Broken Can Be Fixed
She shook, no, more like trembled in fear as she huddled in the corner. She tried to make herself as small as possible, which was easy with her malnourished frame. Her skin resembled wax paper, sickly white and fragile. She had come to fear the light, her dark brown eyes unused to the brightness; She found safety in the darkness, except for when she wasn’t alone. The door slammed open, she pushed herself further into the corner cowering from the man framed by light. He stalked forward, his fists balled, anger radiating off him in waves. The first fist landed upon the girl, her whimpers turned to cries, then to shouts of pain and pleas for help. It was pointless, she knew that. Punch after punch, fist after fist, foot after foot. The man assaulted her, beat her.
This was how it was when she first came here at age Eight. As she aged it escalated, at Twelve they began touching her; Fourteen they raped her; Fifteen it changed, no longer the one same man, new male’s visited her. She never screamed, she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. When she started to get too skinny for their tastes they began feeding her more, with the food she dreadfully filled out into rich curves; Generous breasts and a well formed arse. That only gained her more visitors. The girl, a young woman is 18 as of Fourteen days ago. Today was Monday, the first day of the week, she’s already been visited twice and it’s only Twelve.
Sara_Turner_8843 · Fantaisie
