Page 2 of Girls Night
I won’t bring her pleasure.
I won’t kiss her.
I won’t help her.
I’ll bring her basic food and water, and nothing more.
When I leave, I’ll make sure the cage is locked.
She belongs to you, not me.
I will never touch a woman in the way you do.”
She finishes and falls silent, but they continue their brutality. I’ve already learned that protesting prolongs the pain, and it’s no use fighting. They’re too strong for me, and after being in their captivity, what little strength and resolve I did have has diminished to almost nothing.
I gag around the cock penetrating my mouth and throat, and a whimper escapes when the action causes my muscles to reflexively tighten around the other member invading my butt. A slap on my ass makes me whimper, causing me to choke again while a rough hand rubs over my abused behind.
“Mmm, we should do this more often. I think you like having a big, thick cock jammed in this tight little virgin ass of yours,” the older man sneers.
I retch when the one called Tucker comes, and I want to puke when the action causes cum to dribble out of my mouth around his length and run down my chin. He moves away while the man behind me fists my hair and continues to spear me, over and over. When he too is spent, he throws me to the floor and storms from the cage with Tucker close behind him.
“Clean that mess up, Farren. Break any of the rules, and I’ll make sure you learn firsthand what being with areal manis like.”
It was one of the most brutal lessons they’ve imparted, and I was the teaching aid for her visual learning.
Chapter Two
Farren
The young woman is shivering and has curled up tightly into a ball by the time I approach her with a bucket full of warm, soapy water and a washcloth. I would’ve thought I’d have grown desensitized to the sight of her exposed body, but even covered with bruises and scrapes from rough handling, she’s still beautiful. My breath catches at the sight of the elegant tattoos weaving inky trails up her arms, and her vivid purple hair is still as vibrant as when she first arrived, although I can see some light brown roots growing through.
Her eyes are closed, and her cheeks are wet with fresh tears. When I lightly brush the warm cloth over her swollen parts, she hisses before opening her eyes to glare at me. I don’t speak a word as I gently clean her skin, foolishly hoping that with each pass of the cloth the bruises will vanish along with the filth. Her haunted blue eyes remain fixed on mine, except when she winces at my touch and they reflexively close. I want to ask her name, and the longing to hear something other than pleas fall from her lips causes a familiar, deep, forbidden ache to settle within my stomach.
We continue to stare at each other in silence as the cloth coaxes her nipples into tiny rigid peaks and a puff of air bursts softly from her lips. Heat coils in my belly, and I have to fight down the indecent need that dampens my pussy with desire. After everything they’ve tried to teach me, I’m still as broken as ever. I want to experience every sinful pleasure I’ve always known is wrong. She’s in pain, having been used and discarded like trash. In my father’s eyes, she’s nothing more than a tool to reinforce the lessons I’ve been taught since I was a young girl. Back then, my family loved me instead of feeling only shame and disgust at having a 'filthy dyke' as a daughter and a sister.
I smother the feelings by focusing more intently on my ministrations. Breaking eye contact, I continue to clean her as quickly and clinically as I can. I mustn’t get involved. If they saw the way I hesitated just then, I’d be subjected to another lesson before the day is out, and I don’t think either of us could handle any more torment today.
Besides, my father’s threat still lingers, and if I were to become the vessel as well as the pupil, I’d be forced to suffer far worse than witness the teachings he bestows. There would also no longer be any reason to keep her, and while it would probably be a blessing to her if this all ended, I’m sure they wouldn’t dispose of her quickly. I’ve no doubt in my mind my father would make her watch what’s being done to me as her life slowly came to an end. There would be no reprieve in her final moments. My father is a monster, and I’m certain he’s capable of more cruelty than I could ever imagine.
When my father discovered my secret, I thought he was going to kill me. His shame and anger has bled into every waking moment that’s followed. I’d leave this place if I could, but he’d sooner slaughter his own flesh and blood than let the world know the truth...that he somehow sired a ‘filthy dyke’. His words cut deep, leaving festering wounds on my heart. I never used to be broken; however, his rejection and the subsequent mental torture he’s repeatedly inflicted on my psyche have left me in tatters.
Tucker initially refused to have any part of our father’s attempts to cure me, but after the beating he received along with our father’s threat to kill me, rather than put up with having a lesbian in the family, he became the obedient son. Even now, there are times I can tell his heart isn’t in it, and he’d rather be anywhere else than in the basement with us. However, whether he’s standing on the sidelines or actively participating, he no longer disobeys any of Father’s instructions.
Time and experience have hardened Tucker; he’s no longer the sweet and caring big brother I used to know, although I can still see glimpses of him in his eyes when I’m taking the brunt of our father’s anger. Father seems to believe that if I observe enough ‘normal’ sex, then eventually I’ll begin to want cock instead of pussy, miraculously cured of the disgusting wrongness of my desires. He refuses to acknowledge or understand it’s as much as part of me as the color of my eyes or the fact I love strawberries and detest cherries.
I can’t change who I am, no matter how much I sometimes wish I could in order to end the torment. On one occasion, I tried to lie and told him it was just a phase and I was past it. My stomach clenches, remembering how he made me watch girl-on-girl porn as a test, and when he shoved his hand down my panties and found me soaked, he beat me into unconsciousness. Lessons resumed the following day, only this time rather than watching couples moving in rehearsed and scripted movements on a screen, I gained a front row viewing to a live show starring my father and the beautiful woman with violet-colored hair.
Chapter Three
Violante
My entire body is throbbing. No matter how many times she washes me down, I’ll never be clean. The stains on my soul will remain long after the bruises and scars on my skin have faded from view.
I’ve lost track of time, lost count of how many times I’ve endured their vile touches. Even when free, I’d never have willingly accepted a man into my body. The younger one, Tucker, he’s less cruel, but it doesn’t erase the fact he’s also taken me against my will, and to some degree, Farren is just as complicit.
Farren hasn’t tried to stop them since the first time, and while she’s never harmed me in any way, she’s also never attempted to free me from her father. I fear him, and I can tell she’s afraid of him too. The threat he made toward her after he and Tucker raped me together has stuck in my mind. Farren and I are both prisoners, and I suspect it won’t be easy for either of us to escape this place alive.
I’m not entirely sure why I care so much for the girl with the gray eyes; maybe it’s because I see the same trapped young woman inside her soul that mirrors my own. I’ve never hidden what I am, and even when I was disowned after coming out to my family, I’ve never been the focus of such acute hatred as I am being subjected to now. I close my eyes, exhausted and drained from the ‘lesson’. My eyelids hide the sight of the cage surrounding me, and I silently pray that I’ll never wake up.
