was just too stoned. I basically sat there, trying to understand what he meant.

"Wha....What?" I barely stammered out. His eyes flashed at me, as he angrily grabbed the joint from my hand and tossed it aside.

"Did you try to kill yourself because we fucked?"

At that, I almost laughed. His eyes narrowed as I started to though and I realized how serious he was. He didn't know, he didn't understand. What was I supposed to say to him? Yes you're fully responsible? No, you weren't. The truth was he was and wasn't and everything in between. Fuck, the rape or the sex or whatever we'd done was among the least important things that had led to it. Everything else though, that hadn't exactly helped.

"That? No. It's been. Was. Everything was piling up. And I broke..." I wanted to explain. But the words I needed weren't there for me. I leaned forward a bit towards him and he took my hand. It was warm and easily covered mine. He honestly looked sad to me, as he rubbed my hand lightly.

"I'm sorry if I made things worse," Teddy said softly. I barely heard the words as he spoke them. I knew I liked the feel of his hands on mine. He was so close to me. He was apologizing to me. He cared. That was the only thought running through my mind as I clung to him. Pressed my face against his chest. He seemed startled by my response but I would learn what startled actually was in a moment. Myself, I pressed myself tighter against him, felt the warmth of his body. He cared. I slide my head from his chest to his face and kissed him. There was a wonderful pause, where my heart fluttered there. A spark that tried to burn. Then reality crashed in a tidal wave to snuff it out. As suddenly, I felt myself being shoved violently away. My back and head bounced of the headboard and I whimper, confused.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? I try to...fuck and you...." he stammered, his body shaking with rage. He was grabbing my hair and just screaming at me, punching my sides, my back, the room went dizzy as one blow nailed the back of my head. He was just wailing on me as I quivered in pain. And suddenly, as fast as it had started, it stopped. I was shaking hard, my head and back was throbbing, everything was spinning so fast I threw up a bit in my mouth. I looked up and I saw Teddy, his fist pulled back. I knew he wanted to hit me. Part of me wanted him to hit me. He was right. I was fucked up. I also wanted to kiss him but there was none of that in him. He was shaking in fury. He was full of disgust. He finally pulled away and rushed out of the room.

"Just stay the fuck away from me you crazy piece of shit," he spat out as my door was slammed shut. I sat there, hurting, trembling, and shoved my face into my pillow and just screamed. I shuddered as I punched at my bed, and slapped at the side of my head. I cried for the first time since my attempt and grabbed my dresser and pulled out the drawer in one jerk as it crashed to the floor. I didn't care. I grabbed the stick and just jabbed it in my cunt as I cried, so much pouring out. Every time I thought I was empty, I learned I could drop a bit more. I moaned, mostly in pain, as I fucked myself with it. I hadn't lubed myself and though I was wet for some reason, I wasn't nearly wet enough. It didn't matter though. I just needed to feel. And despite everything, the pain and everything did feel good. It wasn't long before I was twitching on the stick and cumming hard. I still hadn't fully put two and two together, instead operating more on instinct than anything else. It was good enough though as I lay there, my pussy aching and raw as the crygasm ripped through me. I couldn't figure out my place, where I fit in anymore. I just twitched, panting hard, unaware of the new best friend I would be making soon. So I just let go, and cried myself to sleep.

December 12, 2016, 03:58:32 PM
Reply #13

Offline Ararria

Christmas at Wal*Mart

After that, mostly avoided Teddy. He was always stomping around the house, giving me hateful glares. Mom, he took care of. It was me that he hated. Me, that couldn’t do anything right. Most days went by with few words between the two of us, and the ones that did always came after I dropped something or found some way to do something wrong.

“Stupid shit”, “God you’re a fuckwit”, and the ilk were a constant refrain. Sometimes he’d accent his words with a slap to my face or my back of my head. I’d just take it, saying nothing. Just another piece of humanity bitch slapped out of me. On day, managed to spill some milk and I was just terrified. Mom had left for work and there I was, literally trembling because I’d knocked my cup over. He was on me in a second, and I whimpered as my side exploded in pain, then my cheek, then my hip as I was kicked to the kitchen floor.

“Clean up your mess you stupid sack of shit!” was the kind words he blessed me with that day. I just nodded, praying to god he didn’t smell me. I knew that would have unleashed a more serious beating as that was the root cause of everything anyway. I stank like a cheap whore often, after he hit me or when I hurt myself at night. I had started wearing sweats all the time around him. No more long shirts, boy shorts, or anything like that. Besides the cold, I needed to hide what I was doing. He knew the bruises and injuries, none serious, that he was causing. He didn’t know about the small cuts, along my inner thigh. My bruised and often swollen lips where the rough back had worn my tender skin raw. The cuts on the inner bit of my upper arm. All easy enough to hide. All hurt just enough to let me feel alive, if only for a moment. No, that, that would have made him furious. But for now, time just went by.

My GPA had dropped to an all time low. A glorious 1.5 that surely made me the envy of all my peers. I didn’t care and neither did they, so it didn’t matter. Thanksgiving arrived, and passed with little fanfare. A quiet uncomfortable dinner, that finally marked a turning point in mom’s quest for sobriety. It ended with a bottle of red wine decorating the wall and yelling punctuating the night. Just another wonderful night as things drifted into December. At least December meant Christmas.

Now, Christmas wasn’t a religious holiday to us. Like most people, at least the honest ones, it was about getting shit and with moms until recent regular work, and Teddy’s profession, we had some spare cash to buy shit we didn’t really need or want. But that’s what the season is for right?

It was around 7PM and we had been shopping for clothes, a new Blu-Ray player for some reason, and some assorted shit. I had a mild buzz but was functioning well enough. My hair was a mess, but otherwise I looked better than most people of Wal*Mart if remarkably plain in my worn out tshirt and faded jeans. Nothing special, but it’s not like I was looking for attention anyway. But something did catch mine.

As I turned the corner near the women’s bras, I saw him. Not one hundred feet away, near the shoes, was him. The rapist. The man who’d left me for dead. I just froze like a deer in headlights as a freight train of emotions crashed through me. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think, even my breathing was coming only in hitches as my heart did its very best to rip out of my chest. I was so in shock, I didn’t even feel the warm gush of piss running down my legs. My denim pants, in the crotch and theighs turned a darker shade of blue and my socks grew soggy. I don’t know if people could hear it or smell it, but the chill of air against the warm pants slowly made me realize what had happened. Tears just ran down my face as I wanted to scream, run, pass out, anything but stand there. Frozen, helpless all again.

I wish I knew how long I stood there. It felt like hours and was likely less than a minute. And then my rapist turned. And it was no one. Just some random guy. My legs and body unfroze and I just ran to the restroom in the back and hit the stall, locking it. I was shaking as I put my hands in my face and just cried. A fucking stranger, just a fucking stranger. I smelled my piss stained jeans and just wept. Merry fucking Christmas.

December 12, 2016, 09:11:42 PM
Reply #14

Offline Ararria

“My new best friend”

After that embarrassment, Christmas sneaked one week closer. Teddy, having always been the entertainer for our little shitty trailer park, decided that we needed to have a Christmas party for everyone. During the summer it’s easy, just fire up the grill and set out some tables and it doesn’t matter that you have a tiny yard and live in a double wide. With cold weather in full effect, you can’t exactly invite multiple people over when it’s below freezing outside. So Teddy instead got the park manager to open up their “warehouse”, bring in some electric and kerosene heaters, plenty of tables, and got people to bring some food. Why they even gathered some money for the little kids so they could get some presents and shit.

Now, if you think that’s an odd thing for a drug dealer to do, you’re probably visualizing the wrong kind of dealer. Teddy wasn’t some street corner thug. Nor was he some high level drug kingpin. What he did have, were some cousins that were very active in the smuggling business and were kind enough, for enough green and the occasional favor, to give him a small amount of their much larger hauls. So, that took care of the supply side, at least as far as I knew about it. For all I knew, his cousins might not have been actual cousins at all. As to his business, it was really simple. Teddy, for all his faults, was a people person. He made friends wherever he went, and he made sure those friends were happy. Which is why people were always over to the trailer, why he had cookouts, and why he was having the Christmas party. A clean cop with an honest neighbor could have easily watched the handshakes, the “mail” that went to the wrong house, the small bag of leftovers people took home. But they never left unhappy. You’d be shocked how many people buy drugs right in front of their own kids and spouses, them rarely any wiser to it.

I had the misfortune to have to help set up for it. Not that I had a choice of course. I mean, who can refuse the polite request “To be fucking useful for once”. So I had found myself straightening up the area, setting up tables, and shit. I was dressed in my “sexiest” clothes. A nice blouse with some stains on it, making the red more maroon in spots. Then just a pair of jeans and tennis shoes. Why, I had even showered and brushed my teeth. I joke but I did look better by far than I typically did. For whatever reason, I wanted the night to go smoothly. Maybe then I wouldn’t get a hateful glare or a slap from Teddy.

Turnout was good, as it usually was at these things. It was bitterly cold outside but the amount of heaters were handling it well and everyone was warm and soon likely most everyone would be buzzed at least a bit, one way or another. Not everyone there was from the trailer park however. Teddy always made sure all his connections at least got an invite. Even if they didn’t want to slum it, they knew they had the choice. Kids were playing, most were younger than me, and the ones closer to my age had no desire to be around the mostly older crowd. Plus, it would have been awkward if they bought some pot at the same time their parents did. That would be some fine and fun family conversations.

Despite the older crowd, many of them were there for Teddy and so, when I started nursing a beer, no one really gave a damn. Places like that, there tended to be two types of parents. Those that were cool and didn’t care if their kids drink, as long as they were present and they weren’t making fools of themselves. And those that just didn’t give a fuck. My mom, of course, clearly belonged in that first group. Anyway, as people sat and chatted, I found the closest thing to a dark corner and was looking out towards the interstate when a hand touched my back and slid down to the top of my ass, warm in the cold air. I turned and saw that it was one of Teddy’s long time buddies, Glenn.

Now to describe Glenn, it’s pretty simple. Take a frat douche bag. This is important. A normal douche bag isn’t nearly good enough. Then, sprinkle a tiny bit of charisma coupled with an unwarranted amount of self worth. Then pour liberally in a heaping of that special arrogant sales talk that loves to use meaningless jargon. You know the kind. “Actualizing the message or focusing on the customers unmet needs” and all that jazz. He’d groped me before, since I was 12 at least. He was one of those “joker” guys. Every woman knows them. They are the guys who say something, or do something and when called out on it, say they were “just joking”. You know, it’s your fault you didn’t get the joke when they snapped your thong or hugged you just a bit to long while they sniffed your hair. That type.

Anyway, Glenn, he of holding my butt, smiled at me his shit eating grin and asked, “Aren’t you a bit young to be drinking that.”

I wanted to laugh in his face, as I could probably out-drink his sorry ass, but I was being generous tonight.

“Aren’t you a bit old to be grabbing my ass?” I asked, taking another long drink.

He grinned bigger at that. Most times he did something I slapped him or tried to at least. Or told him to go fuck himself. This time, I did neither. And sniffing a difference in my actions, he pounced. Leaning in, hand still firmly on my ass, he pulled himself closer.

“Maybe so, but I didn’t hear a no,” he said as he placed his warm hand on the back of my neck. Massaging it. “Why are you drinking so much tonight for?”

I smirked and let him touch me. I didn’t care anymore. To be honest, the attention was nice. “It’s a long night. Only just started,” I said as I looked up at him. He leaned up against my ear and I trembled. His eyes narrowed. It was then when he knew. I had known the second he had touched me. Breathing in my ear.

“Long nights don’t have to be all bad,” he said. He squeezed my neck harder and I just looked down, my hand holding the beer shaking. “I’ve even got better shit than that. You look like you need a pick me up.” I nodded dumbly at that and I felt myself walking towards the opposite corner. Crossing the patchwork of people, as we kept to the edges. I felt his finger entwine around my thong that was sticking out a bit, pulling it against me. We reached the bathroom and he led me into the men’s room. He didn’t even hesitate. They were smallish, just a stall and a urinal. I mostly stood there dumbly as he locked the door behind him.

Turning, he smiled and rushed to the sink, pulling out a small vial. I looked at it hesitantly. It wasn’t that I was suddenly anti-drug. I’d simply never had access to it before. Teddy sold it, but it wasn’t part of his stash that he’d have taken well to me “borrowing”. Glenn smiled at me, grasped my arm and drew me close.

“First time?” he smiled. God I hated that fucking smug look on his face. However, I was open to pretty much anything and he was right. I wrinkled my nose in anticipation. Anyone who has ever had soda squirt up their nose can tell you how enjoyable that is. But the need to feel, anything at all, is a powerful compulsion. I nodded as he made 4 fat lines and did one. It was interesting to see the clear and sudden rush on his face. I’d never had used anything that had that quick of an effect. That should have made me nervous. I was more intrigued. He smiled at me and offered me the rolled bill. His hand slide down my back, inside my pants, as he directly cupped my ass. I wish I would have hesitated. But I wanted to feel.

I bent over as he groped my ass more and did a line, forcing myself to down it quickly. It burned, but not like I was expecting it to. I was expecting something more painful. Intense. But it wasn’t. What it was, I’d learn later, was some primo shit. What I did feel was..better. As Glenn massaged my ass, he reached around and unbuttoned my pants, unzipping them. I felt, him reach around and cup my breasts as my pants slid down around my ankles. I felt it. I felt amped. I felt like I’d drank a dozen cups of coffee but I wasn’t jittery at all. I was fucking crystal clear. I felt right, or closer to right than I had in months. I didn’t feel drugged at all. Hell I felt stone fucking cold sober. I gasped a bit as I felt my bra pushed over my tits as he grinded against my ass. I mewed as he pinched my nipples. I felt, 100%, completely on. It’s so fucking hard to describe. I didn’t feel broken. At least not mentally. I fit. I fucking fit in the world again. Glenn reached around me and carefully put the coke on top of the toilet, then pushed my shoulders down until my now exposed tits, with my bunched up bra and blouse shoved over them, were pressed against the cold porcelain. It felt so good. I wasn’t fucking high. I was right. I was on, I was being fucked. I didn’t feel fear, depression, anxiety, or even lust. I was just more complete than I probably have ever been in my life. I felt an odd drip as I rocked back and forth as he fucked me, like sinus drainage. It wasn’t and it tasted funny but it was fine too. Everything was so fucking fine as I purred, spreading myself as he pumped my cunt. I barely felt or cared about it tho.

No, it wasn’t that I didn’t care about it, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t perfect enough. I looked back as Glenn fucked my pussy and I whimpered.

“Fuck my ass”

I almost laughed at loud at the look on his face. But he was happy to oblige. I felt him spread my cheeks and push in and it hurt and felt good and it was glorious. I panted like an animal, full of energy, full of life that I hadn’t known since that goddamned night and I was lost in it. He grabbed my hair and jerked my head back, riding me. I didn’t care my hips ached from hitting the sink.  I bucked back, feeling my ass tense on his cock. I yelped as he slapped my ass, again and again.

“Take that bitch, you nasty fuck”

I quivered. I was fingering my cunt furiously as my ass bucked against him. I suddenly felt him moan and I needed it, wanted his cum. I spun around and almost instantly regretted it. He quickly thrust in my mouth and I tasted my ass heavily on it. I hadn’t cleaned or prepped and I was now gagging on that. He was too excited though and pumped my mouth hard, holding my head as he came in it. I choked the cum and rest down but as soon as he let up and pulled out of my mouth I rushed to the toilet, throwing up. The taste was on my lips and tongue and my stomach heaved as I puked again. I was laughing though. It was an angry laugh but I felt so fucking good I couldn’t stay upset. He was laughing to. At me. But I didn’t care. I wiped my mouth and cupped some water from the sink and rinsed my mouth out while he did another line.

“What fucked up your stomach?” he asked, which just made me feel shitty for the first time since we’d gone in there. I’d sucked shit off his cock and that didn’t even do that. I jerked down my blouse and he pulled it back up.

“It’s OK, I like broken things”

I pulled my shirt down again and fixed my clothes, and this time, properly cleaned myself on the toilet. He stood there smirking the whole damn time. As I finished straightening up, he offered me another line and I eagerly took it.

I felt his hand possessively on my ass again.

“Lets get the fuck out of here Ally.” He grabbed my hand and we snuck out of the bathroom and headed to his car. As we drove off my heart was pounding. I was fucking complete. And I was in love with my new best friend.

December 13, 2016, 07:15:03 PM
Reply #15

Online Jed

I'm really enjoying this story even though I winced many times while reading.  You are a phenomenal writer Ararria.  I like many of your descriptions and phrasing.  The description of the rapist in particular I thought clever:

'. . . . . . he was a big man. I don't mean football big, but more like fat biker big. You know, that weird mix of strong and out of shape that some guys have.'

December 13, 2016, 07:20:36 PM
Reply #16

Offline Ararria

Considering you are currently fighting vile8r in my reading top spot, that is high praise.

Thank you. I'm sorry about the winces tho they won't stop. Next chapter... :(

December 15, 2016, 04:44:57 PM
Reply #17

Offline Ararria

“Highs and Lows”

The rest of my night at Glenn’s was interesting to say the least. I learned to get used to the nasal drip in my mouth, that tastes quite different from anything before. I learned that just as cocaine hit you fast, it dropped you quickly to. My wonderful new friend didn’t show me that so much at first. In the car to Glenn’s I was stroking and sucking his cock. I felt like I was the best fuck he’d probably ever had, despite the fact that not ten minutes before I had learned why ass to mouth is something you typically should prep for.

I played with him as we went up to his apartment, absolute in my certainty that despite his struggle to stay hard, I was a gift to him. The focus, clarity, that I had told me everything I needed to know. I was good. We stumbled in his place, as he rapidly tore off my clothes again, as I pulled his pants to the floor and deep throated him, working his cock hard again. He asked me if I wanted some more coke, to which my answer was yes. I was still feeling great but my “high” wasn’t like getting baked or drunk. I didn’t feel high. I felt “on” and maybe more would get me high.

He wagged his finger no, though.

“I want you to eat my ass. Ever done that little girl?” he asked. I shook my head no and he flashed that damn grin again. I wanted to say no, having experienced more than I had planned earlier but he set pulled out of a drawer some cock and I nodded eagerly.

He bent over the table, doing another line as I hesitantly spread his cheeks. Unless you just came out of a shower, it won’t ever smell like roses of course. But it wasn’t horrible, just a musky or earthy smell, only vaguely reminiscent of shit. I tender touched my tongue on his hairy cheek, running it around when I felt his hand press my head into the center.

“Don’t tease Ally, lick my fucking ass”

So I did as I was told. Honestly I was expecting more taste of scat and while his ass wasn’t flavorful, it was nothing like that experience. I heard him tell me to stroke and I reached between his legs to pump his cock, which was already struggling to stay hard, my tongue probing and exploring his ass. It was long and sweaty work to keep him hard, but after close to ten minutes or so I finally felt him begin to tense as he spun around. I tried to catch it in my mouth but he aimed higher, cumming on my forehead and hair. It felt harsh, cheap, as I felt it drop in my hair, then back to my mouth to clean him. He made me a line and pulled me up.

“Let me clean up real quick and,” I started to say when he held my hand.

“Leave it” he said, and wanting more of my friend, I complied. I felt like shit for doing it but my 3rd go in about an hour let me know I had made the right decision as we made out and talked, for a bit before he looked at his phone and told me it was time to go. I nodded, rolling out of his bed and dressing, when I noticed he was still nude.

“Aren’t you going to throw something on?” I asked, half joking when he told me flatly, “No”

“What, but the TARC stopped running like over 2 hours ago?”

He sighed, drew out a twenty from his wallet by the stand and handed it to me.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Call a fucking cab, I don’t know” he said, apparently frustrated at my lack of leaving. He then pushed me out, as I felt used, performing my first (or second, depending how you look at it) walk of shame. I called a cab, half freezing my ass off waiting for it, before he picked me up and dropped me home. By then, I was starting to come off my coke high that I didn’t really feel I had had. The drop on it can be harsh. In and out and it’s done and that feeling of focus and sureness and feeling that you make sense in the world evaporates. Instead of sharp I was dull again, blank. That fucking emptiness knocking on my door to remind me it was coming home. So I was in a pretty shit mood when I walked through the door and slammed it shut, wanting one more line.

December 15, 2016, 04:45:32 PM
Reply #18

Offline Ararria

“Things Change”

“What the fuck, do you think you are doing getting home so late you fucking shit”

The yelling startled me. Not that it happened, just that I figured Teddy would be asleep. Getting greeted by him, with my hair a mess, late at night (or early in the morning) was not high on the list of things I wanted to do. I jumped back startled and was instantly put in even a shittier mood.

“Jesus what the fuck. Just chill the fuck down Teddy” This, in retrospect, was probably not the right thing to say but I just was feeling like the shit I was and didn’t want to deal with it right now. That said, I instantly regretted it. Teddy grabbed me by the neck and slammed me against the wall and I cried out as he punched beside my face so hard he left a dent. He was trembling as he looked me in the face.

“Don’t you ever fucking tell me what to do you stupid fucking bitch” Teddy snarled as he choked me. It wasn’t like the choke the rapist had given me. It had been a heavy even pressure cutting off my air with his weight on me making breathing even harder. This just straight up hurt bad and in a way I was scared he’d hurt me.

“Going out all night, you’ve been fucking around you fucking whore?” he screamed as he slammed me against the wall, my back and head bouncing off of it when he pulled me forward again.

“Where the fuck were you, you dumb fuck?”

By now, I was almost hysterical, my face was turning red, my windpipe felt crushed, and I was get dizzy from both the choking and being hit against the wall. I was clawing at his arm as I tried to say Glenn. He let go of my neck for a second and I just doubled over, wheezing hard as I tried to say Glenn, again and again.

“He give you his coke?” Teddy asked, venom in his voice.

I nodded weakly and just grunted when he grabbed me and threw me from the wall. I could barely walk and I just stumbled and crashed hard on the coffee table. It busted as I fell on it and kept rolling. He was on me in a second, kicking me hard in the gut. I tried to get in air through the pain as he flipped me on my back, grabbing my head, just beating and slapping at it, screaming at me.

“You’re just a fucking stupid worthless piece of shit you goddamn whore, you know that! YOU KNOW THAT”

I could only sob, as my nose exploded in pain and blood. I felt my lip bust as he just screamed and punched and slapped me. The odd nasal drip had been replaced by copper, as I trashed violently, doing everything I could to get away. Suddenly I felt a blow to my left ear and with that things were suddenly  muffled and I just sobbed. My ear hurt so bad and I was just trying to crawl away. I was easily dragged back by Teddy as he started tearing my clothes off me and I didn’t even fight him. I was freaking out as everything sounded off as I was stripped easily by him. He just looked furious and he reached down and touched my wet cunt I just broke into mad sobs, so bad I could barely breathe.

Something just snapped in him then. I thought he’d been crazy before but when he saw that I was wet, I was scared. No, fuck that. I was shitting my pants terrified in a way that I had only experienced once before. He slammed a fist straight into my tit and jerked in pain, Then he kept hitting me, my tits, my guts, I was in so much pain I didn’t realize he had stopped. I was just a mass of bruises as he grabbed my limp legs and folded me in half, knees almost by my head as he slammed his cock in me and just fucked me furiously. I just took it, my cunt was wet but I was too out of it to fuck him or to pull away.

The cheap carpet was clawing at my back as he just grunted over me, sometimes hitting my side, my head, just thrashing at me again and again.

“This what you wanted you sick fucking bitch?” he roared at me, as he started choking me again, this time with both hands. I feebly slapped and grabbed at him but there was no way I could begin to even budge him and I was too weak to even try. My neck felt like it was being crushed as he rammed into my pussy again and again, weight fully on me and my neck. My eyes felt like they were bulging as he raped me on the floor. Or hate fucked. My thrashing was stopping fast though. Blackness was creeping in and none of my muscles were responding as I felt him tighten his grasp and my neck hurt so bad I wanted him to kill me right there to end the pain. Snot, blood, and tears streaked my face as I just went limp under Teddy as he crushed my body and neck, driving his cock in deep as he came. Not that I noticed as I was shaking violently, my body convulsing. I didn’t even realize his hands were now off my neck as he pulled off of me.

I just kicked myself away and struggled to get air out. I could barely hear out of my left ear and as I tried to get air all I could do was make a pitiful high pitched wheezing sound. My body convulsed as it fought for air and I watched him with wild and wounded eyes as I shook. His back was too me and he was shaking just as hard as I was. Long seconds turned to even longer minutes and I finally started being able to breathe somewhat normally. Without the wheeze in my voice I heard the sob in his breathing. I didn’t know why, or how but I had hurt him. I couldn’t understand it or wrap my mind around it. I just knew it was my fault. I had fucked up again, I had caused everything. I reached painfully over to him and he jerked away from me like I was fire. He was shaking so bad, looking down at me.

“I wish I had fucking let you die,” he said, as he walked off.

I just laid there, in pain, abandoned, alone. Wishing the same thing.

December 16, 2016, 12:19:40 AM
Reply #19

Online Jed

Keep going Ararria, very intense.