Filthy logo

Tragic Memories

by Sai Marie Johnson about a month ago in fiction

The Things Left Behind

Tragic Memories
Photo by Carol Oliver on Unsplash

“Shut up!” Trever screamed, his fingers coming to grasp about Tessa’s throat as he slammed her into the wall behind him. Tessa’s eyes widened, brimming with tears as she struggled to quiet herself.

“I’m sorry, Trev…” seconds later greedy lips came to claim hers, biting into her lower lip as his mouth penetrated hers. She struggled to breathe as his lips continued their assault.

“Hush,” he said, his lips lingering inching from hers, “You ready to meet her yet?” He asked, the whiskers on his beard scratching across her skin as he spoke.

“Who?” Tessa asked, “I mean, who, Daddy?” She corrected. The beanie on her head had fallen to the side of her face now, wispy strands of blonde and pink hair falling in a veil across her face. Trever smacked her hard on the cheek.

“Her, her. The one I’m going to bring into our little game.” He chuckled, “My pretty girl, you know I hate working there. I think she may be ready to bite.” His tongue flicked out across her lips and she felt the sudden hardening of his cock against her nude thigh. The boy shorts were lacy and she knew he could rip them away with a single curving finger.

“What do you want me to do, Daddy?” Tessa whimpered. He had loosened his grip on her throat by now but still held her pressed between his chest and the bare wall behind her.

“Be nice to Serena, baby girl and Daddy will take care of the rest.” His hot breath fanned out across her mouth and suddenly, the sound of shredding fabric removed any doubt of Trever’s intentions, “Serve me well, baby girl and you’ll never have to go back to that shit hole again.” There was that promise again - wasn’t it to blame for all her sorrow and soon-to-be-found shame?

***

Serina recalled a moment their first Thanksgiving together. It had been a gloomy, grey day and Devereaux decided to take the scenic route

Back to his father’s house. Serina was nervous. A ball of tension resting in the pit of her stomach made her feel nauseous as they rounded the chicane in the road. The curves reminded Serina of a woman’s succulent figure and she imagined that was how Devereaux equated it. Tongue slipped free of his lips as he glanced at her creamy bare thighs. Serina had no clue, oblivious and lost to the scenery as she was. And that was just how Dev liked it.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his hand slipping from the gearshift, fingers inching across her thighs to the hem of her mini-skirt.

“What are you doing?” Serina asked, a gasp of shock slipping from her lips. A smirk, that was all he provided her with, fingers slipping higher up her thigh.

“Enjoy the ride, Ryn. You gotta have something to be thankful for.” His pearly teeth glinted slightly. Serina sighed, her pussy muscles clenching tightly in response. Delicate fingers slid up her leg tearing into the delicate lace of her panties. God, why do you torture me so, “You know, there’s a carnal instinct that rises in my blood when I’m around you. Why?” He groaned, slipping his hand between the folds of her pussy delicately, “Mm, that’s tight,” he muttered as his finger stretched her cunt. Extracting it, he drew it toward his lips.

“Un,” she groaned, as Dev pulled off on a gravel road. The door flew open and slammed. Thud!

“Get out,” he didn’t look back, walking off toward a trail that lead off the side of the road. Serina glanced around, confused, but followed.

“Wh-“ Greedy hands flew up, grasping Serina by the face, lips falling to hers as Dev slid his tongue past her mouth. He slid his hands downward, pulling at the hem of Serina’s skirt anxiously. Instinctively, Serina’s hands slid down to his belt, loosening his pants. Her eyes slithered down his body as he released the glistening tip of his cock, fingers sliding down the base as he pulled out of the kiss.

“Do you trust me?” He asked, his hands sliding into her locks gently. Eyes penetrating her own like daggers through the skin.

“No,” she muttered. What the hell are you saying?, “I mean,” No further words slid from her lips, Dev’s hands lifting her, fingers squeezing into her ass cheeks as he lifted her from the ground.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Ryn…god, I love calling you mine…"

fiction

Sai Marie Johnson

A multi-genre author, poet, creative&creator. Resident of Oregon; where the flora, fauna, action & adventure that bred the Pioneer Spirit inspire, "Tantalizing, titillating and temptingly twisted" tales.

Pronouns: she/her or they/them.

Read next: A Gal’s Guide to Commanding Pleasure During Sex

Find us on social media

Miscellaneous links

  • Explore
  • Contact
  • Privacy Policy
  • Terms of Use
  • Support

© 2022 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.