5. Year Ten

Doxy

Common courtesy would be to at least spit on your cock so it doesn't feel like I'm being fucked by sandpaper but no, not these fuckers, they love knowing that once they are through with me and go home to their wives, children, work, or wherever the fuck they go that I will be left here battered and bruised, wearing the marks they left me with. It's Ron's turn next, he always goes last when it's his one day a month. The others say it's too disgusting to fuck me with shit covering my body like what they have done isn't just as fucking sick. One day I will break free and come after each of these cocksuckers.

Five years ago, I decided to stop being meek and started training when I was alone in my room. I started out slow, simple push-ups, sit-ups and that type of shit until I started to shadow box. I watched Knox, Taylan and Xander enough to know how to throw a punch. I refused to remain broken. I won't allow the death of my son to go unpunished. I'm not the greatest and fighting against a shadow is easy but I know I have gotten better, stronger even. I have no weights to lift so I use the wooden frame of the bed in my room to do some deadlifts.

I see some of the guys sparring and take note of how they move, watching their footwork and apply that to my training. I stretch daily and it has taken me well over six months to even get into a split but that accomplishment brought a real smile to my face. I am getting better and I know with a bit more time, I will finally be strong enough and ready, I just have to keep my head down and take each day as it comes. I will not fucking die here!

Karl, Nolan, Fin, Donald, Ed, Stephen, Mike, George, Daniel, Frank, Len, Lionel, Jackson, Tom, Thomas, Jones, Aaron and the fucking worst, Ron.

I picture their faces and say their names over and over again as I train daily, imagining the ways I will kill them. They are the names of the men that have raped me and one of them is my son's father. I will kill them all and bathe in the blood of the ones they love most. They think Karl is someone to be feared but they're wrong, when I am free no one will be safe from my wrath. I am a heartless bitch with no feelings. They killed those things years ago and all I have now inside me is hate. Ed pulls out of me and shoves me into the edge of the desk in the living room. I've now been given the privilege of being able to roam the house but I'm still collared. It has a tracker in it and will shock me like I'm a fucking poodle if I enter somewhere I shouldn't or try to escape, not that I could unless I had some bolt cutters to cut the fucking padlock off. I'm also allowed to shower once a week, and I get fed twice a day now. Still from a dog bowl but at least it's food.

"Don't make me wait," Ron snarls as he passes by, heading toward the back room that is reserved for him and his activities as Master calls it. He is the only one with a room dedicated to him. None of the others use that room because they think Ron's tastes are vile. I wanted to scoff when I heard them say that. They can't stomach the thought of what he does but I am forced to be a part of it.

I want to die!

I tried it a few years back. They found me before I could bleed out and stitched me up. I received the worst fucking beatings for weeks after that. My back, ass and the backs of my thighs were split open by the whip but it didn't stop them from plowing their crusty shriveled dicks into me.

Standing up straight, I follow after Ron, cringing when I feel Ed's cum dripping out of me. They never allow me to clean up, saying that having cum on me or in me reminds me of my place and that I am their whore to do with as they please. Ron slams the door closed behind me and points toward the metal bucket in the center of the room. I swallow down the bile that rushes up my throat.

"You make me wait longer than five minutes then you'll be eating mine, got it?" I throw up in my mouth. Swallowing down the vomit, I force my legs to move and carry me forward. He has made me eat his shit a couple of times and when I threw up he forced me to eat that as well—he is sick! I fucking hate that Ron records me every time. He has his tripod set up in the corner ready to capture this. The moment I squat over the bucket he presses record and begins to rub himself through his pants. I keep my gaze on the floor and force my bowels to do their thing. It makes me sick to my stomach to know he is going to use my own shit as body paint and lube. He is a sick fuck and the fact I know he has two daughters of his own is disgusting.

He groans when I finish and assume the position on my hands and knees as he rushes to the bucket. I retreat inside my own mind as he groans smearing my own mess over my ass and I know what comes next, he's going to force his shit covered fingers inside my mouth and make me suck them clean before he finally fucks me. I fight the shudder of disgust that wants to roll through me when he smears my own mess through my hair, the smell alone has me wanting to gag.

"You taste perfect, Doxy, now suck my fingers clean while I fuck this ass." I force the bile back down my throat as I turn my head to the side and open my mouth. I feel his gaze boring into the side of my head as he plunges his cock into my ass. I lick the shit from his fingers and hate the sound of him moaning at the sight, he gets off on me eating my own shit.

He will die slowly and painfully.