Page 30 of S is for SEX

The forceful blowjob lasted for what seemed like an entire lifetime. It was as if the clock turned at a much slower speed once it all started.

Exhausted, I laid lifeless on the floor. I hoped that it was finally over.

My hope was crushed when the man with the tattooed face snatched me to my feet by my hair. With the barrel of his gun pressed against my temple, he forced me to suck his dick.

With my spirit crushed, and my ability to reason gone, I had no mechanism left to mentally fight against what was happening to me.

So, I complied.

I felt like I was another person, one outside of my body who was watching the former me as she performed these vile acts while the real me was elsewhere.

Somewhere safe.

Surreal wouldn’t come close to describing it.

I may have been scared, but I don’t really know. Not really. I was covered in their cum, their scent, their sweat, and my blood. I don’t remember feeling anything but dirty. It was the kind of dirty that sticks with a person for a lifetime.

The kind of dirty that causes a person to stand in front of the sink and scrub mercilessly in hope of somehow cleansing themselves of the filth that they would later find out had become a part of their very being.

The kind of dirty that soap could never wash away.

I was tossed into a room with windows that were boarded shut, a door that only had a handle on the outside, and a bucket that sat in the corner for seven of us to share as a bathroom.

Other than a few blankets, there wasn’t anything else.

We had no clothes.

No toilet paper.

No tampons.

And, no hope.

The days blurred together. Hope faded, and fear set in. Humiliation followed, but it didn’t last long. A lifetime’s worth of pain replaced it.

Then, the eighth girl joined us. She would be the last.

Somehow, she made it into the room without being sexually assaulted, but had been scared and humiliated to a degree that left her stuttering every time she tried to speak. Later, on the night that she came, the man with the tattoos on his face opened the door and demanded that she come with him.

Cowering in the corner, and in fear of what they were going to rip from her, nine-year-old Marbella clung onto a sliver of hope – and my legs.

Yes. She was nine.

I offered myself in her place, but he only grew angrier.

I offered to suck his cock. When he said no, I insisted on it. I told him I craved it. That I loved feeling him pound himself into my throat. As I spoke to him, I fondled my tits in hope of luring him to accept my offer.

Eventually, he agreed.

While he lowered his pants to his thighs, I knelt in front of him with the splinter of wood I’d pried away from the doorframe cupped tightly in my hand.

As I took him into my mouth, I swung the tip of the wooden spike deep into his thigh.

The butt of his pistol against my skull knocked me senseless for a moment. According to the others, he stumbled away with the promise of returning for Marbella, but that time never came.

Minutes later, there was a gunshot. And then another. I counted fifteen more, and then they stopped.

The bedroom door opened.

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