His hatred for her grew insidiously–some kind of bacteria or fungus that had found purchase in his heart. She had reached puberty, and such a crime could not be forgiven. What had turned her from a girl into a woman also brought with it a woman’s sin, a woman’s innate failure to obey. They needed to be taught, to be broken under the saddle.

It started with company. Doesn’t it always?

“Go get us some more beers.” He shifted in his recliner. She glared.

“You’re always telling me to do shit for you. You never tell Bryan to do that stuff–”

“I said GO.” The Company’s young son shifted uncomfortably. His father watched the game.

She got up off the couch, tense and bracing for her escape.

“Suck. My. DICK.”

Instantly, she ran. Off like a shot. Her life depended on how fast she could scale those stairs and get to her room. Not fast enough.

“Suck your dick? Suck your dick?!” He pulled her down the stairs by her ankle. Pinned her against them. Climbed on top of her, straddled her chest and pinned her body down with his legs behind him. He was so strong. 

“You seem so fascinated with sucking dick, so maybe you should try to suck mine!” Spittle flew from his enraged grin as he used one hand to fumble wildly with his belt buckle, the other to fend off her punches. Her blows were weak with fear; passionate with anger, instinct, the need to survive. They scrambled to find purchase on any part of him–particularly his face.

“FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU!” She clawed, she screamed, she writhed in panicked terror and lividity as he popped out his erect, uncircumcised penis and tried to force it into her hands.

“FUCK YOU GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” The company in the living room–how could they not hear her? How could they not help her? 

He laughed as he grabbed her wrists at last and wiggled his hips up her chest and towards her mouth.

“This isn’t ALL you’re getting, either!” He cracked up as he shimmied, working hard to keep her hands on him. She turned her hands into fists so she couldn’t hold It. He made her put it between her fists; she continued to scream.

“FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FU–”
“You’ve gotta learn some RESPECT–”
“–CK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU!”

Her mother appeared at the top of the stairs, her short blonde hair brushing her shoulders. She and her father froze.

“MOMMA! MOMMA! Momma momma HELP ME! MOMMA!”

She stood motionless, her mouth agape in shock. Her baby girl. She never thougt it would come to this.

“MOMMA!” She screamed, tears now for the first time. “HELP ME, MOMMA!”

This couldn’t be happening to her. To her family. They had some problems, sure, but she was helping everyone work them out–

“MOMMA, PLEASE!”

Momma looked as if she were about to cry. Then, she descended. Step by step. She took her daughter’s hands gently in her own, and led her into the bedroom.

She struggled, she cried, but–mostly–she had given up.

“It’s time for you to become a woman of the family!” He boomed, shutting the door behind them.

From outside, a shadow began to consume the home. It spread from the bedroom, then down the stairs, then the living room, then the driveway, until everything was black.

Hours later, the door opened. The mother was smiling, quietly proud. She had put her daughter in one of her own best dresses. They matched, now. The daughter smiled wide; empty eyes, the dress–too small–stretched tightly over her breasts.

Father walked out, buckle on, wordless. Strong.