Strange Girls
Page 7
I lift my foot up and prop it on an end table next to the window. With one hand, I watch Lydia through my blinds until she disappears. With the other hand, I lightly rub my naked lower half remembering what it felt like when she touched me there.
I reach for my new floppy dildo, and it swings around as I slap my pussy with it. As I begin to try to work it inside of me, keys jingle at my door and it swings open.
“Susie Q. We’ve talked about this. You can’t touch your happy button in front of the window.”
My chin drops to my chest as I’m scolded. I quickly try to hide the dildo inside of me out of shame, but it’s too big.
“Wow! That thing is huge.”
Embarrassed, I turn my head away so the redness of my face doesn’t show.
“Here, let me help you.”
His chest brushes up against my back and pushes me against the window, causing the blinds to spread and move open in different parts. A moment later, his hand covers mine around the dildo he left me yesterday and begins moving it in and out of me in a slow torturous pace.
“Who are we fucking today, Susie Q?” he pants in my ear.
I remain still, trying to act like he’s not here and that I’m just having a moment with myself. But he doesn’t like it when I touch myself and he’s not here to watch and help. It’s always been that, for as long as I can remember. And if I skip a day, he gives me an “examination” to make sure my juice box isn’t broken. By the end of the exams, I’m swollen, bruised, sometimes bleeding, and can’t sit on my bottom it hurts so bad.
Instead of answering, I watch as the big burly men carry box after box off the truck and into our building. I begin counting under my breath—as I have since their first trip up—knowing that when I hit seventy-seven, their footsteps will sound at the end of the hall where the stairwell is. At eighty-four, they will be stomping down the hall toward my apartment. At ninety-one, they will kick open the neighboring door, and at one-hundred they will shove the boxes up against the wall. Every slam of a box makes me flinch. It has for the past half-hour, along with the big floppy dick now slamming inside of me to the point of being painful.
Lydia comes back into my line of sight and stares up at me again. This time, he latches onto her through the blinds and finds what caught my attention.
“Oh, now she’s something to look at, huh? Is she who you were thinking of this time?” he asks, flicking my clit as he moves the dildo in and out. “I’d think of her too. Licking your pussy as I watch.”
That’s all it takes to push me over the edge, and I’m thankful for it. He wouldn’t have stopped until I came. He would’ve kept going until he split me wide open or I died.
A second later, the rubber cock drops to the floor between my legs as he rubs at me furiously, extending my orgasm until I squirt all over his hand and down my leg. He scoops it up, tinged pink with my blood, and licks it off his fingers and palm as he forces me to watch. As soon as he lets go of me, I almost hit the floor.
Gripping the window sill, I watch him watch me as he washes his hands. He smiles at me as he pulls my meds out of the cabinet and dispenses my doses, readying a glass of water with it. When I hesitate, he taps the counter next to the pills impatiently.
I walk over to the counter on shaky legs and pick them up. I should know by now that he won’t let me get away without taking my meds—even though we both know I don’t need them. I sometimes think he keeps me medicated for my monthly inheritance check and so that he can keep control over me. My mother did. I drop them in my mouth and take a drink to wash them down. No, it’s far better to be drugged up than deal with this life sober.
“That’s a good girl,” he says with a smile and runs a thumb over my lips. It takes everything I have not to bite it.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Get your pants on,” he tells me as he walks over to the door.
I grab them off the floor and pull them up body. He gives me a once over as I sit on the couch and hide the dildo under it. As he turns to open the door, I rub a finger over my lips, tracing the path he took.
He has never tried to kiss me. He has never tried to grope me. He has never tried to fuck me with anything other than the toys he has delivered—then pretends that I ordered them in a drug induced stupor. His exams are “clinical” in a sick fucked up way, and he takes immense joy out of them.
“Well, hi there,” he says through the crack in the door, leaning his forearm on the doorframe beside his head.
“Hi,” comes a somewhat flirty voice. My heart slams in my chest, and I lean to the side to try to get a closer look. “I’m moving in next door and need help, but can’t seem to find the property manager.”
“Would love to help a damsel in distress. It’s what I live for.” He winks at her and she smiles bashfully. “My name is Mark, and this is my niece Sissy.”
I smile and wave tiredly at her, and she smiles and waves back.
“Hi, I’m Artemis. Nice to meet you.”
Mark steps out the door and leaves it cracked behind him. Just as my meds begin to kick in, I hear him say, “What do you need help with?”
“I’m having issues with my faucet and would kill for a cup of coffee,” she responds, sending chills down my spine.
The last thing I hear as I slip off into the darkness is, “Well, let’s go take a look at your pipes, darlin’.”
The End
About Tara Dawn
Tara Dawn is a married, stay-at-home mom who homeschools her three sons. When she's not busy with them, you can find her reading, talking about other authors and books over at Pretty Fcking Awesome blog, writing, crafting, or hula hooping. She wears many hats and finds that if you aren't learning something new every day then you aren't living to your full potential.
Tara is currently working on several different projects. The Drunk & Disorderly: A Trailer Park Soap Opera, 101, Mend: The Snap Trilogy #3, and several different projects with her favorite weird kid, Yolanda Olson. Lots to come in 2017! Sign up here for her newsletter to keep
You can find her on Facebook at all times of the day and night. She loves making new friends and talking about life, so stop by her Facebook page and say hello. But beware, she has no filter and cusses like a sailor.
About Yolanda Olson
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[TD1]Should I leave this or change this? I guess we can incorporate it into the ending somehow or just leave the readers wondering which reality is real and which is false. I think I might switch it up every time with something different. That’ll keep the readers guessing … thoughts on this?
[TD2]Here’s that spot. You never gave met the okay to switch your sentence, so I didn’t want to change it to something you didn’t like and upset you.
[TD3]Another comment that shows it’s still the same day.