My Secret Story - Part I

A surge of panic rose in the pit of my stomach, bubbling over and mixing with a white hot anger I hadn’t felt since…

I struck out, hitting his arms, chest, face, anything I could do to get his hands off of my chest. He groped and squeezed, trying not to laugh as he played his sick game. Carey lay twisting on the floor, covered in his own vomit and groaning in his fruitless effort to get up and help me, save me. One hard grasp shot a sensation of pain rushing from my right breast into the rest of my body. My eyes went wide and I let out a high pitched yelp.

“Oliver, stop!” I thrashed underneath him, his heavy body constricting my legs and stomach. Considering the great deal of pressure on my internal organs, my rapid breathing and shaking were probably not the best idea, but the human body acts on its own accord and right now it seemed mine wanted very badly to escape.

My stomach and chest felt crushed and he was still staring down at me, that huge grin on his face and I knew in that moment that even nothing He had ever done to me had been this bad; He had never laughed. And He had never even forced it on me, had always ensured that it was right, for both of us, and of course it always was with Him. I loved Him more than life itself and would give up anything to hear Him tell me that He felt the same. I was sure that He had loved me now, even though I had always been a suspicious partner and had questioned His motives in the relationship to no end. But now He was gone and I had bigger things to worry about – no pun intended.

Oliver was a tall, pale and flabby boy of 16 with clumsy, stubby hands and a waistline that stretched about 2 foot across, a real showpiece of Australian youth. He had blonde hair, which he attributed to his Swedish decent, and seemed to either be suffering a long-running rivalry with genetic facial craters or, maybe, too much chocolate. His weight was too much even for my usually strong body to handle; I gave up and let my arms fall in hapless repose by my sides. There was no use struggling against his massive power, and so I decided to spare myself the pain and humiliation. I closed my eyes and tried not to think of the terrible things that were happening to me, but the brush of a tongue over my left nipple sent me into a terror-induced seizure, my entire body shuddering and vibrating under the giant like a child’s toy gone berserk.

His dark brown eyes met mine and I saw in them the unmistakable, taunting excitement that I could hadn’t encountered since He had been in my life. I’d watched it in His eyes as he anally raped from the front, when he’d slammed my head into the wall and when he had gently pressed his pocket knife into my sternum. But there was still love in His eyes, and I knew that He cared for me a great deal, despite His inability to act accordingly.

My mind fluttered back to the present and to Oliver’s oafish body on top of mine, and without hesitation shut down into a blackness that swept over my entire body. My eyes rolled into the back of my head in one quick, final spasm and my body went completely limp.

And for a little while I didn’t think anything at all.