Page 17

Vincent grins, leering at me from where he’s standing, stripping out of his suit.

Shadows seem to dance across the room as the lamps turn their movements into a grotesque puppet show.

“Why, why are you doing this?” I gasp as Alex clambers onto the table, manoeuvring me so that I’m now pressed with my back against his chest.

“What else are you good for, Scarlett?” He murmurs in my ear.

I seize up, hating the way my mind turns to panic and not fight. Why the fuck am I not fighting? Why the fuck am I suddenly paralysed?

Vincent climbs up onto the table, looking like he’s some sort of devil coming for my soul. Is this how it played out last time? He smirks like a beast while I lay in the dirt unable to stop him.

I kick out, using my leg to try and keep him away from me, only he snatches at it, digs his fingers into my calf and then forces it up into an angle that leaves me even more exposed.

“You sick piece of…” Alex silences my insult with his hand.

“Good wives should be seen and not heard.” Vincent says as he rips my underwear off and starts touching me, probing me, putting his fingers where they have no right to touch.

I hiss out and try to jerk away, but my husband holds me far too tightly to stand any chance of putting up a decent fight.

“That’s not always true,” Alex says, leaning in to put his lips right by my ear. “Good wives also know when to perform, when to show their husbands what dirty little cumsluts they are…”

“Fuck you.” I scream back from behind his grasp, only that makes him just laugh more.

Makes them both laugh.

And as my eyes land on my father-in-law, I realise with horror that he’s touching himself, manhandling himself, getting himself hard.

He looks down from his cock to me, as if I’m turned on by this, as if I’m entranced by the sight of him masturbating.

“Want to be a good girl and suck me off?” He asks. “Get me nice and hard so I can fuck you the way you like?”

I shake my head. The thought of having his wrinkly cock in my mouth is enough to make me bring up what little food I ate.

Alex laughs again, removing his hand as he manoeuvres me around, “Of course she does. She loves a cock down her throat, don’t you Scarlett?”

“Nooo...”

“Especially my cock.” My father-in-law cuts across me as if I’ve done it before, sucked him off before, been here before, fucking them both willingly.

Alex grabs my head, yanking my hair hard enough that I swear he’s going to rip out an entire chunk of it. I scream out, and Vincent takes the opportunity to push himself right into my open mouth.

I can taste it, taste him . His sweat, his body odour, his precum as he buries himself down my throat. His pubic hair tickles my face. His hands grasp at me as he forces himself deeper and deeper.

I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking breathe.

Every awful breath of air is poisoned, tainted, fucking rancid.

He bucks and he groans, driving his hips into my face and all the while I consider biting down, biting hard – only, I’m too afraid of the consequences to do that.

“That’s it, you whore, suck me good.” He says.

The way he talks, the way both of them move, I can tell that we’ve been here before. They’ve done this before. This isn’t the first time. I know it, I can feel it. These two have clearly gotten very comfortable with abusing me, with manhandling me, with doing whatever they want to me.

Christ, how long have I been here? In this house, enduring this every night and then waking up every morning, ignorant and oblivious to it? How often has my husband smiled at me sweetly, held my hand, soothed me in the morning and then held me down while his father rapes me?

I start to jerk, to fight harder. I can’t do this. I can’t bear this. I can’t face the thought of this being weeks, months even. How have I lived like this?

Alex grabs my arms, pinning them behind my back at an angle that forces my spine to arch and my breasts to be pushed right out.

“Reckon she’s ready for you.” He says.

Vincent slides out, leaving a trail of my saliva to drip down my chin.

With his grubby hands, he pulls my legs apart despite my best attempts to stop him.

“Fuck, I love this view.” He says before he angles himself and thrusts as hard as he can into me.

It feels like a knife, like a dagger, like he’s slicing me up.

I don’t want this. I don’t want him. Every bit of my flesh that he claims, every bit of my insides protests.

But he forces himself deeper, forces himself as far as he can get, ramming his cock right into my cervix, sending a bolt of white-hot pain through my core.

“I love this cunt.” Vincent says, laughing. “I love how it squeezes me, how it grips me. You’re quite a prize, Scarlett.”

“A prized cunt.” My husband says, leaning down to pinch my nipple. “Though her tits are just as nice.”

Vincent grins up at him. “Yeah, her tits are good too. But this…” He slides out before slamming into me again. “This. Fucking. Cunt.” He emphasises every word with a brutal intrusion. “I love this fucking cunt.”

“Careful,” Alex says in warning. “She’s my wife.”

Vincent lets out a laugh before he picks up pace. “Yeah, and what a wife, what a daughter-in-law.”

I shut my eyes, I try to pretend none of this is happening. That I’m delirious, going fucking crazy. That I’m hallucinating and it’s the drugs making me think all this. I’m the one fucked up, imagining things and none of this is real.

But the grunts, the hands, the feel of his body moving over mine. I know those things are real. I know it.

Vincent’s hand wraps around my throat, squeezing just hard enough to silence my pitiful cries, and then he growls out his release.

And it’s so much worse. So much fucking worse.

I can feel it in me. I can feel him , the evidence of what he’s done inside me.

He slides out, smearing his come over my thighs, and then he swipes two of his fingers through the mess before he holds them up to my face.

“Thirsty, Scarlett?” He asks, “Have a long drink of this…”

I can’t turn my head fast enough, my husband won’t even give me that as Vincent forces his disgusting fingers down my throat.

“Yeah, she fucking loves that, doesn’t she?” Vincent laughs, “Look at the way she’s guzzling it all up.”

My throat locks up and I retch, but it only makes them laugh harder.

“Have some more, Scarlett, drink it all.”

“Nooo…” My screams are drowned out by more of his disgusting bodily fluids.

Evidently Alex is growing bored. This entire time I’ve felt his cock poking into me, hard as marble.

He tuts before pushing his father away and then he picks me up, pushes me face first onto the now soiled table and yanks my hips up.

Without a moment’s hesitation he pushes himself into me, letting out a low growl.

Vincent moves to my face, to where my head is being forced to stay in place by Alexander’s hand.

And as his son starts fucking me from behind, he drops to his knees so that his face is right up in mine.

“You feel that, Scarlett? You feel what my son is doing to you?”

My tears roll down my cheeks and though I know that it’s a logical response, a normal response, I curse them all the same. Tears won’t help me. Tears won’t save me.

Vincent grabs my face, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“He’s ruining you, Scarlett. That’s what he’s doing. That’s what we’re both doing.”

“Wwwwhy?”

I don’t know why I ask it, why it even matters. These men aren’t capable of reason, of conscience.

He grins, running his thumb over my lips in a manner that is far too fucking sensual.

“You’re enough of a fucking hassle, why shouldn’t we get some reward for it?”

“Then send me away.” I scream. Not that I want that, not that I’d be happy to go to a nuthouse, but surely even an asylum would be better than this horror?

“Away?” He repeats like I’m the one spouting nonsense. “Now, where would be the fun in that? How would we get our revenge then?”

Revenge? Revenge for what? What the fuck is he talking about?

He stands up, slapping my face hard as his son slides out of me.

“God, you’re stupid.” He says. “A stupid little whore. Shame your father didn’t raise you better. Shame you didn’t get his brains instead of your slut of a mother’s.”

I blink, feeling the sting linger. What the fuck is he talking about? What the fuck is going on here?

I can’t contemplate those words, can’t take them in. My husband’s assault is too much, too overwhelming. All I can do right now is just take each awful second, just survive each awful moment.

And pray to God that when I wake tomorrow, it’ll be different, that this will all be some horrific dream. That I’ll be home, my real home, that my brother will be there, he’ll be alive, and none of this will be real.