“How are you going to kill him?” His breathy words against my ear before he nibbles at my lobe make me roll my head, urging him to continue everything he’s doing.
But his threat from before about withholding orgasms makes me actually think about my answer.
“Slowly.” I can’t yet determine whether that’s exactly how I want to do it or if I mean how Tanner fucks me.
“Hmm…more.” Pulling his fingers out, he sucks on them before pushing them into my mouth. I swirl my tongue around them and moan, loving the way his pupils are blown and that it’s because of me.
The grip he has on my hair tightens and he yanks my head backward, dragging his tongue up my throat. Then he spins me so I’m facing the tiled wall and strokes a palm down my spine.
“What will you kill him with?”
I swallow, lost in the moment and completely unwilling to look at how messed up any of this is.
“First, a shot to the kneecap so he can’t run away…”
Tanner forces me to bend over and I place my hands against the wall as he plays with my ass hole.
“Then what?” The tip of his dick is at my entrance, slowly edging its way in, but I don’t want to wait. I need to be filled by him right now. My body is singing for more so I push back and the relief is immediate.
I also don’t want him to stop any of what he’s doing, and I have known exactly how I want to kill the bastard since Tanner began this little journey with me. So I answer. “Then I’m going to cut his rapey dick off and shove it down his throat.”
“Fuck yes!” Tanner goes harder, thrusting deeper than I thought possible. “Then you’re going to let me fuck you as he chokes on it because, Sweet Bee, you’re all mine and I want the fucking world to know it.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Tanner
Age 11
“The fuck you doing, boy?” It takes everything in me not to talk back to my uncle. For the last two weeks, ever since I was dragged here by Social Services, I’ve been chopping a whole bunch of wood for the winter.
“I’m chopping, like you asked.” Maybe he didn’t see the ax I’m barely able to lift or the log that’s as big as my whole upper body.
“That ain’t what I taught you, boy. You’re splitting like a goddamn pussy. Jesus Christ, no wonder your parents beat you.” His insults don’t make me flinch like the first two days after I arrived, when they were followed by a leather belt to my back and shoulders. They do make me clench my teeth so hard it hurts my newly grown molars.
What I don’t do is argue. Last time I did that, he pushed my head into the toilet and flushed. My whole body fought to survive, but at the same time, I was hoping to just die and get this life over with.
Not anymore.
Not since five days ago.
Beatings I’ll take. Choking when I chew too loudly I’ll survive. The cigarette burns when he’s bored, fine. But five days ago he went too far, and that night I decided I would bide my time, wait for the perfect opportunity.
“You disrespecting me?” Here we go again.
“No, sir.” Standing straight, my spine rigid, I don’t look away as he comes stomping my way. I’ve learned there’s a balance between seeming weak and, as he constantly repeats, manly. Anything outside that small window between the two and I’m getting a beating.
“Better not be or else you’ll know what pain really is.” As if I don’t already. The first time he took a belt to me I cried…a lot. Since then, I refuse to let him win. My pop has a heavy hand, but his brother is lethal. Not only does he hit hard, but he’s quick to find the soft spots, the body parts that hurt the most. Like behind the knee when I’m not expecting it. On the side of my waist with a baseball bat.
I’m surprised I’m still standing after sixteen days, three hours, and twenty-two minutes. But who’s counting, right?
I am, obviously.
“Yes, sir.” I lift the ax and put every ounce of my strength into it. The blade hits smack in the center and two perfect halves fall apart and onto the green grass. Any other time, I would have celebrated this accomplishment. Instead, I barely allow a corner of my mouth to tilt up in my own private moment of pride. Fuck him.
That’s also new. The cursing. He does it so much that it’s worn off on me like red dye on white clothes.
Yes, I do my own laundry. And his. I also cook, clean, and repair anything that’s broken down. And in this dump in the middle of the woods, everything needs fixing.
