AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I’ll never admit defeat.
He whips me again and again, screaming that I’m to surrender.
In response, I don’t make a sound. I don’t move.
The belt drops to the hard floor and I close my eyes as I know what comes next. He kicks me in the ribs, before stomping on my calf. But he never punches me in the face because he doesn’t want anyone to see what a monster he truly is.
My injuries are easily covered because he’s a coward; a coward who will pay for everything he’s done.
With one final blow to my ribs, he exhales, tipping his face to the ceiling, elated by the violence he’s caused. But it’s not enough. It’s never enough. He comes to stand in front of me, roughly gripping my chin and arching my neck back so I can look up at him.
I don’t cry.
I don’t scream.
I simply exist for the day he’ll suffer atmyhands.
He rubs his thumb over my bottom lip, a feral look reflected in his cold blue eyes. “There’s more than one way to make ye talk.”
He forces his thumb into my mouth, slipping it in and out, a clear innuendo for what he wants. His erection presses against the front of his trousers. My stomach roils in disgust.
He removes his thumb, which he replaces with two fingers. He forces them down my throat and when I gag, he hums in approval. He awkwardly tugs down his trousers, freeing his revolting cock and forcing me to gag for another reason.
As he strokes over his swollen shaft, he continues to work his fingers in and out of my mouth, grunting as the tempo gets faster and faster.
It takes all my willpower not to bite down, not to gnaw off this motherfucker’s fingers and reveal why I’m really here. But not yet. It’s not time. I refuse to let all of this be for nothing. I’m their only hope.
This is only a shell; one he can break time and time again. But he’ll never take my will to survive. And survive, I will.
So, I watch uninterested as the corded veins in his neck pop, him grunting and jerking himself off with that poor excuse of a cock. We never break eye contact as he wants me to yield.
In response, I smirk around his fingers, a clear fuck you.
He roars, angered, forcing my mouth open as he yanks down on my bottom jaw. My mouth is hinged ajar, his fingers down my throat. I gag violently, which is what he wanted. With three quick pumps, he removes his fingers and comes inside my mouth, grunting fervently.
Just as I’m about to spit, he cups my chin, pressing my mouth shut. He then pinches my nose, knowing sooner or later, I’ll need to breathe.
My cheeks grow hot as my lungs demand air, and just when I’m about to fight him, he lets my nose go. On instinct, I open my mouth, gasping for air as he releases me. This results in most of his seed spilling down my throat, while some dribbles out of the corner of my mouth.
Spitting hysterically, I attempt to rid his foul taste from my mouth, but it’s too late. He’s a part of me now.
“One day, it won’t be my fingers down yer throat.” He wipes away the trickle from my chin, smirking victoriously as he pulls up his trousers.
I don’t cower. I am expressionless as he waits for me to do something, anything. But it’ll be a cold day in hell when I show defeat.
Angered, he spits in my face before turning and slamming the door shut behind him.
Only when I hear his irritated footsteps grow softer and softer, do I crumple. Wiping the spittle from my cheek, I reach for my nightgown with trembling fingers. Once dressed, I come to a shaky stand and stagger into the bathroom where I lift the toilet seat and crouch. This time, I force my own fingers down my throat.
Gagging a few times, I persevere until I throw up nothing but bile, but that’s okay because I know I’m expelling the vile bastard from my system. When I’ve got nothing left to bring up, I cradle the porcelain bowl, slamming my fist against the side of it as tears of anger stream down my face.
No matter what it takes, no matter how long, I’m going to kill every last…Doyle and burn their motherfucking kingdom to the ground.
“The black? Or the green?”
Flinching, as it hurts to breathe, I look over my shoulder to see Darcy holding up two dresses. She wiggles each coat hanger, hinting she’s waiting for me to reply.
Honestly, both look like they’re missing about eight inches off the hemline, but good luck to her if she wants to catch pneumonia.
