Page 84 of Deliria

My body moves, my body rocks. I’m forced to endure the abuse for what feels like forever.

And all the while Alex is there, face-fucking me, turning my cries of distress into useless, pitiful sounds. He uses my mouth until he finally comes, and I can at least breathe properly.

Thank god for small mercies, I guess.

I don’t know what makes Vincent stop. I don’t know whether he simply grows bored of it, or whether his arm aches too much to continue, but he pulls out, then climbs on top of me and I brace myself for another kind of violation.

“I’d say she’s nice and ready for me.” He says, addressing his son, as if this is some sort of bonding exercise. A nice family day out to remember.

“What are you waiting for then?” Alex says, leaning down, grabbing my pussy between his fingers, pulling me wider, as if I need the assistance or he needs the encouragement.

Vincent grins more. “Rafe would never get this.” He says ruefully. “He just wouldn’t understand.”

“That’s what sets us apart.” Alex states. “Why I’m the better son.”

Vincent draws in a long breath, but whatever he thinks about that, he doesn’t reply. Instead, he lines himself up and pushes into me.

I shut my eyes, turning my head. Hating the feel of him. Hate the knowledge that itishim. I can’t pretend. I can’t zone out. I’m trapped in this horrific moment, just like I’m trapped on this godforsaken island.

Vincent groans, holding himself still while he’s buried as deep as he can go.

I can smell him. I can smell his sweat. His aftershave. The hint of morning coffee still on his breath.

“It’s a shame.” Vincent murmurs. “A shame we can’t keep her longer.”

“It is what it is.” Alex replies, sounding almost philosophical.

I want to snap back. To say something to shame them, but we’re so far beyond that. These men don’t feel shame, they don’t have any morals or a conscience.

So instead, I lay still. I pray for it to end, I pray that once this is over, I can at least be untied and can wash away the disgusting remnants of them both.

Vincent bucks and grunts above me. Alex keeps his hand there, like some sign of ownership over my body. With hisindex finger he lazily plays with my clit, but I feel nothing. Not pleasure. Not even pain. I’m numb. Empty. Completely hollow.

Vincent turns into a sweaty mess. His hair sticks to his face, he’s gasping as if his heart might give out and a small part of me would welcome that event, even if it did mean his rancid body would almost certainly collapse onto mine.

I turn my face away in disgust, and Alex is quick to grab my jaw.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He snarls. “You’re going to watch. You’re going to enjoy every moment of my father fucking you.”

Vincent wraps his hands around my throat, pressing those pointy fingers into my already badly bruised skin as he thrusts harder and harder.

“Fuck.” He groans. “Fuck.”

“Fill her up.” Alex says, cheering him on.

I clench my fists, digging my hands into the sheets, willing myself to hold on just a little more. That it’ll be over in a few more moments, it’ll be done.

But as he finally comes, his arms give out and he slumps right over me, and it’s too much. Far too fucking much.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t take it.

Vomit once more rushes to my mouth, and this time I don’t hold it back. I can’t.

I cough it up, it all over my chin, over my chest.

Vincent pushes off, cursing me as if I’m the beast here.

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