Archive of Our Own

“...so I have to leave for one week."

You rolled your eyes at your father, looking at your phone while playing with the dinner on your plate without interest. You didn’t care if he was there or not.

It wasn’t uncommon for him to leave for days due to his work, even if he tried to go away the least possible so he could spend more time with you. He had raised you all by himself —and sometimes Jimmy, though he wasn’t around much when you were a toddler because he hated to hear you cry— since your mother didn’t want anything to do with you two. According to her, she «found someone richer», which in reality meant «he’s old and all his money will be mine soon».

Curly sat next to you, his own plate of food in hand. Jimmy rarely ate dinner. He rathered roam around, knowing you and your father wouldn’t bother him while you were eating. 

You couldn’t blame him: your house was impressive. Modern mansion type, the one that made you stop just to look at it. Curly inherited a lot of money from your grandparents and he gained a good amount by himself, so your life was practically solved. When you were little, every toy you liked was soon given to you. It didn’t matter they entertained you for an hour only, your dad would give you everything without even asking if you really wanted it. That could be the reason you turned out like that: thinking everything was going to change based on what you liked best, and that no one could oppose it. 

“Yeah? I’ll miss you a lot.” you replied, mouth full with brown rice, shrimp, bell peppers, etc, —that was part of your self made “diet” where you only ate vegetables, fruit and fish— after taking a bite without looking up from the screen.

You let a subtle giggle escape. Your best friend had just sent you a picture of a boy in her class, which you thought looked really cute. You hung out with girls at least two grades above you, who already were into the “dating for fun and having reckless sex” life. Your father kind of knew those were the people you were with, and that they were a terrible influence, but he couldn’t find the courage or the strength to argue with you about it.

Curly sighed, also looking at his plate without any interest in eating it. That sigh specifically meant “when will this kid start paying attention to what I say?”.

“I’m going to leave tonight around one or two AM. I’ll try to not wake you up, okay?” he muttered, not even trying to make you hear it. He knew you weren’t going to anyway. “Be nice and listen to your uncle.”

Curly also knew for a matter of fact you weren’t going to do none of these things either.

It didn’t take you much more to finish your food. You didn’t eat everything, but wasting wasn’t really a word in your dictionary. It was replaced with “uh yeah I had enough whatever”. You threw your plate inside the dishwasher and went up the staircase to your bedroom. The second floor was basically yours: your bedroom, your study room, the room where you stored your old toys and videogames… your CLOSET was its own room.

You had the typical —or maybe not so typical— pink king-sized expensive bed rich girls had. You were exactly like them: A disrespectful teen who only dressed in pink and said she cared for the environment while buying the newest phone every year. You weren’t the first and you sure wouldn’t be the last: tons like you went to your same school, same building, same hallway, same class, same row. 

You threw yourself onto the mattress, carefully did your skincare and in minutes you were already sleeping as if you were a baby again. You slept through almost everything: sirens, a lot of noise coming from less than two meters, yelling… and yeah, that’s it, you never experienced anything else.

Back at the ground floor, your father joined your uncle and sat on the couch. The TV was on and some old ass rom-com was playing. 

“Are you sure you can deal with her? It’s the first time ever she’s not going to have a babysitter, so it's just… just you, you know? It’s not like I don’t trust you, but…”

“Yeah, yeah, but you don’t trust her. Man, I’ve heard this speech so many times I could recite it to you completely blacked out.”

If you and your self-proclaimed uncle had something in common it was the feeling that you knew it all. In your case, when someone told you “you know nothing about the world”, and in his, well, simply anything.

“Jim, you can’t even count to ten blacked out.” laughed Curly, but the expression and sound were quickly replaced by a worried look. “But, however, I’m serious. She’s not the reasonable person I am, not even close. If she doesn’t respect me, imagine how she is going to behave with you.”

Your uncle laughed, sarcastically.

“Look, Curly, I have one specific saying for this type of kids. There’s always a weak spot in them to gain respect. If they’re phone addicts, take it away. If they go out too much, force them to stay inside. In the end, they will do it just to receive their privileges back. You just need to know where to hit them, but it has to be something related to what they usually do. If they shout too much, you shout louder. If they kick, make them trip due to it. It’s not rocket science.”

Curly shrugged, but sharp pain invaded his joints due to lack of movement.

“Maybe you’re right.” he agreed, and sluggishly stretched his arms and back, letting out a relief sigh. “Just don’t be too harsh to her. If she feels you’re over her in any way, then she’ll get mad at me.”

“No, you don’t get it. We are over her. She’s a kid, we’re adults. You’re her father, I’m her uncle. We’re both over her, that’s what you don’t want to understand.”

Your father didn’t answer, he just looked at his friend. Not like he was crazy, but the paths could end up intertwining. Curly always tried to treat you as an equal, with the same rights and duties as him.

Except for the real adult things, let’s not get crazy here.

“If you say so…” he finally blurted out. “I’m going to start packing things up.”

—

Jimmy woke you up 30 minutes earlier than usual. Your alarm was set for 7:20 so you could peacefully get ready for school and you were up by 6:50. He bursted into your bedroom and took the sheets off the bed so you had to get up to not catch a cold. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you yelled, running down the stairs to the kitchen, where your uncle was leaning on the counter, a mug in one hand. “I have an alarm on to wake me up!”

He took a sip of what seemed to be black coffee.

“We need to set some rules up for this week, you know? Now that your dad isn’t here, I’m in charge of you.”

Your eyes widened. Not that you were worried or missed him, you just were surprised.

“Dad's gone? What? Since when?”

A derisive grin invaded his face.

“You never listen, do you? He told you yesterday night he was going to be gone for a week. It’s wonderful to see how much you care about him.”

You rubbed your eyes in an attempt to make your vision a bit clearer. You reached for your phone in one of your pyjamas’ pockets, but didn’t find it. You quickly checked the other one. Still nothing.

“If you’re looking for your phone, it’s in one of my room’s drawers. Also, it’s locked, and only I have the key.” he confessed.

You immediately looked up at the man you now hated. You never really cared about him. Yeah, it was kind of annoying having to live with someone who’s not really related to you, even if it feels like it, but until then you never saw him as an active threat to your perfect life of "wanting and immediately having". Jimmy put the mug down on the counter, which left a brown stain on it. 

He was the type of man to never clean, do the laundry or anything. Just like you, but with the difference he just didn’t want to, meanwhile you never had to. It wasn’t difficult to realize he evaded all chores, and only did them when your father asked him personally. He didn’t want to get kicked out.

Sloth. Habitual disinclination to exertion; spiritual apathy and inactivity.

“What do you mean locked?! Give it back!”

“Yeah? Or what?” he laughed. “Go take a shower and get ready.”

“What? But I never shower in the mor-”

“Did I stutter?” he shouted. “Go. Take. A shower.”

You stood there in silence for a few seconds, frowned, clenched your jaw, and gave him a death stare while you walked up the stairs again. 

“I'm going to take a shower, but just because I want to, and not because uncle Jimmy wants me to!”, you said to yourself.

Even if you wanted to believe that, the water running down your shoulders told you otherwise. You decided to not wash your hair, because drying it up and making it look good again would take you too long, and your school started at 8:20. You went to a female-only private one, the best one in the city. Maybe of the state too, who knows? You didn’t go just to check their online reviews.

Your uniform was plain gray and white. Every girl wore different clothes underneath so they could take the uniform off the second school ended. You took a feminine halter top in a soft, dusty pink color from your closet room. The chest part was made of delicate lace cups with floral patterns and a plunging V-neckline. It was tied around the neck with thin straps, leaving the shoulders mostly bare, in a way your bra, a pink slightly more saturated and brighter, half exposed. Your father would never let you wear that, just as he wouldn’t let you wear short jeans that barely cover your legs, squishing your tights. But now that he wasn’t there to say anything, you could do it freely.

You put the white shirt over your top and the black skirt (knee length, ironed) over the jeans. The long black socks and Mary Jane shoes came after. You managed to fit a pair of white and pink trainers inside your school bag. You were planning on going out to eat ice cream with friends after school, but you didn't have your phone now, so you couldn’t send them a message when you were close to the destination. You sighed and carefully took out an eyeshadow palette from one of your drawers.

Curly would never let you use makeup. He would excuse himself saying “you’re too young, you need to grow up a little first!”, but it didn’t work. Not remotely. You just snuck out sometimes and buy whatever you needed… or think you needed. Sometimes those two things weren’t the same. You also snuck out once to an illegal tattoo artist, and you now had a ribbon on your back, just where your waist started.

Once you were done, you went to the kitchen again so you could eat breakfast. You still had around 40 minutes left until school started. You didn’t have to walk much, just a few turns and that was it.

Jimmy had left. He wasn’t in the living room, nor outside, nor somewhere you could see him. You just told yourself he was probably inside his bedroom and kept making breakfast.

You were still mad at him. He took your phone, ordered you to shower, YELLED at you to do it, and made you wake up earlier than you should. If you kept up with the habit, it was going to mess up your sleep schedule. 

You made a toast with avocado and chili flakes, ate it in less than a min and walked to school. It was probably the first time you went so early.

—

“Girl, I feel you. But if you can’t, you can’t.” 

You cupped your face with your hands. Your best friend and you were sitting on a bench next to the school. You just told her you probably shouldn’t be outside for too long.

“No, no! I can go. I’ll just buy an ice cream and eat it on my way home.” you reassured her.

Your school uniform rested inside your backpack. You couldn’t wait to graduate and finally get to stop wearing that thing.

“If you get caught then that ain’t ma’ problem, yes?”

You nodded.

“It can’t take me that long.”

Your friends wanted to go to that specific ice cream shop because the owners were Japanese and had a lot of flavors that in America weren’t really seen. Also the couple's grandson was cute and you wanted to see if he would be there.

You picked a matcha ice cream. For you, that was the “it girl” flavour. You got it all over your mouth and didn’t even dare to clean it up. You bsf settled with plain vanilla, meanwhile the other girls mixed strawberry with wild flavours like mint and mango. Things you wouldn’t dare to try because you were the picky eater final boss.

When you said you were going to leave, no one commented on your mouth area being a green mess, so you came back like that. You took your keys out of your bag and put them in one of your hands. 

If your uncle saw you dressed like that, he would definitely tell your dad, so you had to be silent. He couldn’t hear you get in.

You opened the door quietly. You didn’t yell “I’m home” like every day. You didn’t throw your school bag on the floor. You just walked silently to the stairs after taking your shoes off.

But then you heard Jimmy talking in the kitchen. You really didn’t want to risk it, but the nosy side of your personality decided what to do at that moment.

You peeked, sticking your head out a bit from the stairs. It was an American kitchen, so you didn’t have many options. He was backwards to you, with his phone in one hand.

The fridge was open. That man sure was hungry. The counter was full of liquors, some of them empty, and lots of glasses where he put them in. 

Gluttony. Excessive eating and drinking; overindulgence.

However, he didn’t sound intoxicated.

“It’s literal heaven, man.” he said. “The dude lets me live here just to watch that mess of a daughter he has. He can’t even deal with someone who’s literally 5’3. He’s like 6’2.”

Your teeth pressed against each other. 

“Oh, yeah, and, about the kid,” he continued. You almost stopped breathing so you could hear better. “She thinks no one knows she wears different clothes under her uniform. I saw her before she put it on today. She dresses like a goddamn slut, like, literally. She’s fucking asking for it.” 

Lust. Uncontrolled or illicit sexual desire or appetite: a passionate and intense craving.

The last part was intended to be a joke, judging by the tone of voice. However, you didn’t find it funny. Not at all. You took a step back, but you tripped over your own feet. You didn’t fall, but the sound and your gasp were heard. 

Your uncle didn’t turn around. You thought of the possibility he hadn’t heard you.

“Maybe the saying’s true.” he finally spoke. You heard a “What saying?” coming from his phone. “Curiosity killed the cat.”

He hung up without waiting for an answer and left the phone on the counter. You finally allowed yourself to go up the stairs.

“Where do you even think you’re going?” 

In less than five seconds, he already grabbed you by the wrist, making enough pressure to force you to come down, but not leave a mark.

With your free hand you threw your bag at him. He wasn’t expecting it so he let go. This time you were already running.

“Bitch.” 

He launched the bag across the room. He didn’t hesitate to follow you. He couldn’t risk you locking yourself in your room.

You were two steps across from being on the second floor when you felt a cold hand grab your hair close to the roots and pull it. You let out a painful moan. That could easily be the first time someone ever pulled it.

Wrath. Strong, vengeful anger or indignation.

“Let me go! I did nothing!” you screamed. No one would hear you because you had no neighbors like in an apartment.

He pushed you to the end of the stairs without letting go of you and made you look at him. You never really focused on his looks until then. His hair was neck-length, brown and straight. Brownish green eyes, stubble beard. Now that you really were paying attention, he was eerie. Really eerie. 

He ran his thumb over your lips. It smelled of smoke and gasoline. You never saw him smoke, but that didn’t mean he was clean from it. Or from anything else.

“Look at you, you can’t even wipe your face properly. Did Curly really raise you this bad? Did he raise a girl who cares for other people’s business while she can’t even make herself look her age?” He looked down at your clothes. “Well, maybe she can make herself look her age and older.”

You didn’t answer. For one time in your life, things weren’t going as you planned and you were terrified.

“So you were eating ice cream, uh? Green ice cream. Were you thinking about me? You know it's my favorite color.” He chuckled while focusing on your mouth. “You sure were.”

“Get off me!” you started kicking your feet, using your arms to try to push him away, but whenever you managed to make him take a step back, his grip tightened and your scalp received the pain.

Jimmy, who had been standing most of the time, used his own legs to press against yours, and finally let go of your hair, only to trap both of your wrists over your head with only one of his hands. He was twice as big as you, so he really didn’t need a lot to keep you still. You were immobilized on the floor and he still had an arm to use. You were clearly losing the match.

“Don’t play innocent now, you punk. Look at yourself. At your clothing. If I was a boy from another school you would be already moaning my name like a prostitute. This is what you’ve been searching for.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?! You’re insane!” you shouted at his face.

Your words clearly didn’t please him, because you feelt his nails dig into your wrists, not knowing if there were any wounds. 

“You know what? Let’s not do this on the stairs, it’s not classy.”

Before you could speak, he stood up again and pulled your hair for a second time, dragging you to your bedroom. You tripped a few times due to walking backwards, but ended up in your room in one piece.

Your uncle locked the door behind you after making you get in. He only released when you were already on top of the sheets, and he repeated what he did on the stairs. Hand over wrists, legs over legs. 

You wanted to scream for help, you wanted to fight, to bite, to pull, to scratch, to rip and to tear. But you couldn’t. Your body was, apart from trapped, not listening. You weren’t doing anything and you didn’t know why.

“Jimmy, please! I swear I will be better, with dad and… and with you! I beg you!” you stuttered.

He shaked his head, especially at the mention of Curly.

“I don’t give a fuck what you say you will do, because you won’t. Why would you sacrifice your perfect life? Which is not even your life.” He spat while he talked. You also did when you wore brackets back at twelve years old, but not anymore. “Curly is the one who’s giving you such a living. Just because he is fucking rich, and thinks he’s better than everyone else for having a kid who never had to say please or do anything at all to get things.”

You stopped for a second and thought about what he said. He wasn’t talking shit about you, but about your father.

“Look at the fucking palace you live in! It’s his! Everything is fucking his! And while he has all a normal person could ever desire, I have to fake to be thankful for his hospitality, while it’s the fucking least his rich ass could do!” 

Envy. A feeling of discontent or covetousness with regard to another's advantages, success, possessions.

“That’s it! You’re angry with him, not me!” you added, hoping he would realize and let you go. “I have nothing to do with it! You just do this because you associate me with my dad!”

His anger was wiped off like dirt and a sordid smile was shown. He raised an eyebrow.

“I get what you’re trying to do here. You think I’m going to take all back because I fucking despise both of you? Don’t think so, princess.” You gagged at the word “princess” coming from his lips. Only your father could call you that. Only he could, not Jimmy. You were Curly’s princess, not anyone else’s. “Oh, you don’t like being called that? Because I would swear you love being treated like one.”

You tried to evade his eyes looking down, but there was instant regret. You immediately started to struggle again after realizing he was already hard.

Jimmy laughed at your attempt to free yourself. He thought he made it clear you couldn’t do it since he was way stronger, weighed more and the fact that trapping is easier than freeing.

“C’mon, you got me all worked up, don’t back out now.” the fact that you had done nothing only made him look sicker in the head.

Wait a second. You looked back at his pants. Then at his shirt. You focused on the smell. Men perfume. Specifically, your father’s. He was wearing your father’s clothes. 

“Why are you wearing those? They’re not yours.” you blurted out, trying to distract him.

Jimmy frowned.

“Why’d you care? What if I decide I want to look and smell nice as long as I can? Curly doesn’t even go with this perfume. It’s too manly for the softie he truly is. He’s the typical goody two-shoes, but you need way more than that to straighten you out. You need a real man to put you in your place.”

Pride. A high opinion of one’s own dignity, importance, merit or superiority, whether as cherished in the mind or as displayed in the conduct.

You laughed at that. At that moment, in that situation, he was no man. He wasn’t acting like one, at least.

“Oh, you find it funny? Alright.” 

Before you could excuse yourself with anything, he leaned over you. Waist to waist, chest to chest. You felt something inside of one of the cargo’s upper pockets, but dismissed it. With his free hand, he grabbed your jaw so you would face him, and kissed you. There was no love in it, just hunger and hate. What Jimmy didn’t expect you to do was bite him. You didn’t even care where you bit, but he hissed. However, he didn’t stop the kiss until a few seconds later, when you already could taste the rusty metal in your mouth.

His upper lip was the one with the wound. 

“Fucking whore.” he let go of your face and wiped the red liquid off his mouth. He knew it would keep bleeding, but he didn’t have the time or energy to go put something on and leave you alone. Knowing you, you could open a window and throw yourself out.

Your uncle’s nails deepened into your flesh. He would tighten the grip every time you tried to make him leave you. 

His hand slowly traveled to your bra straps, playing with them. He pulled them, he let them go, and the sound of them hitting your skin flooded the room. A little bit higher each time. A little bit louder each time.

He couldn’t even just humiliate you for a few minutes and go. He had to tease you, make you wonder when it was going to end. And he loved your desperation, since he knew it was going to be your first time, both for feeling real fear and for anything else he did to you.

He grabbed your top by its neck and fully ripped the fabric so it would come off faster.

“You’re not going to need it. Your dad would hate to see you with that on, wouldn’t he?”

You wanted to say something about how your father would hate him more for what he was doing, but you didn’t find the strength. You didn’t find your usual attitude you had with everyone. That wall was down now, you were acting like the girl you really were. The girl you hated to be. The one who’s not in control and can’t know when someone will leave her or be by her side. 

Jimmy’s eyes were locked on your push-up. He ran one of his fingers, the middle one, underneath it and grabbed it by the insides. He couldn’t rip it off like your top, so you thought he was going to leave it like that.

Loud incorrect buzz. He led his hand to the pocket where you felt something earlier, and took out a black butterfly knife. With a quick hand movement, the blade was out. It resembled a bat’s wing. Now that you looked closer to his hand, you saw the multiple little scars his fingers had. It wasn’t the first time he used that knife.

When he put the blade underneath your bra’s fabric, you felt the cold metal against your skin, which led to a shiver. He pressed the sharp edge against the piece of clothing. The lower part pushed into your chest, not cutting it, but threatening with doing so.

Your bra was easy to slice due to the tension. The second your tits were free, Jimmy’s eyes lit up. 

“Fucking perfect.” he muttered.

The blood was dripping from his jaw and landing on top of your stomach. When he leaned into your chest, a red drop fell on top of it too. He used his tongue to wipe off the blood from his lip again, swallowed it, and started to intensively suck on your left nipple. You felt his tongue go up, down and in circles, which caused you to gulp in disgust.

He still had the weapon in one hand and he didn’t look like dropping it soon. If he looked away from it for more than three seconds, you promised to yourself you would take it.

You looked down at your chest since you were trying to focus on anything but it. Your nipple was now stained, and with each lick the blood changed positions. You wanted it all to end. Your father shouldn’t have stopped with the babysitter habit. You missed each one of the babysitters you had, even the ones you swore to always hate. You’d give anything to have them back, at least for the rest of the week. 

You closed your eyes tightly. So much that opening them again a minute later hurt. You felt like crying, but the tears didn’t arrive. Not even them wanted to be witnesses of what was going on.

“Please.” you mumbled with your very last breath. You doubted you could say anything else from that moment on.

Jimmy seemed to listen to you and his head went up. You were about to wonder why he actually did that, but he pointed the blade to your left cheek and leaned into your mouth again. He was making sure you would think twice before using your teeth. This time you didn’t resist, it was not really worth it. Even if Curly asked about the injury when he came back, Jimmy would just lie to his face, and your father would just swallow it whole.

The taste of blood came back along with the warm sensation of his lips onto yours. You felt him smiling against them, which caused you to aggressively tilt your face to the wrong side without thinking, and a small cut was made on your face. You hissed about it and he laughed it off quietly. 

“You realize you’re just hurting yourself, right? You knew damn well the knife was there.” 

You rolled your eyes and breathed heavily. 

“Well, when SOMEONE is forcing you to kiss him you don’t really think about knives”, you thought, but didn’t say.

With a flick of his wrist, he put the blade away and stored the closed knife inside his pocket again. His now free (again) hand drifted to your left thigh. You remembered the hell it was to put the shorts on and how bad they hugged your tights. Judging by the look that Jimmy gave them, he loved it.

“I’m not going to cut this one. You should wear it again this week.” he whispered. You acted like you didn’t hear it. 

His hand squeezed your tight softly at first. You really didn’t believe the softness was genuine but just to “calm you down” or some shit. And you were right, because soon he started putting more pressure on it.

Your uncle got closer to your stomach, where some of his blood was making its path to the sheets. He carefully licked it down and kissed you repeatedly just over where your shorts started, right before your v-line.

Kiss. Kiss. Lick. Kiss. Lick. There was no pattern.

His stubble hurt a little bit, but you didn’t say anything about it. When he kissed your waist, it was just a pinch that lasted a second or two. If he preferred to drive his tongue across it, it would rub you in different places for a while.

Jimmy didn’t even need to do that. There was no pleasure for him in it, only shame for you. He just wanted to make you feel like the cheap hooker you looked like. Make you know you were inferior. He could just get his ten minutes of satisfaction with you and leave, but he wouldn’t. He would force you to remember that you had no power over the situation.

Greed. A selfish desire for more of something than is needed. 

Every damn second was hell. Peeling your skin off with a potato peeler would feel better. You were regretting every single thing you did throughout your life. All the “mature acting” that led you to where you were. Maybe if you acted and dressed your age. If you weren’t such a brat. Maybe that would have changed everything. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

You felt his fingers unbutton your pants and immediately after your soul completely left your body. Even if you knew that sooner or later you would end up there, that didn’t mean you couldn’t panic about it. 

You grunted, trying to move your legs and arms, but it was a lost cause. Jimmy wouldn’t let you go now that he was that deep into it. (And soon he would really be deep into it)

“Focus on the thought that it's gonna be over soon.” he suggested.

You did. However, it was only making it worse. The sensation you were about to be used drained you more than anything else.

Your panties, as your whole clothing, were pink. Light pink, the exact same color as your now broken bra. It was decorated with white lace along the waistband and leg openings, while a small white bow was attached at the center of the waistband. You didn’t dislike wearing “childish clothes” underneath your “grown up clothes”. You never thought about the possibility of someone seeing them.

Your shorts were hanging around your knees. Your uncle grabbed the tiny bow attached to your panties and pulled it a bit down. One or two inches more and you would have absolutely nothing on.

His eyes locked with yours.

“Anything to add before the show?” he joked. Finally, tears ran down your eyes and cheeks. You didn’t realize until he got closer to lick them up, smiling and obviously turned on even more by it. “Bet you’re tight as fuck. You virgin girls are the best in the category.”

Something clicked in your mind. 'You virgin girls', he said?

You remembered how a lot of the girls you invited over to your house to study ended up not talking to you anymore. You never understood the reason, but you stopped doing it and you never worried about it again. Now you knew what had happened.

You felt your stomach churn from how disgusted you were. You had a small hope that he would do that to you and only you, but that hope had now crumbled into more pieces than you could count. It was normal for you to have hope in almost everything, since you were not the brightest tool in the shed. That was something else you could blame onto your dad.

Jimmy finally pulled down the whole thing. You couldn’t see it, but it was stained by your slick. You were a wet mess down there. Maybe because you were ovulating or just touch-starved. Regardless of why, your body was betraying you to the furthest.

“Pff, look at you. I knew I was right. You’re thriving for it, aren’t you? Look how fucking soaked your panties are.” He stretched them until you could see them properly. You yourself were surprised. That shit would take its good hours to dry by itself.

A second shiver ran down your spine when you heard him unbuckle his belt. Your face was covered in salty drops and your mouth hung open in disbelief of the place you encountered yourself in. 

“No, no, no!”, you repeated in your mind over and over again.

But it wouldn't change your fate. No one was going to suddenly arrive and save you. You were trapped in there with Jimmy.

He threw the belt to the floor and undid the buttons and zipper of his pants. Black Calvin Klein boxers. At least he looked presentable.

You could see the hardness without having to look twice. You already knew it was there, but at least the cargos covered it. He rubbed over it with his hand, and then slipped it underneath to stroke a few times. When he finally pulled it out, you kind of whimpered and his smile widened. You tried to twist your hips and close your legs, but found it impossible. You felt his wet tip caress your entrance for a few seconds. 

“I’d normally lubricate it first, you know?” he commented. “But I don’t think it’s going to be necessary for such a slut like you. I know you’re gonna take it well and easy.”

You swallowed spit. You hated the teasing, hated the way he drove you crazy doing nothing but draw the process down as long as he was able to. Which was actually so cruel.

It was obvious Jimmy was doing that just to make you say something along the lines of “do it already!” so he would have an excuse after the work was done. And, let’s be honest, you fell for it. You were like your father in that area.

“What's taking you so long?” you asked with a shaky voice, nor fully recovered from sobbing like a toddler.

His eyes rolled as he tried to hide his grin.

“I know how bad you want it inside you, princess, but hold it for a while, would you? For me.” 

Your jaw clenched when you heard him call you his princess for a second time.

His free hand grabbed your hip, ready to push you down, but he had just said he wouldn't do it yet, so you were confused as hell. 

“Do you promise to keep quiet like a good girl if I free your hands?”

“Yes.” you answered within a second. 

Jimmy doubted. It was obvious he didn't trust you in the slightest, but he needed both of his hands.

He slowly released his nails from your skin. They were stained in blood red, so you knew there were bruises. A few seconds later he cautiously removed his hand from your wrists.

You didn't hesitate to get your dominant arm back, ready to throw a punch. He dodged it completely and, even if he hadn't, a 14 y/o girl’s strength wouldn't hurt him.

He was, to say it in a light way, mad as fuck. Enraged. 

He stopped caring about the teasing the second you betrayed his trust. Instead of trapping your hands again, he choked you. It wouldn't make you faint or die, but you would feel like it was going to. Feel like his hand in your neck was going to leave you his fingerprints burned into it.  

You were concentrating so much on not losing the air in your lungs you didn't notice Jimmy's other hand almost breaking your pelvic bone from how hard he was grabbing you until he pushed you down with force.

He had been right. You were so wet that your pussy welcomed his cock like it belonged there.

He didn't shove it all in, just halfway. He told himself he was doing a good thing by letting you adjust to him before going balls-deep into you.

His thrusts were slow and confident at first. He stopped groping your hip just to play with one of your tits and its hard nipple.

“Oh my fucking God, you feel amazing.” he groaned in pleasure. “You're so damn tight.”

You stopped trying to get his hand off your throat and covered your eyes full of tears.

You didn't understand why it was so easy. Why was your body reacting to Jimmy like it needed him? Why did he find joy in taking away a kid's virginity? Because you were still a kid. All the bratty acting? Lie. Trauma response. You hadn't truly grown up a single day since you were three.

Your silent sobs appeared to just excite him more, so you forced yourself to stop. You wouldn't give him that too.

You felt him going in and out repeatedly, mumbling about how he loved fucking you, how drenched you were, how he wanted to suck on your tits again… you lost track of what he said after a while. He kissed you, your chest, your stomach, but you just didn't care anymore.

Until he hit you with that damn word again.

“You're doing so good, princess.” he (kind of) moaned. 

That was it, you had enough of the “princess” shit. You repeated your first movement of the day and bit him again when he leaned in to devour your mouth like it was his. You bit harder this time, because you knew you were aiming for the barely closed wound you made earlier, since it would hurt three times worse than anywhere else.

It all happened fast. His yells and curses he made to the air. What you thought was a second of safety because he stopped grabbing you by the neck, and then his hand absolutely destroying your cheek.

You weren't expecting him to hit you. To slap you like a disobedient animal. You thought it was all for show. The knife. The choking.

You could've sworn the sound was heard everywhere in the house. The pain invaded you like an extremely hot bath, but only on one side of your face.

Before you could react to it, he shoved his whole length in. Jimmy expected pain. He expected you to scream and beg for him to stop.

He was instead received with a deep moan. You almost couldn't believe yourself. He almost couldn't believe you either.

Your body reacted against your real thoughts again, and it loved the sensation. Maybe a little too much.

As soon as he realized it, Jimmy tried hitting different spots inside you, until he found the one that made you moan like a bitch in heat. His thrusts became rougher, harder, starved. 

He enjoyed each one of the whimpers, moans and tiny screams you made. 

“I knew you'd enjoy it and you didn't believe me.” he commented, slowing down for a few seconds. “So you gotta make up for it.”

You didn't get why he said that or what it meant. At least, at that moment.

He started banging his heavy hips against yours harder than before. He was finding it more difficult to shut himself up for moments, so a lot of unexpected moans and grunts got out of his mouth.

Then you got it: He was close.

“What the fuck do I do?!”, you internally shouted.

You were trembling (due to fear or pleasure is unknown) and felt like your arms were paralyzed and couldn't move them.

The last thrust arrived unexpectedly, and you felt the hot cum fill you up like if you were designed for it. 

Jimmy was panting, looking at you as if your dripping cunt was his artwork. He rested his head on your chest and hugged you for a minute before pulling out.

He stroked his dick one last time and put it back into his underwear, clearly calmed down after climaxing. He was about to get up, but he seemed to think about something.

If he were a cartoon, a yellow light bulb would have appeared above his head.

“What type of gentleman leaves his lady alone without making her arrive?” he said with a funny British accent. “Unacceptable!”

He grabbed one of your shoulders while putting two of his fingers, middle and ring ones, into his mouth for lubrication.

“Again, unnecessary as hell, but that's how men do it, and not your acclaimed father who looks like he's going to turn gay at any moment.”

His fingers were warmer than you thought. Or maybe it was your pussy. Whatever.

You started to moan again. You realized you didn't really know how orgasm felt, instead you could only tier it as “good” from what you saw in movies. You felt kind of scared about it. And about everything. Because you didn't want what was happening. Only your physical side did.

He moved his fingers painfully slowly inside you. In. Out. It took a good chunk of time until he finally started changing his pace to a furious one, making your little sounds get louder.

You felt something rushing down there. Couldn't describe it. You were about to mention it, when a strong sensation of hot relief invaded you, making you yell your uncle's name like a prayer to the skies. 

“Slut.” he laughed looking at you doing your best to regain your breath.

Jimmy left the room right after bucking his belt back on, even if not completely satisfied.

Yes, he took your virginity, but he wanted more. He wanted you to ride him, to suck his dick while your hair tried to cover you. He thrived to stuff his dick between your tits while you were wearing a push-up.

He desired to take away every single one of your innocences. Frontal, rear and oral.

And he had the rest of the week for it.

Your uncle sat on the couch to watch TV, but soon he felt a vibration on one of the lower pockets of his pants, which he made sure not to press against you, because then you would know your phone was in there. He needed it close in case he needed to prove you were fine.

It was a text message from your father asking exactly that. He answered imitating you the best he could.

Daddy💞

Everything alright?? 

you

ig?? why would I not be alright??

Jimmy silenced the phone completely and threw it inside his pocket again.