Cold Encounter — A Flash Story by Millie Dynamite

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Cold Encounter — A Flash Story

by

Millie Dynamite

This is a very short flash story from the disturbed mind of Millie. It contains Rape of an underage girl. If you don’t like that sort of thing, um, why read it? If you, then read away.

Cold Encounter

The cold of the night clawed its way inside me. My face pushes against the cold, rough, hard bricks of the building, chaffing my tender flesh from the relentless rubbing my left check against the nodulous surface. Up an inch, down, up then down, as my body lurched from the hard thrust from behind me.

My hands pressed to the wall, clutching the edges of the bricks as if I prevent my falling if he let go of me. I feel my pants and panties bunched around my ankles. The man’s knees pressed into the back of mine, the roughness grinding into my own knees touching that rough brick, all the while her pumped into me.

His long, hard strokes sent agonizing shards through my guts, like shards of glass cutting along the inside of my asshole. He drives that disgusting prick into my guts, deep thrust, one after another — tearing, ripping muscles around my rectum, God awful, agony from the invasion of my ass. He just keeps pumping. After an eternity, his thick streams of chum flood me. His discharge mingles with my blood. The nastiness leaks from my sphincter around his cock. Some dribbles over the flesh between asshole and pussy. Some dribbles down my legs or spatters on the cobblestones of the alley.

All the while, he whispers in my ear, “When little girls have boy haircuts, dress like boys, and act tough, they get fucked like the boys. casino oyna Especially monkey nigger cunts.”

His big nasty dick rips into me, cutting, slashing up shithole. My belly rubs over the bricks, it hurts. He holds me in the air, clutching digging his thick fingers deep into my waist, fucking me, fucking me hurting me.

Tears run from my eyes. My left check erupts as the salt of my tears gets into the scratches. My breathing is shallow and fast, each thrust drives the air from my lungs. With each withdrawal, I suck in a new breath, I near the point of hyperventilation. He’s discharged, even so, he continues to force his cock inside me, all the way inside until his balls bounce off my pussy.

The man pulls my top up until my bare chest is exposed to the fridge nights air and cold, rough bricks. My nipples and ample tits mash against the coarse building, more discomfort, more pain. And still, this angry stranger pounds into me.

“How old,” he asks, pumping harder than before, his hips thrust, his whang gouging me.

“Fourteen.”

“Oh, motherfuck-motherload,” his second burst of cum floods me, one thick discharge after another flooding inside my guts, followed down leaking in a slow, steady stream of disgusting cum, down my legs or trickles to the stones below.

Wrapping one arm around me, he lifts me up, somewhat, and steps away from the wall. I hang at an angle, dig my fingernails into the mortar between bricks, his other hand assaults my pussy. A fat finger burrows in my hole until it finds the resistance of my hymen.

“Oh, sweet cherry pie.”

Pulling his cock from me, slot oyna a giant splatter of cum and blood falls to the ground. He cleaves my pussy, the fat cock head thrust inside me, tearing my muscles, shredding my hymen, driving further inside, as he rocks his hips in violent shoves.

He fucks, deep hard, hateful, with no regard to my pain. I’m on fire, and yet, I’m freezing. The cold invades every joint of my body. Everything is pain. I hear the slapping, slapping, smack, whack, hips against my body, his balls onto my pubic area, harder and harder.

I cry, scream, beg, and he ignores it all. He just keeps fucking, fucking, humping like some mad dog fucking a bitch in heat. Like a dog fucks your leg, he just keeps fucking me. Another heavy load of cum burst from his cock. The disgusting lacquer coats me inside, floods me, running down, mixing with blood. The appalling, viscous fluid escapes in small gushes as he pulls out, squishing sloshes fill the air as he pounds inside.

Everything hurts, the pain is unbearable, but I must endure, I have no choice. He just keeps fucking me. Hammering away, he strikes his cock deep inside. I hate him, I haven’t seen his face, the mask hides it, but still, I hate his guts. I want him dead.

I have to escape, I must get away from here. The snow is falling, big fluffy wet flakes. They drift this direction, ride up in the air, then drop that way, in a slow twirl. Landing, at last, on the cold sidewalk. It’s sticking now, I watch the snow and visualize my daddy’s mount cabin at Christmas. The snow-covered peaks, thick patches of snow hanging heavy on the limbs of the pine trees.

I canlı casino siteleri smell the fresh mountain air, see a bunny hopping around, searching for a blade of grass to eat. A deer peeks from behind a bare aspen tree, her big doe eyes are beautiful. I feel safe and warm for a moment. I crash to the cobblestones and feel a hot fluid flow on my face. It stings my eyes, assaults my nostrils, it moves to my back, down on my ass, the fucker pisses on me.

“Nigger’s is all whores,” shaking he his cock. He puts it back in his pants. “I hate fucking tomboys, nigger whore tomboys most of all.”

I pull my panties up, then the pants. Sitting up, I pull down my top and scan alley for my coat. I run to it, pick it up, put it on, and rush from the alleyway the opposite way from him. I rush back to my room, a cold, barren room in an abandoned house. I get the bucket, sneak though the damaged fence into the next yard.

Their still up doesn’t matter, I need water. Turning on the hydrant, I fill the bucket and return to my room to clean and change. I don’t know what I thought when I ran away from home. But this has been the hardest month of my life. Still, my mom is dead, and daddy killed her. I’m not going back there.

I wash, wash my clothes, and then put clean ones on. I’m afraid the washed clothes are going to freeze. I move to the fireplace, pile crumpled newspaper in it, then the wood on top. I light the fire, it takes a few minutes, but soon the warmth radiates over me. I get the can of beans, open it with my knife, and set on the grate above the fire.

I won’t go back home. Even being raped is better than having to breathe the same air as my father. Rape hurt, but maybe now I can just put it behind me. If I can survive rape, I can handle fucking for money.

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