Chapter 5
“Mom. Mom!” Someone was pushing me. I opened my eyes. Stace hung over me. She must have covered me with a throw. I was warm under it. My naked body had been so cold all weekend! “Is he gone?” She looked even more frightened than yesterday. “I-I locked the door. Was that okay?”
“Oh, Sweetheart, it’s over.” I told her. At least, for now it was. Getting up, I wrapped the throw around me and went to my bedroom. Donald lay still on the bed.
“Honey.” I called softly.
“Hnngg?” He grunted and opened one eye.
“We have to get you to a hospital.”
“C-can’t afford it.” He croaked.
“I don’t care. There’s a reason he did this to you.”
“He hates white people.”
I didn’t think that was it. Honestly, I was surprised he hadn’t done something worse to Stace than tie her up and gag her.
“What’s this?” I noticed a corner of paper sticking out from under the pillow by Donald’s head.
“Nothing.” He groaned and tried to cover it with a hand.
I plucked it easily away from his slow attempt. It was a handwritten note. The penmanship was excellent. A knife cut my heart, reading it.
“Three days of shit in your veins means one thing, Fag Wad. You’re gonna need more, and I’m gonna give it to you. I don’t want your fucking money. I’ll dose you for free, any time you want, unless if I think it’ll kill you. You ain’t getting away that easy. Those joneses you’ll have to sweat out. You’re mine, Dick Nub. If you call the cops again, you’ll suffer so much, a pansy like you would probably slit their throat rather than survive withdrawal.”
“I’m calling the Heroin Hotline.” Terry had left my phone on the kitchen table.
Donald shook his head and cried.
“Hello, we’re poor and my husband is addicted. What can I do to help him?”
The young man on the other end of the line was eager to show his commitment. “There’s a public treatment center in Bellevue. I can forward your call.”
BELLEVUE! I’m in gods damned Ranier! I wanted to yell. It takes three buses and as many hours to get there. Donald would be puking his guts by the time he got there. “I said so in lesser terms.”
“I’m sorry, but the Ranier clinic was closed by a neighborhood association ballot proposal.”
“How can I help my husband overcome this?”
“Self treatment is dangerous, Ma-am. If he has any medical issues, they could be exacerbated by the chemical changes that take place, or the violent tremors. He could die.”
“FUCK!” I did say and hung up.
Donald tried to sound like a man instead of an addicted, drugged mouse. “I’ll get over it. I saw a movie once. Chain me to the bed-”
I ran out of the room, sobbing!
“Why doesn’t Daddy want to go to the hospital?”
“The police will find out.” I told Stace.
“We should call the cops!”
“It won’t do any good.” I had lost all confidence in the greater Seattle area’s police.
“I’ll call them.” She reached for my phone. I tucked it away.
“NO. I’m going to use your father’s painkillers to get the poison out of his system.”
I nearly killed my husband with an overdose of legal opiates, that Wednesday.
Nothing of our situation stopped me from going to work, Monday, if an hour late. I made up for it by working late. Melissa growled at me when I arrived and thanked me when I left.
I used the LINK stop closest my house. Terry couldn’t do anything worse to me, as long as I didn’t go to the BBQ. I walked past an empty corner of the street, where he previously begged for change.
Wednesday evening, I came home to Donald puking in the toilet. He had eaten every sweet in the house. Stace was locked in her room, which had been her normal, until our home had been invaded.
“Those painkillers hardly take the edge off of my back. They’re doing nothing for my aching head!” He almost yelled. He was pale and sweating.
“Then we’ll go to the hospital.”
“NO!” He shouted. “I’ll get through this.”
I had to sleep on the broken couch, while he writhed, agonized on our marriage bed. He woke me up at 3am. “Honey, I think I could make it, if I just got one shot. Just a little one, enough to take the edge off.”
He didn’t stop pestering me, until I left for work an hour early. I came home and found Stace crying on the stairwell. “He hit me, Mommy!” She threw herself on me. I left her outside, while I stormed into our home.
“I didn’t mean, Honey. I’m sorry. It was just a slap-”
I slammed the door on my way outside where Stace trembled. “Go to one of your friends, until dinner. Call me then.”
I jogged down to the BBQ. I checked from a distance. It was open, and there was no sign of Terry. There was a good chance he was inside. I risked that Angus was a decent sort and entered.
Four older men and women were eating at a table. I went to the counter. “I’m looking for Terry.”
“Huh.” Angus scratched his head. “He’s not here, but he told me you might stop by.” The cook pulled an envelope from under the cash register. “It’s for you.” It was marked with a C. “I thought your name was Ruby.”
“It is.” I took the envelope. It was heavier than expected. I thanked Angus and left. I opened it carefully. Inside was another paper packet. There was a note too, but daylight was fading. I hurried home.
“I watched him cook it.” Donald’s hand shook while grabbing matches, a candle, and a big spoon.
“We don’t have a syringe.”
My husband looked away from me. “He left one in my socks drawer.”
Pussy, I mentally shouted at my husband. I hoped his hand shook the foul liquid right off of the spoon.
“It’ll be okay. He was shooting me up my veins. But I’ll just stick my muscles. Enough to take the edge off.” He promised.
I checked in with Donald, half an hour later. He gave me a weak smile. I crushed Terry’s note in my hand. Then I forced myself to read it.
“I promised I’d give the shit to your limp dick husband, for free, but I won’t deliver, and I’ve bothered Angus for the last time. You’ll find me easy enough, when you need to.”
Donald’s low doses strategy wasn’t terrible, but heroin’s ability to enslave the brain is only exceeded by morphine and nicotine. All he did was prolong the inevitable. He stretched out the packet for a week. We tried internet alternatives that we could afford but not get arrested for. Whether they helped, I don’t know, but I thought they were a waste of time. Three days after licking the packet clean, Donald dragged himself to me, eyes bloodshot. “I’m a stupid fool.”
I was tempted to agree, angry enough to slap him. My temper had been flaring. Work sucked as usual. Stace’s rebellion against us threw back all of our neglect and frustration. Donald neglected me too, in our bed. It was understandable, and after my first two rapes I didn’t want anyone to touch me. Only after being forced to cling to a warm, naked body for an entire weekend had my aversion to touch relented. My pussy felt empty.
I hated Terry all the more when Donald dropped to his knees and cried from his suffering. I was the worse fool. My husband didn’t have to ask. I had just returned home, greeted by his pathetic groveling. I turned around and strode back out the door.
Okay, Terry, if you’re so easy to find when my husband needs a fix of your shit, I’ll walk randomly around the neighborhood, and you’ll magically appear. That’s what I was thinking as I padded wet streets. I figured I’d have a long walk to myself without worrying about punching into work in time, or if my daughter was getting fucked after discovering the cock slut that was her mother. I did think about that. It was good for a laugh.
My phone rang. Its tiny LCD screen flashed, “Terry.” The fucking fuck must have added a contact during my family’s ordeal. I assumed he was calling from a local shop that was kind to the homeless. Once again, his abilities didn’t add up to being a bum.
Feeling self-conscious, I looked up and down the damp street before answering. I was the most suspicious person about. I ducked under an apartment building’s awning and huddled in the least conspicuous corner before answering.
“How did you know?”
“The only thing I’m going to tell you, Cunt, is where to find relief for your dickless, addicted husband.”
“You’re not giving away free shit out of the kindness of your heart, Terry. What’s your game?”
“The same game I’ve been hunting since you waggled your pert butt past my cup, dipping down to stuff a dollar my way.”
“I’d rather lock Donald out of the house until he suffers that shit out of his system, than let you ever touch me again.”
“You do that, Cunt.” He laughed and hung up.
I screamed at the sky but resisted throwing my phone at the sidewalk. Where was the rain when you needed it to hide your tears? I sobbed until I got that dumbshit out of my system. Which dumbshit? I hated Donald and Terry equally.
Ignoring my husband’s resumed groveling, I knocked on Stace’s door. “I’m coming in.” She didn’t respond. I wrenched the door open and flung myself inside. “I don’t know what to do.” I gushed stupidly.
My daughter looked up from her desk. She had been studying. “You want my advice!” She snorted.
“I want you to care. You can’t escape what’s happening.” I fell to my knees before her and literally cried on her shoulder.
She held my head to her. “Mom.” She didn’t need to say more.
My anguish softened into self pity. I cried until I babbled. “If I go to him, he’ll give your dad a fix.”
“If you do, you’ll have to do it again next week.”
“I know. I’m so stupid.”
“You want to go to him.” Her voice crackled.
“I don’t. I hate him.”
“Then don’t. Stuff dad in a taxi to the hospital.”
“The bills will bankrupt us.”
“Call the police.”
“I’m already complicit, giving your dad drugs.”
“Then go to him.” She emptied her hands of me and glared at her text book. What did she care?
Chapter 6
I left the apartment building before hitting the callback button.
“It’s late, Cunt.” He answered surprisingly quick, for what I assumed was somebody else’s phone.
“Where is it?”
“Right where it’s always been, but I’m at a flophouse.” He gave me directions. “Get your ass here before ten. They close up.” He dropped the connection.
It wasn’t far. I didn’t know the neighborhood had a flophouse. It wasn’t a charity either. It was a home business on a main drag. “Mulgrew’s Beds for Dollars” In tiny, faded print the window sign added, “Not one bed bug!” I took it to mean there were thousands.”
It being a public place, Terry couldn’t do anything to me here, I told myself and rang the bell. Terry opened the front door as quickly as he had answered the phone. His disfigured face was grinning. He looked back, “Yeah, it’s the whore I told you about.”
An elderly voice squealed. “That’ll be ten dollars more.”
“Sure.” Terry grabbed my coat collar and dragged me in. His brazenness in front of the white desk clerk stunned me. “I’ll take care of her in the upstairs bath.” He led me to a flight going up.
“Fifteen for the upper john.”
“You’ll get it, old man.” He pushed my confused body into the well. I stumbled up steps, him supporting me from behind. “Gods, Cunt, one would think you’ve never been raped in a public place before.” He hissed low.
At the top of the stairs I managed to collect myself. A hallway stretched past three doors. I skipped out of Terry’s reach and spun around. “Give me the damn shit or I’ll scream!”
Terry sneered and stepped into the hall, away from me. “Scream and you won’t get shit.” He pointed down the stairs. “Get the fuck out, or get in that toilet room.” He pointed at the door beside me.
Then I said the stupidest thing of all. “You said it would be for free.”
He lurched forward and grabbed me again. “Open the fucking door.”
Nearly pressed against it, I turned the handle. The door swung inward. He pushed us through. “Take down your damn pants.”
Tears made their way down my face as I unclasp my pants and pushed them down. “At least close the door.”
“Fuck no. If the old fart decides to watch, maybe he’ll give me a discount for using this toilet.” He let go of my coat and tugged my panties over my ass.
I looked over the filthy room while he fumbled with his trousers. The sink was red with rust, the toilet brown from having never been brushed. Spiders watched with all eight of their eyes from the corners of the ceiling. A moldy curtain had been bunched to one side of a tiny shower stall.
“Call me a nigger.” His voice boomed.
Though I doubted he needed to hear that to get hard, saying it was the least of my concerns. I embellished, as he had demanded the last time. “Stupid, fucking, fat nigger. Get your nigger cock away from me!” At least it was from the heart.
His fat belly, covered by a dirty t-shirt, loped over and onto my back. Its portent I understood well. Despite a weekend of accommodating it, the size of Terry’s cock surprised. It pushed in, mocking me with its ease of entry, filling me more than I remembered. It proved how wet I was. It shamed me deeply.
Terry moaned behind me. “Gods, Cunt, I’ve been needing this more than what your husband needs.” His huge bulk shifted forward and then back. The prick between us fucked sturdily through my stuffed hole. He started slow. He snorted. “I’m a fucking romantic.”
Just get it over with. I wanted to say. I also wanted to touch myself. I did neither.
He didn’t fuck slow for very long. After ten or so thrusts he started calling me, “Bitch” and “Cunt.” The words blended together as his prick and his mouth sped up. I had to grab the sink to keep his mass from driving me into the stinking toilet. I whined and cried.
“Fucking fuck wants fifteen dollars to let me rape you. Then I have to clean the fucking room. I ought to make you do it!”
I told myself to think of Donald. I was doing this for him, and thinking of the stupid bastard might stop me from getting more aroused. I had missed a good fucking. Terry was a terrible fuck. His motions would have got him off if he had been fucking a cold watermelon. They did little for me. I imagined I was a watermelon, cold and sturdy. His prick didn’t care what I thought. It battered my supple slit. Both were hot as fresh meat. Just being filled by the girth of his meat warmed me.
“I tossed one off after you called. I’m in this for a while, Bitch.” He chortled. “Got to get my fifteen bucks worth.” He moaned after saying that. I felt his cock twitch. Maybe he wouldn’t last as long as he thought.
My face warmed red at the small pride I felt. My body shuddered under his relentless pounding. I knew more shame than pride then. When I tried to think of Donald, all I could see was a broken man, physically and emotionally. I despised him! Still, I hated Terry and what he was doing to me, worse. I didn’t care if my body responded to his deep, filling thrusts. I hated it too – in that way I did care. I hated myself, ultimately, and I honestly didn’t care if I did. I just wanted it to be over. Fresh tears reminded me that none of my rapes were my fault.
“I must be fucking you stupid, Cunt. You haven’t said boo, since I sunk my fat junk into your skinny ass. Maybe you’re starting to like it.”
In the dingy mirror above the sink I saw my face, red and tear stained, passing back and forth through its frame. “You couldn’t make me more stupid than I was for coming here.”
“Hah! You’re right about that.” He whacked the side of my thigh with a swift, fat hand.
“Ow!”
“Shut up! Let a man fuck.” He groaned and bucked his prick faster in and out of my cunt. I could barely hold onto the sink. His mass jolted me hard! I hid a groan of my own under a grunt.
“Damn your white pussy is on fire, Bitch! Unnnggghhh!!” He moaned. “It’s gripping me like it wants this.” He grunted amused.
I almost told him to shut up and fuck, but I could feel the bruise I’d have in the morning, where he struck my thigh. Our bodies rocked. My legs trembled. They couldn’t hold up a quarter of the fat bastard’s pounding weight any longer. I was about to collapse beneath his stomach.
“Fuck, yeah! AAAAHHHHH!!!!” His body jerked suddenly. His cock thrust deep and wrenched inside of me. Cum squirted, hot and creamy. I felt it fill the minuscule spaces his meat didn’t stuff completely. My whole body trembled, sparked by his pulsing fluid. I orgasmed as his cum spurted out of my pussy lips. I clenched my teeth together and muffled my passionate groan. My legs gave way. I let go of the sink and fell into Terry’s massive hands.
“Don’t be slipping off me, Cunt.” He held me up, half with his arms, half with the erect pole embedded in me. More cum poured from his deeply rooted prick. Another orgasm shook me. It left me delirious. My abuser couldn’t help but feel my body shake from its power.
“You’re a lying sack of a slut, greedy for a real man’s dick.” He grunted.
I am more than my body, I lied to myself then distracted myself from calling out my lie by wondering how long Terry would keep me socketed onto his prick. My body was sore from all his pounding in the cramped room’s confines. Even held in his powerful hands, our posture was awkward and uncomfortable. Slime dripped down both our legs, soaking our pants.
“Let me go.” I tried.
“Yeah, for now.” He relaxed, releasing me slowly. He pulled out of my body. I sank to my hands and knees. I licked my lips without thinking. They remembered.
“Clean me, Bitch.” He held his stomach up from his groin. His prick stood at half mast.
I couldn’t escape, the bathroom or my conditioning. I turned around and sucked his rancid, cum sopping cock into my mouth. I licked and swirled my cheeks around it’s bulk. I could only clean half of it that way. I pulled off of him and sucked and licked the base. The taste of his cum mixed with my cunt lube was familiar to me, less noxious than the first time he raped my throat.
I took comfort from my coat that hid how deep my blush reddened me.
He searched my coat pockets while I sucked him. Finding my wallet, he pulled out the little cash I carried and slipped in a packet of paper like the one in the letter he’d left at Angus’.
Finishing, I wiped my mouth with my hand and my hands on a stained, damp, musty towel.
He hauled me to my feet. “Give me those panties, and put on your pants.” He tugged his over his immense ass and buckled his belt. “We’re not done yet.”
I stepped out of my pants and handed him the underwear soaked with his cum. I stepped back into my pants. He grabbed my hand and led me out and down the stairs.
The old man at the desk didn’t look up as we passed by. He snickered. I imagined him masturbating behind it.
Terry growled “You better not charge me extra for two on a cot.”
“Heh. I already charged you extra for your size.”
“Fucker.” Terry dragged me into a dimly lit room About twelve cots were lined around the room. I saw Terry’s cup, empty, sitting next to one. That cot looked newer than the others, probably the only one strong enough to carry him. The stained polyester blanket hanging over it looked king sized.
Four faces out of six people lying in the room watched us. They were as desolate looking as my Donald’s face had been when I’d left him.
Terry picked up the blanket and lay down the cot’s length. It’s metal ribs couldn’t have been comfortable for him. He motioned to me with a silent hand. The word, “Cunt”, echoed in my head. Grateful for the dim light that hid my shame, I sank on top of Terry’s huge body, my breasts against his flabbier chest. He covered us with the blanket.
What must have been at least his third erection that day prodded my thighs. I knew what was expected of me.
I had to open and shift both his and my trousers. He whispered discouraging things while I strived to join us. “Don’t take all night, Cunt.” and “We’re not putting on a show, you stupid slut.”
My cunt wasn’t as wet as it had been. I adjusted and readjusted the angle of his dick between my unclad thighs, until it could effectively poke the aching hole hiding behind my abused cunt lips. I shifted down his soft bulk, forcing the hard flesh into my body. He held me when his cock was as deep as it could fit.
I awoke the next morning, from his cum pouring into me. The light outside was brighter than inside, but it wasn’t dawn yet. Terry slept. He remained asleep after I slipped carefully off of his sodden prick. I felt the dryness of my lips when covering its glistening mass with the blanket.
One man mumbled and opened his eyes while I donned and fastened the clasp of my cum stained pants. “I got ten dollars.” He said.
I ignored him and fled that horrible place. I hurried home to find Donald whining and sweating asleep on our bed. I tossed the packet of dope at the pillow next to him. I showered and changed into my work clothes. Stace was in the kitchen by then.
“Hi, Mom.” Her voice trembled.
“I need you to do the laundry.”
“There’s only a couple quarters left in the sack.”
We hid change from Donald in a small bag tucked at the bottom of a half full tampon box.
I opened my wallet. A few pennies and a single quarter struck the kitchen table. “Ask your friends at school.” I hated saying it.
“Sure.” She looked bitter.
A pile of work greeted me at the office, and I was grateful to lose myself in every one of its mind numbing problems.
I returned home late that day. I dreaded hearing Stace’s inevitable sarcasm, and seeing Donald’s dead but pain free eyes. When I entered my broken home, my husband was asleep on our bed. In the living room Stace’s face, obscured by rolls of fat, was sucking Terry’s prick.
…to be continued…
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/cheq3n/broke_fat_black_and_ugly_ch_56_nc_rape_oral
I’m hoping that terry ends up dead, honestly.