AN: this is set in early season 3, but Tina and Mike have not had sex yet. This story is very dark, and has some sexual content that is very forceful and unwanted. So if you are under the age of probably 16 I suggest you don't read this. I do not own the rights to glee, or any of the characters I am writing about, the only thing I own is the storyline in which these characters have been placed in. I am going to try and make each chapter as long as I can, but at the moment I'm not sure how that is going to go. I was hoping to make it all in the POV of Tina, but now I'm thinking maybe I should do it in each one of the characters as each chapter will be a different character, maybe once you finish this chapter you can let me know which way you think I should do it. Also, even though I am going to try and keep it all the crudeness out of this, some things you just can't replace with odd other words and still get the point across, so if that offends you, sorry, but I don't care, if you don't like it, tell me, and then stop reading
"Daddy, No!" I screamed, but my scream was muffled by his large callused hand that covered my mouth and hindered my breathing. I could feel him pushing himself into my centre, all the while my friends in the other room completely oblivious. I could feel myself being torn from the inside with every thrust, and I knew I could do nothing about it. This man was my sense of security from birth and here he was, holding me at knife point and deflowering me.
I knew what he was going to do, just by that look in his eyes. "Tina! Look at your Father!" He commanded driving his point in with each thrust. I could feel the familiar hot sensation in my eyes as they started to overflow with the hot salty tears. I knew my life was going to end once he was done with my body.
The cold metal was slowly heating against my warm skin, I could tell he sharpened it before he even decided this was going to happen tonight. My father sharpened his knives each night, weather it was the kitchen knives or his collection, each and every knife in our house had to be like a samurai sword. I could feel the sting of the first slice of skin as he continued to trust into my centre, the sting of the smallest of cuts always being the worst. I knew the feeling well.
As the soft hint of blood hit the inside of my nostrils, I imagined just in which way I would die. I always hoped secretly that it would be dramatic, something that would be remembered, to be so dramatic that I would be put down in history and remembered by generations to come. But even in my darkest dreams I had never envisioned my own father to be the one to kill me, how a child of abuse held it together I would have no idea, one time is all this was going to be and I already loathed him and knew that if there were any kind of god, he or she would let me haunt my father for the rest of his life. Maybe if I was lucky, I could drive him insane, be the voices in his head that make him question any and every decision he ever made or ever will make, make him a mental case that could never be cured. That's what my father deserved, for what he was doing to me.
The fast thrusts began to match up with each thud of my heart, each time my heart pumped out just that little bit more blood his cock tried to force its way deeper into me, and without fail he was slowly succeeding. Each thud of my heat beat pounded into my head filling my ears with the only two sounds that I could hear the thud of my heart and the grunts of my father, my psychotic father.
His hand still covered my mouth, and in a fleeting attempt to survive I parted my drying lips and sank my teeth into the flesh of his palm causing him to growl in pain and pull his hand back, which gave me a moment to scream for help. But before I could muster any words his hand came back down to my face, but this time he did not cover my mouth to muffle my screams, but rather to slap me over and over again until both cheeks were red and stinging.
I had never seen this side of my father. I had always known, like every other Asian American father I have ever met, he has this soft rage under the surface but this, this was something that I thought would never even occur because he was always so calm. But as I was thinking through what was going through his mind in order for him to act so out of character and cruel, I could feel his manhood pulling out of me. I felt this slight sigh of relief that it was over and that I wouldn't have to see his face for much longer.
I watched my father removed his hand from over my mouth and the knife at my neck and I was ready for him to kill me, what I had just experienced would have haunted me for the rest of my life if I survived. Just as I thought to take my last breath he grabbed one of the many pieces of ripped clothing that lay around me and forced it into my mouth like a gag and then tied it in with another piece of clothing so I couldn't make a sound before he placed his knife beside me and with both hands gripped my hips and forced me onto my stomach.
True panic started to set in as I slowly realised what my father was intending to do to me. I started to move my arms to keep him at bay, trying to stop what was about to happen. I could feel his calloused hands gripping both of my ass-cheeks and I could feel a slick cold liquid sinking into my last untouched place. I couldn't tell what it was but I immediately thought it was oil or lube, which set off another round of panic and flailing arms, but this time, instead of letting my arms move and try to hit him hard enough for him to stop, he grabbed some more cloth and tied my hands together behind my back, and my last shred of hope disappeared, but by then he had started to attach cloth to both ankles separately and connected them to my already bound hands.
I tried to keep my legs pinned shut but my muscles were shot to hell when he first entered me, and after his persistent pounding I could hardly hold my heard up to breath. He finally had me, there was no more energy left in me to fight him, and so the moment he pulled apart my thighs there was little resistance. I tried to forget the fact that my father was now going to try plunge his stupid cock into my ass, I tried to forget the throbbing pain in my centre and the new pain I would feel once he started going again
In the distance I could hear the soft melodic laugh of my friends, completely oblivious to what was going on in the next room. Completely oblivious to the face that one of their friends were in there last moments of life.
I truly thought I was going to have more time, more time to remember the good times in my life but just as he pushed the head of his manhood into my unbroken puckered hole, I felt it. The sharp tip of the knife in my back. 'Oh the irony' I thought, my father literally stabbing me in the back, in more than one place.
I tried to swallow as much as I could and took one last breath through my suffocating nostrils as I slowly felt my fathers manhood push its way into the only place left untouched on my body. He didn't go slow, he didn't easy his way into me, he just started jerking his hips back and forth, and I almost felt as if this pain would last forever.
I could feel the tears welling in my eyes as he plunged himself into me, I thought maybe, just maybe the pain of being killed wouldn't hurt like this, but who was I kidding. As I felt the pain of my fathers acts rushing through my entire body, just as I thought there couldn't be anything more painful, I felt the knife start to dig into my warm flesh. It felt as if time itself had slowed down, just to torture me, but people have always said that your last minutes are always the longest.
I could feel my flesh moving around the slender blade of my fathers knife. And slowly, as I closed my eyes, I felt the life drain from my body. And yet I didn't disappear. I didn't go into "the light." I just stood next to my now lifeless body, no longer feeling the physical pain of my fathers acts.
I watched him fuck his way though my soul. And even though I no longer felt the pain of the knife in my back, and the constant pounded into my rear, I felt pain. Not something that would actually hurt, just an emotional ache that I knew was coming from the centre of my chest.
I knew I was dead, and I didn't care. My Father was my hero up until this day. Sometimes I wish that when I died I lost my memories of how it happened. But if that happened, I wouldn't know, and when my father did finally die, I would still embrace him as if he was still the hero I used to think he was.