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Introduction:

Girl in mental institution has flashback about sadistic sexual abuse from father
I’d never thought I’d end up in this fucking mess. You’d think that someone with my kind of expertise, cunning, and talents would be smart enough to keep myself out of the nut house. But no, I’m just as stupid, and arrogant as the rest of this pathetic fucking planet. Each morning I wake up in this empty hospital room, and think to myself somebody save me from this shit hole we call existence.

But that’s not realistic, and this isn’t a fairytale.

I suppose I should start with a name? Or perhaps a name doesn’t matter, perhaps it’s only the images and the actions associated with that name that we really remember. Either way, the name’s Casper. Yep, you heard it; I’m the product of an idiot mother with shit for brains, and an abusive yet somehow pitiable asshole for a sperm donor.

They thought they were cute, naming me after “the friendliest ghost around” but in reality they were just ignorant teens without a lick of sense. My birth was the product of ecstasy and an AC/DC song that I don’t give a flying fuck enough about to even remember the title of.

I guess I grew up just like any other child from south east aurora, with parents barely able to make ends meet, and a shit tone of DHS involvement. You would think that since they rip any child away from a good home because the kid stated the parent “abused” them with a bar of soap, I would have been a shoe in for state custody. But no, I was stuck with an alcoholic mother and a sick bastard for a “father” due to the fact that there was supposedly no evidence of abuse.

Sure, being molested by my own father wasn’t evidence of abuse. I just assumed they viewed it as an “act of love”. What a fucking joke.

I can still remember the smell of cheap cologne and halitosis the night of my inevitable death. My mother, who had spent the last week fighting and more or less losing to my father, was passed out drunk on the couch. It was heartbreaking the way she still clutched her bottle of tequila to her chest as if it were the most valuable possession she owned.

As an 8 year old child, I remember sitting on my twin bed, bed bug ridden and masked in satiny blue covers, knees paralyzed to my chin. I remember the way my father crept into my room, and seeing that I was awake, edged closer and closer to me. I could feel my heart ramming against the walls of my chest cavity, yet somehow I was frozen in place. As he brushed my messy brown bangs from my pale face I cringed at his clammy touch.

“You know how much daddy loves you, don’t you sweetheart?” He whispered in my ear as a blood curdling scream failed to escape my quivering scarlet lips.

I sat like a statue, not a word threatened to escape as he pulled my knees away from my warm little body. My father, who was a tall, broad shouldered man picked me up with ease and whisked me away to my parent’s bedroom. He laid me down on the king mattress and grinned as he caught a glimpse of his ruddy complexion in the mirror that hung on what was otherwise a barren wall. His dishwater blonde hair was greasy and disheveled. I could feel my blood running thinner as his hazel eyes set fire to my soul.

“Come now don’t be shy, let daddy take care of you.” He croaked in his raspy, tenor man’s voice.

I could feel tears coming to my sapphire eyes as he removed my cotton nighty.

Running his coarse hands up my tiny body he crooned, “My how soft you are, you’re growing up so fast.”

“Please daddy, mommy needs you, she’s sick!” I cried as the sound of my mother’s vomit obstructing her airway rang through our meager trailer.

“Mommy can take care of herself darling. Daddy wants some quality time with his pumpkin.” I could feel my own dinner threatening to make an appearance. My father couldn’t care less, as he removed all of his own clothing. My body quaked with fear as he removed the belt from the belt loops and began wrapping it around either of his hands.

“Please daddy, I’m tired, I want to go to bed.” I squeaked in a voice so low I believed only the gods could hear. Either not able to care for, or refusing, my need my father took the belt, pinning me with his hands to the bed on each side of my arms. He held me down, and I knew that no matter how hard I would struggle, nor how fierce I would plea, my fate was inescapable.
I could feel the leather of his belt digging hard into my arms and chest as his slimy cock slid closer and closer to my virgin hole.

“Mmm, you smell so good.” Daddy mumbled as his head began to penetrate my tiny opening. Hot tears poured down my cherubic face as his massive manhood tore my insides apart. I could feel hot liquid pouring out of me as it slid in again, and again.

“Oh baby, you’re making daddy feel so good!” He moaned in ecstasy. I on the other hand lay there, unmoving aside from the ferocious shaking that moved throughout my body. I wanted to call for help, I wanted to scream about the injustice, and cry out in pain as my innocence was ripped from me. But alas, no words could form as his wretched weapon of choice slammed into me repeatedly.

It went on, this vicious cycle of unwanted torcher for what seemed like an eternity. I gasped when I felt his tongue slid across my not yet formed chest. He leaned in closer to me, until I could smell his rancid breath upon my flesh and whispered,

“Daddy’s got a surprise for you, and you have to promise to swallow!” I could only imagine what he did to me next.

As he pulled his cock from my bleeding slit and forced his blood spattered erection into my mouth I could feel my dinner rearing its ugly head. I was mortified when hot, syrupy-like liquid filled my mouth and poured down my throat. My father grunted and moaned as he pumped his poison into me.
“Good girl,” Daddy breathed heavily as he stroked my sweat covered head.

Later that night, I lied in my own bed, crying and sobbing for hours. I couldn’t understand why the world had fucked me over so badly, why god would allow any of this to happen. I couldn’t understand why an 8 year old child would experience such terrible things. If only I had known then what would happen. I would have run, far away, and never looked back. But I didn’t, I was stupid and naïve.

I made a vow to myself that night that I would never allow anything like that to happen to myself again; little did I know that the future had a cruel fate awaiting me.

The end… for now.
138 comments

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