No offence against trailers intended. I love trailers. Lived in one, would happily live in one again, so, you know, shut up.

 

 

Trailer trash

 

 

My boyfriend is sitting on my face. I’m not too happy about it, but there’s not much I can do – he’s a scary guy, and I’m not brave.

 

He bounces, presses down harder on my face, and that’s his way of saying my tongue isn’t working hard enough inside his ass. I hurriedly stiffen my tongue even more, wiggle it faster and dig deeper inside his hole, and look up past his fat, hairy balls smothering me and the thick, heavy dick – he looks down and nods, and I’m relieved. His eyes go back to the tv, to his hockey game.

 

I go back to diligently sucking his ass.

 

It’s all my own fault, I know it. I’d seen him at the bar, all big and rough-looking, dark stubble giving him that irresistable bad boy vibe. He had big hands, calloused and well-used, he was a construction guy – and I could’t help thinking about how those hands would feel on my skin. How they were so big one could easily go round my throat, and two could circle my waist. How one finger was thick enough to be uncomfortable stuck up my cunt.

 

And his face. Strong bones, heavy jaw, deepset ice blue eyes glinting under heavy dark brows. There was nothing delicate about him, and he was a man, not a boy – and being a precocious fourteen year old, that was important to me. Day in, day out, immature boys all around me, and all over me in some cases, and I was very ready for a real man.

 

So there he was at the bar, and he was a regular, and I’d seen him give me a look a few times – so I decided to make the first move. I wiped clean a table that didn’t need cleaning, and made sure to stop beside him on the way back. It was a quiet night, and the music was on low.

 

“Can I get you anything else?”

 

He looked at me, leaned back and stretched out long legs. I couldn’t help the quick look down at his crotch. “What’s on offer?”

 

I grinned, waved my hand airily. “Anything you see.”

 

“Anything I see, huh?” He stood up suddenly, and I took a step back to avoid a crash. I looked up, and up. He was tall – and I was getting so wet so fast. I like tall, and his body was big, muscled all over – nothing like the lean sticks of so many of the boys. When he fucked me, and right then I had no doubt that he would, I’d definitely feel it. “When do you get off?”

 

“Five minutes ago,” I said, giving him my biggest smile.

 

“Get your stuff. I’ll be outside. Red truck.”

 

So it is all my fault. I should have steered clear of him as soon as I’d got a whiff of that dangerous air of his – we have instincts for a reason – but I hadn’t. I’d got into that red truck and the first words he’d said were ‘suck me’ and I’d sucked him as he’d driven us to his place. It had turned out to be a trailer, where I didn’t know as my head had been at his crotch the whole drive, and the place had been a mess but I hadn’t really cared as the dick I’d been sucking had me all starry-eyed. So big. I could only fit a few inches into my mouth and the thought of how it would feel in my cunt was making me cream continuously. I couldn’t wait to be fucked, and that’s all I cared about.

 

And I got fucked. I missed school for four days. He’d just come off a job and had days off and it hadn’t taken much convincing for me to play hooky. That big dick hurt, but it hurt so good – although by the end of those four days, the hurt was turning not so good. I was definitely walking gingerly, and sitting was an adventure – and not just from the fucking, but because Matt liked to spank when he fucked. And those big hands can land one hell of a wallop.

 

A light slap on my head brought me back to the present.

 

“What’s with you today?” He asked, frowning down at me.

 

I shook my head, as much as I could between his thighs, and he helped by getting off my face and shifting back to straddle my stomach.

 

“Sorry.” I stroked his thighs, trying to ignore the taste of ass in my mouth. “Just a bit tired is all.”

 

“Back-breaking work, all that studying,” he said dryly. People who never studied much always seemed to think you couldn’t get tired from studying, and Matt had left school at sixteen. He settled between my legs, easily folding my knees back to my ears and thrusting his dick up my ass. I grunted, gritting my teeth as he forced himself all the way in. Matt didn’t like lube, so after my first few times with him only using spit to get up my ass, I’d braved a sex shop and bought myself a dildo, thinking that if I used it regularly in my butt, it would get easier to take Matt.

 

Matt had found out and he hadn’t been impressed. He liked me tight, but more importantly, no girl of his visited sex shops. He’d shouted, called me a slut, and held me down on the bed by my neck. His belt had landed on my ass and thighs, repeatedly, and despite me crying and begging for him to stop, he hadn’t stopped until I’d apologised for being a slut and promised him I’d be a good girl.

 

That had been on day five of our relationship.

 

It’s been two months now. I’d wanted to break it off after that whipping – although to be perfectly honest, I’d wanted to break it off after the first time he’d shoved his dick up my ass. That had been like ten seconds after we’d walked into his trailer. I’d never been fucked in the ass before and you do expect them to ask before doing it, but Matt hadn’t bothered asking. He never does for anything. Anyway, a spit-lubed big dick and a virgin ass don’t go well together, and he’d had to shove my face into the bed to muffle my pretty vocal response. Then after he’d loosened up my ass to his satisfaction, he’d moved on to my cunt and – and it was good, great even, and that was why, on day five, istead of running for the hills, I was anticipating more with Matt and buying a dildo.

 

After the whipping, I would have broken it off the usual way I normally break up my relationships. I become unavailable. I don’t answer the phone, answer the door, basically avoid the guy until he gets the point. Matt, however, wouldn’t let me leave his trailer after the whipping. He didn’t trust me to behave so soon after showing him how shameless I could be, and that weekend he laid down the ground rules for our relationship.

 

Rules. I would have laughed at any guy who tried to give me a set of rules, but Matt was different. That difference was what had attracted me in the first place, the sense that what you saw was what you get with him. All man, no posturing.

 

“You don’t want to be a man, do you?” Matt had asked, stroking my back as I lay on my front, recovering from the whipping. He slapped the back of my head. “I asked you a question, look at me.”

 

I looked up reluctantly, leaving the hiding place of my arms. “No, I don’t.”

 

“I know. Women who want to be men avoid me. You’re not like that.” He pulled me into his arms, manhandling me as easily as if I weighed nothing. I’m a skinny 5’1, he’s a bulky 6’4. “You’re all girl. I like that. I like you.”

 

I didn’t much care that he liked me. I just wanted to get out of there and and forget everything to do with Matt, especially the fact that he’d just beat me. Beat me and made me degrade myself verbally – I wasn’t a slut. Just because I bought a sex toy doesn’t mean I’m a slut.

 

He doesn’t like me going to sex shops or flirting with other men, but he does like me dressing like a slut. He likes seeing other men wanting me and knowing he’s the only one getting me, getting anything he wants. And he does get anything he wants. He calls me a slut and that is a nice word for what I am for him.

 

Two months. I just found out I’m pregnant. I’d been expecting it – it’s not rocket science when your boyfriend refuses to wear condoms or use any other form of birth control. Abortion was the first word that leapt to mind – I’m fourteen, I have plans. I don’t want a baby, never have, vaguely thought I might when I was around thirty or so if my husband wanted one. One.

 

But I’ve been practically living with Matt for the past month and I know he won’t let me abort. And going against what he wants is not something I’ve been able to do since I met the guy. I’m stuck.

 

“Got something to tell me, baby?”

 

He always seems to know when something’s up, and that on top of his sheer physical presence, plays a big part in my inability to stand up against him.

 

“I’m pregnant.” It comes out shaky and weak. I’m on all fours, sweaty and lightheaded, as he shoves his fist up my ass. It’s been going on for too long, but then a second is too long when it comes to fisting – like I said, his hands are huge and he’s managed to work most of his forearm into me too. There’s not enough lube in existance to make it easy to take, but at least he is using lube.

 

His arm freezes mid-punch. I wait, breathing hard. I’m sure he wants to keep the baby, going by everything he’s said about his big family and his Catholic pro-life stance, but there’s always the possibility that he didn’t want it happening so soon. That would be bad. He’d be upset and Matt upset meant he’d take it out on me, verbally, physically, usually both.

 

Then the arm was being jerked out and I couldn’t hold back a shriek, but the next second, I was flat on my back with Matt’s tongue down my throat. I guess he wasn’t upset then.

 

Matt didn’t want my family interfering. They were already getting suspicious about the long hours at the library after school, at the weekends, and my friends were worried we’d all get caught soon for pretending I was sleeping over too. If my parents found out I was pregnant, they’d make me abort. Matt didn’t want that, and so the day after I told him I was pregnant, we were in his truck and heading out of state. I didn’t leave a note, or take anything from home. I’d just left that morning, supposedly heading for school, nothing out of the ordinary, but met Matt at the gas station near his trailer park.

 

I’d miss my family. They were great, even my little brother who annoyed the shit out of me most of the time. But I’d become someone I didn’t know, someone I was very ashamed of, and Matt said we were leaving and that was that.

 

Matt’s family was far out in desert country, stark and desolate. We left good roads and went on dirt tracks and then out of the barren lanscape, a few trailers came into sight with a few trucks and sheds here and there. This was the family home. I’d been miserable the past week during the drive down, but seeing my new home sunk me even lower. I’d been used to an upper class life, and now, I was fourteen and pregnant and moving into a trailer.

 

He’d had eleven brothers, but five had died. The remaining six were all home when we stepped out of the truck, and as they came out of the trailers, looking so much like Matt, I felt like bursting into tears. Then an older man stepped out and I wished for the ground to swallow me up. He looked meaner than even Matt, and that was saying something.

 

~~

 

The waffle had turned out all broken and burnt. Matt wasn’t happy.

 

He slammed me face down on the counter, mushing my face into the ruined waffle. “The waffle maker makes the waffles, you stupid bitch. All you have to do is put the mix in – you really too fucking stupid to do that right?”

 

~~

 

I couldn’t breathe. Matt had put a plastic bag over my head and tied it around my throat, holding the ends with both hands like reins and looking down at me through the fogged plastic as he fucked me.

 

~~

 

There was some dirt on the floor. I saw it because it hadn’t been there before. I cleaned the trailer every day, meticulously, and there was no way I would have missed the floor. That meant Matt had brought it in, not hard to do when you lived in the desert and you worked construction, and I was just about to clean it up when Matt came out of the bathroom.

 

“What the fuck?”

 

I cringed as he stalked over. A hard backhand knocked me to the floor and kicks made me curl up protectively around my big pregnant belly. I didn’t want the baby, but I couldn’t help protecting it.

 

“What the fuck do you do all day?”

 

He grabbed my hair and I knew what was coming as I was dragged, crawling, over to the dirt. I licked up the dirt, crawling swiftly to other specks of dirt when Matt kicked my ass. The dirt was spaced out, like footprints. Pointing that out to Matt, however, would only get me more of a beating for talking back.

 

“Mack, fetch me the red belt.”

 

“Sure thing, Dad.”

 

I could clearly hear the laughter in my son’s voice, and my face burned. It wasn’t just the embarrassment of being treated like this in front of my kids, although I was embarrassed, despite the fact that Matt had never hidden anything from his sons; I should be used to it after nearly twenty years, but I wasn’t. My face also burned because the baby was kicking my bladder, and I was trying really hard not to piss myself. If Matt whipped me, I was definitely going to be unable to hold it back.

 

“Matt, please, the baby.”

 

“I won’t hurt Lucky 13,” Matt growled, giving me another kick to move me along.

 

Lucky 13. The baby inside me was going to be the thirteenth son, and Matt had been hinting that he might let me get a hysterectomy now. His Dad had never let his mother use birth control which had eventually resulted in her death during labour with her eleventh child – but the doctors were disapproving now. Had been for some time. He’d gone to his family for advice, and gotten some indication that it would be ok for me to stop being a baby factory.

 

A son factory. Matt had aborted the female babies, the other men watching and cheering from the sidelines as he beat them out of me. Surprisingly, there had been only four, but even so, I kept thinking that at least the authorities would get suspicious about my having all sons, but no. We were far away from civilisation, in the backwaters of nowhere, and they really didn’t much care for white trash like us who were stupid enough to have so many babies. They didn’t care that kicks and punches to my belly by my husband was the way my female foetuses were aborted - although the last one had been done by Joey, not Matt. Joey, fifteen years old and Matt’s favourite nephew, the only one in Matt’s family that was allowed to fuck me and had been doing so since he was thirteen. He’d had the job of abortion doctor that time because he’d been the one to knock me up – and as Matt always said, a real man took care of his own messes. Joey had strung me up by my wrists in the barn, and punched his mess right out of me.

 

A hard blow landed on my ass, almost flattening me. The red belt. It was a wide heavy leather one, full of metal studs and stone beads, and it wasn’t just painful – it really made my ass look terrible. It marked badly.

 

I put my head down on the floor and crawled around licking up all the dirt. The sooner the floor was clean, the sooner the beating would end.

 

~~

 

Matt was dead, and Malloy bitches don’t survive their men. I’d seen it before when Don had died, and his wives Frannie, Betty and Violet had been taken to the cellar by the others and tortured to death. Don had been in his coffin, the guest of honour, and I remembered thinking that this was probably not the way most people held a wake. After the men had taken out their grief on the women, and the women were all begging for death at this point, they’d been beheaded and their heads placed in Don’s coffin – I hadn’t been able to look away as Violet’s head was placed under Don’s ass, Frannie’s mouth filled with his balls, and Betty getting the dead dick down her dead throat. It had been one of Don’s favourite sexual positions.

 

I saw the head of that dick stick out from Betty’s throat, the neck on the severed head no longer able to house all of it. Don had been buried like that.

 

Then Trent had died and Colleen was taken kicking and screaming down to the cellar. Colleen had lasted three days, one more than Don’s wives, but then they had hacked off her arms. She had only a few minutes left after that, and she was quickly beheaded and Trent’s dick shoved down her throat. Again, I saw the head of the dick poke out of her bloody, severed neck.

 

I saw her eyes blink once, and Matt explained to me that that was why they cut the heads off before they died. Once beheaded, there was a few seconds of life left in the heads, and the last thing the bitches saw was exactly where they belonged.

 

It was my time now. No matter how much I had wanted to die in the past, when the time came and the men grabbed me, I was struggling and screaming and begging like all the other wives before me. I was terrified. All I could see was my bloody severed head stuck on Matt’s dick. But when I got down into the cellar, crouching on the floor and whimpering like the whipped bitch I’d become, I was kicked into one of the small discipline cages and – they left.

 

It was so unexpected that I stopped whimpering. Usually, the killing began immediately – why weren’t they now? I don’t know how long I was left there, in the dark, but it must have been a few hours as when the light came back on, Joey was coming down to see me, and Joey came home from school around 4.

 

I looked up at him through the kennel bars. I was naked and on all fours, caged, in front of my teenaged nephew, and all I felt was fear and respect. Any humiliation and shame was just a low thrum in the background, a constant thrum, as he’d seen me like this and worse most of his life. This was normal for us, for the Malloy family.

 

“Hey, bitch,” he said quietly, crouching down and poking his fingers through the bars. I licked them, and started whimpering again, tears streaking down my cheeks. “Shh, it’s ok. He’s gone, but we’ll be ok. He said I could have you if I wanted, and I want you alright. You know that, don’t you, baby? You know I love you, right? And you love me, don’t you, baby?”

 

“Yes, Joey,” I said, calming down. “I love you, Joey.”

 

He smiled happily and took his fingers away from my mouth to poke them through closer to my hanging tits. “Give me your tit, baby.”

 

It was too cramped to do much more than sway hard against the side, swinging enough to get my tit close to his reaching fingers, but it was enough and he grabbed hold of my nipple and pulled it through one of the square holes. He was pinching and twisting and tugging, quite painful, but I didn’t pull away. Never pull away. I wasn’t going to be tortured to death today, and I was so relieved I was shaking with it.

 

“Sssh, calm down, baby, Joey’s here now, and everything’s going to be ok.” He knelt up, unzipped, and pushed his cock against the bars. I licked the head fervently. “That’s it, that’s my girl. You’re such a good girl.”

 

“You keeping her then?”

 

“Yeah, but go ahead and use her at the wake. I won’t deprive Uncle a good send-off.” He grunted, spurted in my face, and stood up. “I’ve got that interview over in Frenton so I’ll be gone.”

 

“Back for the funeral though, right?”

 

“You have to ask? I can’t get out of the interview – besides, Uncle Matt got me the interview. And he knows I’ll treat the bitch right anyway – he won’t miss me at his wake.”

 

No Matt or Joey to make sure the men don’t go too far. I started crying again, but this time Joey ignored me and they left, talking quietly between themselves. When I’d seen the other bitches kicking and screaming and begging, I’d wondered why they bothered. They’d get no sympathy or mercy, they knew that, and if anything, they’d get worse because the men enjoyed the screams.

 

But now, I understood. It wasn’t because they thought they would get some mercy, it was because they couldn’t stop. I felt the screams and begging rising up inside and before I knew it, I was doing the same as they had all done. Begging for my life, promising everything, whimpering like the contemptible broken thing they had made.

 

The light was switched off and I was left in darkness. I screamed louder, banging back and forth against my cage, and side to side. I was going to have bruises, but then, when the wake was over, I would be barely recognisable under the bruises. If I was lucky. If I wasn’t lucky, I was going to be too dead to care about bruises.

 

~the end~

 

This was supposed to be a longer story, but again, I ran out of steam.

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