Page 11 of Piper

My walls are wet and sensitive, the slightest bit of stimulation has me moaning in pleasure. I open my eyes and see that both Ollie and Chance are staring at me. They both have lust in their eyes. Chance’s may be faint as his face is becoming paler and the fear and pain he feels is an overwhelming force, but for a fraction of a second, I see the fire in his eyes as he watches my finger disappear into my pussy. Ollie, on the other hand, completely embraces the feeling and I watch as he cups his cock through his jeans, squeezing slightly. No doubt he’s trying to help with the pressure he must be feeling as it strains to get free.

“Fuck, Ollie. Trousers off, now. Come and taste me,” I instruct and he no longer has a desire to tease me. He removes his trousers in record time, standing before me in just his black tented boxer shorts. The small patch of pre-cum on the fabric has me salivating, desperate to taste him in the same way he is me. He follows my gaze and watches as I slowly push my finger in and out of my pussy whilst staring at the outline of his large dick. I bite down on my lip, but it’s impossible to stop the moan of pleasure from escaping.

He pulls his boxers off and his cock bobs free, standing hard and tall. The smooth shaft looks like it was made to fit into my palm and the swollen head on the end of the big dick looks purple and angry. Like it’s desperate to connect with flesh and weeping pre-cum. Ollie’s cock is definitely on the bigger side of average and right now, it looks as though it is pointing at exactly where it wants to be, but I gave Ollie an instruction and he never lets me down.

He crawls onto the bed on all fours until he is directly in front of my soaking pussy. I don’t stop my finger from pistoning in and out because he looks almost hypnotised by the motion. He leans down so his head is right between my thighs, so close I can feel the warmth of his breath hitting my already sensitive clit. It causes sensations to ripple over my body and I moan with a desperation that tells Ollie I need him to touch me. I expect him to reach his tongue out and join my hand, but instead, he reaches up with his hand and wraps his palm around my wrist, holding me still to prevent my finger from entering me any more.

A growl of frustration rips out of my throat and Ollie, the bastard, just chuckles like he’s enjoying torturing me. Instead, he pulls my hand over to his mouth and begins sucking on my fingers, tasting me on my own skin. He licks and sucks on my digits with a passion, like they’re the greatest thing he’s ever tasted, all the while he stares up at me through heady-lidded sex eyes. Fuck, does he look hot. When he’s like this, he looks like he could take on the world and I love it, but I need more.

“Stop fucking torturing me, Ollie. Touch me,” I shout and he giggles. Ironically, as I mention the word torture, a very pale and broken looking Chance emits a small cry. He is nowhere near as loud as he was at the beginning and his voice is hoarse from all the shouting. He seems so small and helpless, but that makes me smile. As he grows weaker, my rats grow stronger. Some may call it torture, but I call it survival.

Being able to provide for my family is something that I have strived for since we first met and I could barely take care of myself. From the first moment I learnt about how I could provide for my family, and give me a chance to take back the control I so desperately craved, I jumped at the opportunity.

Sittingin my shithole of a hostel room has been pretty much the only thing I have done for the last six months. After the ER nurse got me out of my mum’s house and into this facility, she called Mrs. Ludley. Obviously, as I was only sixteen and still in my final GCSE year, I couldn’t just drop out of school, no matter how much I might have wanted to. But, I couldn’t risk going back to the school because Mum and Martin knew that is where I would be. I don’t even know if she would come looking for me, but I didn’t want to take that risk and so I had to put my trust in the only adult I knew who was ever honest with me.

“I’m not letting you drop out of school, Piper. You have such a bright future ahead of you,” Mrs. Ludley said to me one night as we sat in the tiny box room surrounded by the sounds of the other residents. I had to laugh at her comment. How the fuck could she think I have a bright future ahead of me when we are literally sat in a shit hole? There is mould crawling up the far wall, steel bars across the lone window, and the smell of weed permeates through the whole building. Not to mention the constant sounds of music, swearing, and sex that is ever present, whether day or night. Clearly, my ‘look on the bright side of life’ teacher is choosing to ignore all of these things.

“I can’t go back to school. They can find me there. They will make me go home and I am never going back there,” I shout back, using a much louder and angrier tone than she deserves.

Picking invisible lint off her immaculately ironed black trousers, she doesn’t even look phased by my outburst. Instead, she very gently reaches over and places her hand over mine. Initially, as her skin touches mine, I can’t help but flinch. The last human contact that I had was a hospital assessment and the time before that is one I am deliberately blocking out of my memories. But she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she gently strokes her thumb over my hand. It causes a deep sadness that I never realised I was capable of when the unexpected thought flashes into my mind telling me that this is what a real mum does. This is the type of behaviour, the type of care, a real mum should show her daughter in general, never mind after going through something that I went through. I pull back the tears that burn in my eyes, knowing I will never let them fall again.

Together, myself and Mrs. Ludley, come up with a plan where I can study from home; she even sets me up with a computer to do it. I just have to promise that I will get a job to help support myself, and attend the school for my exams. I quickly agree and life in the hostel becomes mundane almost. I do my school work during the day, work at a coffee shop on the weekend and on my days off. Other than that, I keep myself to myself, and my hoodie and Netflix became my best friend, until the day I met Reggie. After that, I spent all of my time looking after him. Bathing him, feeding him, buying a cage and exercise equipment for him. But mostly, I spent a lot of time talking to him. He became my confidante. He was there in the middle of the night when I would wake up in a cold sweat, having nightmares of being pinned down, and that arsehole’s stale breath. Reggie was there to calm me down. He was also there when my plan came to fruition.

“Piper, I’m really sorry to have to tell you this, love. The police came to the school today looking for you. I told them I am your guardian, showed them the signed paperwork we drew up. That was enough for them to tell me this. I am sorry to tell you this, but your mother was found dead yesterday. Apparently, she overdosed and was unable to be revived when found,” Mrs. Ludley says calmly over the phone. The silence that follows is deafening. I know, at first, she is waiting for me to respond, or giving me time to process, but honestly, I just don’t know what to say.

“Piper... Piper… Are you okay?” she shouts more forcefully down the phone.

“Erm… yeah, I’m fine.”

“I just told you that your mum is dead, Piper. Of course it’s okay if you are not fine,” she replies, sounding a bit worried at my response.

“I know that. I just don’t really care. Honestly, I knew that this would be how things would end, I was expecting it a long time ago. She has never been much of a mum to me. Why should I mourn for her in a way she doesn’t deserve?” I say, sounding a lot older than I probably should do.

After a long reassuring discussion, I make sure that she knows I am not about to break down. I have spent the last eight months learning how to mask and eventually stop feeling my emotions all together. I really don’t care that she is dead. What pisses me off is when I find out, a few days later, that Martin has been having whores around to the house that technically belonged to my mother, and now me.

My mother inherited the house off her parents, and the fact we owned the house is the only reason we never became homeless throughout my childhood. Now that she is dead, the house should be mine. Not that I would ever live in that fucking cesspit, but I would sell it and use the money to get away from this place. So, to find out that my mother isn’t even buried yet and he is using the house as his own personal brothel really does take the piss! As I am telling Reggie about the injustice of it all, a TV show in the background springs up a very exciting idea.

After monthsof preparation and planning, tonight is the night that I am finally going to get my revenge. Walking down the drive of my old childhood home, I ignore the feelings of revulsion and fear that try to overwhelm me as I finally face my demons. I knock on the door with confidence, holding my head up high.

The door swings open and a swaggering Martin leans up against the door frame, beady eyes leering at me. His mouth turns up into a vicious looking grin, but all I can see are the few rotten teeth that are remaining. Yellow stained fingers reach up and stroke across his stubbly, grease filled beard.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the little bitch. I take it you heard that your crack whore of a mother died,” he slurs in his constant mix of drunken language and sheer unintelligence.

“So I heard. What I want to know is why you are still living in my house?” I ask cockily. He bends over, laughing out loud, as though what I said is quite literally the funniest thing he has ever heard.

“This house doesn’t belong to you, bitch. You left. It is mine!” he growls. Exactly what I was expecting him to say. I slump over, looking exhausted.

“Please, I need somewhere to live,” I cry.

“Well, maybe if you are really nice to me, we can sort something out,” he purrs, taking hold of my hand and pulling me into the living room. I look around and don’t even recognise this place. Mum wasn’t exactly a model housewife, but at least when I lived here, it didn’t look like an actual dump. There are take-out boxes everywhere, old newspapers, and rubbish bags over-flowing everywhere. Not to mention all the booze bottles and drug paraphernalia that is littered around. If I get out of this place without catching fucking hepatitis, it will be a miracle.

I follow him in, careful that he doesn’t see the look of judgement and disgust that I am sure is evident on my face. When he does look at me, I fake a smile.

“Why don’t you sit and I will get us a drink. We can talk business better with a drink,” I say, trying to sound a lot sexier than I am feeling. Of course, he doesn’t hesitate in taking me up on the offer. He also pays no attention to the little added extra that I add into his glass of whiskey. He downs it straight away and I knew I didn’t have to worry about him tasting the extra additive. I think he stopped actually being able to taste the alcohol years ago! It doesn’t take long for him to pass out and now I can really get to work.

When Martin wakesup half an hour later, he is not at all pleased to see that he is tied down to my mother’s bed, covered in ropes and in nothing but his underpants. As he looks around, he sees the equipment that I have brought with me and he pulls against the ties.

“What the fuck, bitch? Why am I tied to this fucking bed, you little cunt? I do not enjoy this type of kinky game, I have the power. Now, untie me,” he yells and I can’t help but laugh.

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