Page 3 of Overcast

“Been doing good in school?”

Like he gives a flying crap, but I nod once, keeping my chin tucked into my chest because I’m not watching what’s on TV.

Wish I could unhear it as well, but that’s yet another superpower I don’t have.

“You been in there doing your homework?” Another bob of my head and he scoots closer to me, his thick legs brushing mine. “You’ve always been a good girl.” Removing his arm from over me, his beefy hand lands on my jeaned thigh.

My gut twists painfully, tightening harder as his fingertips gently squeeze in silent code that he wants to do something.

An event I didn’t sign up for, nor want any part of.

“You know I’m an excellent teacher too.”

Oh no, no, no…

“You see the TV...she’s about to come. You ever—” I jolt up from the couch, but he’s already ready for any attempts of fleeing.

His hand clamps around my bicep, and I’m brought back down before Hollis’s body looms closer to me.

“Don’t be scared,” he coos gently. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“No,” I stutter. “I want to go—” His fingers fumbles with the button of my jeans.

“I’m going to show you—” The waistline of my pants loosen. “—how a man can elicit so much pleasure, baby girl.” Callous fingers brush my lower abdomen before trailing underneath the waistband of my cotton panties.

A throaty groan flees from his throat, and I feel as though the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I had for lunch is going to come up and spew all over him.

“Look up,” he orders, working on his pants with his free hand. “I’m going to finish us both off. Don’t be afraid to tell me how much you like it.”

Something springs from his underpants, and I know it’s his dick because he slowly starts to stroke it. The tips of his fingers descend towards my folds, but he halts them there.

“We’re not doing that tonight.” He gestures for the TV with his head, but I don’t look at it. “We’ll start you out slow. Now that I finally got this opportunity…I won’t rush it.”

I bite the inside of my bottom lip. I’d rather feel pain and taste my own blood than concentrate on his grubby hands or the fact that I’m scared he’s going to choke me out again.

The last time we ran into each other, he cornered me into the garage. We did the same song and dance; I didn’t want to follow him, and he wasn’t taking my resistance as an answer.

The moment my shirt lifted was when the spark between my body and brain ignited, and my hand crashed across his pudgy face.

Completely shocked by my violent outburst, which I had every right to do, I was able to sprint back inside the house and to my room. He never followed me, letting the anxiety of another meeting plague me for days afterward.

“Da—” Hollis’s body slams into the side of mine, suppressing the word from finishing. The pressure of Hollis’s two hundred and some-odd pound frame crushing my ribs makes me feel claustrophobic and on the verge of a panic attack.

“Now, why are you going to do that?” Hollis asks at the same second the woman on the TV takes this moment to curse, and a male feral growl crams my airwaves. “Watch what they’re doing. You don’t want me to show you my knife again, do you?”

My neck lifts on demand because I’m scared just like I was the last time.

Everything is a repeating record, but with a different ending. Each time he catches me, these meetings get more explicit. As though he’s trying to prep me for the endgame of whatever sick delusion he has running through his head. The faint scar on my left breast is a constant reminder that when he asks for me to do something, it’s in my best interest to do it.

My pussy is promptly spread with two of Hollis’s fingers while I watch a stocky cock go in and out of some woman’s ass.

“You’re getting wet,” Hollis mutters, pleased with himself as though he was the one to elicit such a reaction from me.

Maybe he is.

Maybe I’m sick and twisted, a girl who wants to get dirtied up without even knowing it. Prey that prefers to be caught.

It’s messed up.

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