He didn't really know what he was expecting when he'd asked her.
Of course, he knew that she wouldn't have liked it, you know? He knew that it was a gamble to even bring up the question of what other families did, what other families felt, but he didn't know that she would react like this.
"What did you just say to me, Michael?" Her tone was quiet, but there was something there, something cold as she scratched at her cheek irritably, freckled cuts lining her face as fingernails rubbed against old nicks on the once pearly surface. The boy backed away a bit, but not before her hand, gnarled and crooked, grasped his arm, pulling him back with an oddly firm grip that made moving impossible for him.
"I-I just...Kwan's Mom and Dad are different from you but I don't understand why. T-they're...they're nice to me, but I don't feel that here. Did I do something for you to be angry at me?" Her grip tightened, and the child, sensing the growing tension, rushed to abate her.
"W-wait, I'm sorry, sorry; I didn't mean that! I just...I don't understand why they're so nice to Kwan, and why you guys don't-," Dash couldn't finish before a hot, burning sting collected on his cheek, and another, and another, her own hand red from the contact.
"With everything that we do for you, you have the n-nerve to talk to me like that?!" Another burning touch and the shameful pull of tears down his stinging cheeks; the boy didn't have the heart to look at her.
"M-mom...I didn't mean,-"
"No, you meant exactly...exactly what you said. You don't appreciate anything that we do, do you? You just think that the world is supposed to revolve around you and why is that? You think you deserve to be the center of everything, huh? You think you're owed shit?" Pushing him to the ground, she stood over him.
"N-no, no, I-,"
"What do you want us to do, Michael? Why can't you just be happy that we even put up with you?" To this, she bent down, cupping her face in her hands.
"I didn't...I didn't even want to have you, you know that? I gave up everything for you, everything...everything that I could have had and this is how you treat me?" A small sob escaped her lips, small shudders rocking her body as she sat there before him, knotted red hair framing her face and blanketing around her shoulders like a old drape. The boy didn't move, didn't speak, the sickness of guilt setting over him.
Had he been selfish? He didn't...he didn't mean to make her, to make them, feel that way. That wasn't what he'd wanted, not at all; he never wanted to hurt them and make them feel as though he didn't appreciate them or that they didn't do anything for him because that wasn't true.
They'd given him food, given him water sometimes; heck, they even let him wash up at the sink sometimes and sleep on the floor! It was better than sleeping outside in his opinion.
Maybe he just had to tell her so.
"N-no, Mom. I...I do appreciate you and Dad, I didn't mean to...I never wanted you to fell this way. Never. I...I'm sorry..." She didn't look up.
What could he say? What could he do?
This was all his fault, completely his fault.
"You don't mean that. You don't...you don't mean that at all. You're a liar and all you ever do is sit around here and take, take, take. That's all that you ever fucking do is take from everyone and you don't give shit in return." She looks up, taking no time to acknowledge the boy before she stands up, and storms off in the other direction, and the boy watched her with wide, terrified eyes.
No. No, she was angry.
Really angry.
He did this, he caused this.
He didn't want her to be mad at him; no, he couldn't take it.
Taking off after her, he used his only steady hand to grab at the helm of her dress, looking up at her (though he was quickly reaching her height. The woman didn't look back, even feigning pulling away from him as the child desperately tethered himself to her.
"Mom, please, please! I'm sorry, I really am! I am selfish and awful and I didn't mean to make you angry. Please, I don't want you to be mad at me, so please, I want to give you something. I'll do anything just...just...," Dash couldn't give pause to the lazy tears that barreled down his cheeks in droves, shaking at the silence giving space to the air between them, but at the sight of the woman gazing at him, a warm smile coaxed along her features, the boy couldn't help but smile, too. Taking him into her arms, Mira leaned down close to his ear to speak.
"You'd do...anything? Anything at all? Just to make me happy? Is that what you mean?" Furiously, the boy nods, and to this, she smiles even wider, taking his hand and leading him the room that she and his father shared.
Sitting upon the bed, the woman guided her son to the ground before opening her legs and hitching up the dress, pulling his head down to the damp print of her underwear, and above him, her words resounded.
"Anything for us, right? Is that what you said?" She didn't stop looking into those wide, blue eyes, even when he nodded quietly. Even when she could feel him shaking through her hand on his head.
Cute.
He was so cute.
- (Warning for explicit rape and sexual content; please skip if needed or desired) -
"Then I want you to do something for me, but you have to listen, okay?" The boy nods again.
"You're going to make me feel good, really, really good. Can you do that?" She didn't wait for a response before continuing.
"I want you to lick down there, okay? I want you to do it softly, and Mommy would love you so much if you did, did you k-know that?" Dash didn't understand. She wanted him to touch her special place with his...mouth? That didn't feel right, not at all, though he wouldn't get the chance to ask, that familiar look of agitation enough to stifle the very thought of a question upon his tongue, bringing him to nod despite his insecurities.
"Good. Very good. Now, I want you to take off my underwear...yeah, that's it." The child guided the worn panties from her bottom down her legs, silently minding the odd dampness of the garments in his grasp before dropping them at his side, gazing headlong into the chasm of his mothers bottom, all along trying his best to stifle the odd nausea that had settled in his gut.
Dash, in the back of his mind, couldn't help the odd taste that filled his mouth with each drawing lick he took, swirling his tongue about the organ in tandem with his mother's whimpering cries, the woman squirming and pressing his head into her warmth. Sticky warmth that clung to his lips and made him want to gag at the stench.
"Hnnn, Mich~ael. Michael!" She pushed him further down, and he could feel her clench around him.
"This is good? Am I doing it right?" The boy hummed into it, and she cried out, moaning as she reached her peak.
"P-please, faster. Unnn, *hah-hah*...!," Mira paused as it tapered off into her orgasm, clenching her thighs against his head so intensely that a headache developed on the eve of her release, the strain on his neck so great that the boy felt lightheaded, though this came to pass as she let him go, coming down from her high.
The taste was foul, bitter, bearing like lemons and fish on his tongue that forced his mouth dry.
"M-Mom...Mom?" He didn't dare wipe his mouth, chancing a look to the debased woman in the middle of her high, and he could tell that she couldn't hear him, but she drew him near, pressing him against her bosom in a gesture of tired affection, and had he known better, he would have pulled away at the feeling of her easing down into his pants, grasping at his flaccid member, stroking it as the boy recoiled for a moment before stiffening at the sensation of his flesh coming to in her palm. That same motion lead her other hand, reaching as far as she could go, to push down on the helm of his pants, pushing them down far enough that his bottom had been completely uncovered.
"Wait...wait, Mom-," Leaning up, propping herself on his arm, she smiled at him, stroked his cheek with a gentle hand that gave pause to any words that had formed in his mind.
"Now, now; you did say that you would give me whatever I wanted...whatever I needed, right? You wouldn't lie to me, would you? You wouldn't tell me that if you didn't intend to do it, would you?" All the while, she continued to stroke him, pressing her body into his hardened length.
The boy couldn't move, couldn't speak.
No, he wasn't a liar. He promised he wasn't!
He wanted to give something back to his mother, the one who loved him...cared for him. This was what he was supposed to do, he knew in his heart, as he whimpered at the touch of her hand prodding his tip, and he nodded desperately, wanting very much for her to finish it, the touch, the feelings, completely and utterly unbearable.
"N-no...no, Mama. I'll...I-I'll do what you want. I'm sorry, I just-," A clench around his member caught the words in his throat.
"Then shut the hell up and do it already. You know what I want, don't you?" Mira moaned as he pushed his member inside of her, appearing to fold at the sensation of filling despite the distinct hiss of pain coming from the boy.
He hated this when she did this, what it felt like...but should he? Should it hurt and smell bad when he did this for her?
Even now, as she directed him into the slow thrusts that she loved so much, grasping his small shoulders as he picked up the pace of the formless, stiff movements she'd told him to do.
She needed him, wanted him, so for what reason did he cry? Why did his face burn with embarrassment and shame at the mounting pressure between his thighs? Mama told him it was supposed to feel good, that this was what people did to show each love, but it didn't...feel that way. Not at all, and the ache that collected in his groin reached it's peak as thin tendril of white trailed from his tip and the loose hole that he'd pulled himself out of. It puckered sadly as the last of his seed dribbled down and onto the worn, dirty sheets, and the woman sat up, pulling the boy close in his vacant state, placing delicate kisses on his head and lips before pulling him into her lap. A single hand stroked his limp member, but the boy didn't dare move, screwing his eyes shut as the fuzziness set in.
- (End of the explicit scene; please proceed with caution) -
"Didn't you love that, too? I love you so much, Michael."
"I...I-I love you too, Mom. Did I make you happy? Did it f-feel good?" His little heart leaped for joy at the returned gesture of her smile, yellowed and empty as it was, and all the same, she didn't make note of the odd, empty look her son's eyes held.
"Happy? I couldn't be happier than I already am. Maybe you aren't so bad after all, but you shouldn't be so selfish. Don't let that be a habit, okay? You should be more willing to give, Mikey. Kwan doesn't love his parents as much as you do. He doesn't give like you do, so never change. You owe us, you know." Pulling him into her chest, the woman sighed as though she had to bear a heavyweight.
"You have to be willing to give. Of course, you think that Kwan's parents are nice to you, but they don't know you as we do. If they could see how selfish...," A stroking hand against his hair tightened along with the muddied locks, and Dash whimpered, but he resisted the urge to pull at the fist.
"..., awful, and irritating you were, they'd treat you the same way that we do. It's just that you, you know, deserve it. This is the least that you could do, sweetie." Was that...true?
If they could see him more, be around him more...would he have to do this for them, too? It shouldn't have surprised him, the child thought through the waves of hot agony that oscillated through his skull; it was a miracle that they could even stand being around him, let alone not punish him for, well, the bad stuff he would surely do. He was sure, in his addled mind, that he would do so at some point, and he would gladly make it up to them; a hundred times over if he had to.
As much as he had to feel like this, to be held like this.
Anything at all if it meant he felt...loved...maybe.
- (End of Flashback) -
It took every amount of effort for him to turn over, mulling over the titillating hands of the clock just as it was so many times before, reading the time in blurred shapes that made his heart patter unevenly in his chest. Of course, watching the hands read back to him the time, it wasn't his tardiness that bothered him.
No, not in the slightest.
It was only the second day, and he was sure his teachers knew that he was a fuck-up.
Nothing new there.
Pushing up from the paneled wall with a shaky hand, he froze at the dull, throbbing ache that radiated from his backside, his face contorting into a silent scream for a breathless moment. Leaning back upon the wood behind him, Dash released the breath that he had unwittingly held, trembling at the great strain the action had put on his lungs as one after another, taut huffs tumbled past his dry lips, rattling his ribs as he tried his best to collect himself.
'Fuck, fuck, fuck! I can't go to school like this! What am I supposed to do? I didn't think it would hurt this badly.' Though, he mused, looking at his little nook on the ground, he supposed sleeping the way he had wouldn't have helped either, cursing his own stupidity at having placed so much pressure on a spot that he knew would hurt later.
His fault, again and again, like always.
Biting back tears at the wretched sting of his, well, nether regions, the teen distantly wondered whether he could hope to at least stand, but by the protest of his body at his second attempt, Dash figured that wouldn't be the case.
Chancing yet another glance to the time, he gaped at the minutes that had passed, ten in what seemed like just a moment between him resting after his first attempt.
He was wasting time, precious seconds under the scrutiny of his own idiocy.
He was late, tardy, all manners of wrong for having overslept in the first place.
For not being stronger, smarter, better.
Why couldn't he be better?
Why?
Why?
Why?
Why couldn't he just di-
...
...
Turning slowly on his side, the boy eyed the door, ajar as far as he could see, across from the kitchenette that led to his parent's keep, almost chuckling at the odd similarity between the days he could observe.
It was always the same, it seemed.
There was nothing out of the ordinary, the usual haze of cigarette smoke and stench of cooked drugs and alcohol blazed his senses like a lit match in the dark, and the latent snores that made the creaky trailer sing with them in kind, shrouded in the gentle quiet of the mornings he would awake before them. Except...when the rooms would become just a little bit dark, the air just a bit murkier, remembering vividly that just as it had been still in this morning light, there followed behind them this dark shroud that hung before them in their waking hours. Be it the anger that shot from them to him, or the violent anger they held for one another, he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that one of them was listening, and that thought alone was enough to make him want to curl into his blanket, away from the scary eyes that crushed him.
That would be easy, wouldn't it?
Hell, he doubted either of them cared one way or another what happened with his education, even if they tried to convince themselves that they did. If anything, the boy thought with resignation, wouldn't it be nice if he could just forget about all of that? It was so much easier to just be here and make them happy; they liked to do things with him, and maybe if he made them happy...maybe...maybe they wouldn't hate him as much.
Just a thought.
'You'd love for them to fuck you up some more, wouldn't you? You masochistic piece of shit.'
"I don't...I don't even understand what a masochist is? I don't think I am, though." A sudden thought struck him...
'You're just trying to make excuses for you to be lazy. Of course, you'd love to stay home.'
"I'm not! I swear! Why do you always say that when that wasn't what I'd meant?!" Since when did he actually speak back to them? Was this something people did?
'Why would you want to stay home? Why would you do that?'
"I...I just can't move as well right now; my body hurts so badly. I don't...I don't know what to do." Was he a freak for responding to them? It wasn't like they ever talked back to him, at least, he didn't think so. But they wouldn't stop talking.
Yelling.
Screaming.
Crying.
He just wanted them out.
He wanted them out right now.
Why wouldn't they be quiet?
Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet, be quiet, be quiet, be quiet-
Dash could feel the beginnings of a headache as he felt dribbles of warm dribble down his face, bringing his hands down his face only to notice that his fingernails dripped with red, and his scalp stung with fresh wounds.
Hmmm. He was doing that again.
...
...
Anyway, it would be so easy to just roll over and sleep, sleep, sleep, no matter what the voices said to the contrary.
Sleep until nothing else in the world remained but him and the silent morning that he was alone.
Never to move, to breathe, and that's precisely why he pulled himself from the ground.
Throbbing, shaking, but moving all the same, peeling himself from the floor with a single heave, sucking in a taut breath when the ceaseless hum of pain ran through him. It was with him on his knees, using the windowsill just above his to pull himself up, that the floor cried before him, that shrill, incessant crying shocking him into stillness, not daring to bring the burning eyes he surely felt into existence.
He knew that he was there, watching him.
Laughing, his father was standing there with a crooked grin upon his face distorted his features.
He always laughed, and so did everyone else.
Everyone was laughing.
And he was the joke.
'Say something, say something.'
'He can see you! You definitely woke him up, heh heh.'
'Do you think he was awake all along? Maybe it'll be best to just keep your mouth shut; maybe he won't hit you as hard.'
Before he could stop himself, the words tumbled forward, automated even as his working heart thrummed within the confines of his chest.
"G-goodmorning, Sir. I'm so sorry for this, the...the noise. I overslept and I couldn't get up so I-,"
Tick-tock, the chime of the clock on the wall reminded him of where he ought to be, but his arms, his legs...they refused to move, waiting on bated breath as no sound rose from before him. Just the creaking of boards and the intensifying scent of cigarette smoke and liquor choking his senses as rough hands pulled him to a stand, snaking around his waist as they turned him around and pressed into his backside, and for a moment, just a moment, Dash almost screamed, nearly attempting squirm out of his hold if he hadn't known just how bad that would have turned out for him.
- (Mild scene of assault ahead. Proceed cautiously) -
Struggling only made things worse, so he went limp.
The throbbing only seemed to worsen as the other's weight pushed along the afflicted area, peaking at an unbearable throb so intense that Dash thought he would faint, but as fate and that cruel God would have it, his body refused to give in.
Yet there it was again, that fuzziness that claimed his mind as familiar presence at times like these. It choked out the sensations, the touches, the way his father reached into his pants and stroked him, even when his bruises cried out, and his words, like whispers in a dark wood, passing on foul tongue to his ears, yet he couldn't make sense of them.
It was him, looking out, not in.
Silent as the pounding rush of blood in his ears forced the sound away, damning it to non-reality.
He hadn't noticed that they'd worked their way back into the humid hell of the last room, him pinned below that formless shadow of his father, his pants having already been removed.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, the though of detention, the scowling face of his teacher as they lectured him on and on about responsibility and the importance of education was an annoying but welcome thought.
He'd been told worse.
"I love you." Said someone, something, above him, biting it softly as a hand snaked between his legs and something pressed between his buttocks.
And he was staring up at the fan again.
- (End of scene. Have a good day.) -
