Sick Fux - Page 11

A chair creaked behind me. I turned around and saw Uncle Clive had risen to his feet . . . and he was staring right at me. Uncle Clive was the biggest of the men. And by big, I meant fat. His hair was thin, and he wheezed when he breathed.

He disgusted me.

He reminded me of a roasting pig.

And worse, he always smiled. A huge, creepy smile.

Right now, that smile was on me.

Uncle Clive flicked his head toward the door. “Come with me, Heathan. I have an idea about how you can start these repayments,” he said, and I felt my fingers twitch. “I want to help you . . . now that you’re family.” My skin prickled under his attention. He brushed past me, his arm against mine, and walked out of the door.

“Go with him,” Mr. Earnshaw ordered sternly.

I made my feet move and stumbled out of the door after Uncle Clive. When I entered the hallway, he was waiting by my bedroom door. He walked into my room, and I slowly walked in behind him. I didn’t see him at first, but when the door slammed shut behind me I realized he’d been waiting behind the door.

My breathing echoed in my ears. My palms grew wet with sweat. Then Uncle Clive moved. He took four steps in my direction, then he stopped. He started undoing his belt. His forehead was sweating like it always did, and his cheeks were mottled with red patches.

My nostrils flared when my eyes snapped to his. His pupils had dilated as he watched me. I stepped back and stepped back until the backs of my legs hit the edge of my bed. I tried to keep my balance, but my feet moved from under me and I fell to the mattress. The room spun from all the liquor I’d been given lately. I felt weak. I didn’t like not being in control.

Then Uncle Clive was before me, his belt and pants undone.

I caught a glimpse of his heavily-layered stomach skin and I tried to get to my feet. But Uncle Clive pushed down on my shoulder. His free hand ran through my hair. “You really are a handsome boy, Heathan. And so big for your age—tall and broad. And those silver-gray eyes . . .”

“Get off me.” I lurched to the side, trying to get away. But Uncle Clive was stronger than me. His hands did leave me, but only to reach into his pants. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see what he’d do next. His fingers gripped my shirt and he forced me back into the mattress. I struggled and struggled until his hand swiped across my face, making me dizzy. Uncle Clive’s arm was braced over my throat, his legs kept my legs pinned down, and I felt him unbuttoning my slacks. He began to pull them down my legs. I tried to shout, to tell him to get away from me, but my voice was cut off by the arm on my throat.

He pulled my pants down until they were bunched at my ankles, then wrenched me to my feet by the collar of my shirt. He dragged me across the room and bent me over the desk, kicking my ankles apart with his foot. His hand pressed my head down to the desk until all I could smell was oak. I tried to struggle, to get free, but I couldn’t . . .

I stopped trying.

I pulled out my pocket watch and stared at the face. I blinked, studying the hands, blocking out the pain that quickly came. Blocking out the grunts, the wheezing, the drops of sweat that showered the back of my neck . . . the feeling of him behind me . . .

“Tick tock,” I whispered to myself as my cheek moved back and forth along the oak surface of the desk. “Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock . . .” I kept my eyes on my pocket watch, pushing everything else out of my mind until I heard the bedroom door close. The room was plunged into silence. But I couldn’t move. My cheek stayed pressed against the wooden tabletop. Oak. I couldn’t stop smelling oak.

My pocket watch caught the light and reflected a patch of gold onto the ceiling. It was flickering. I realized it was from the shaking of my hand.

I breathed.

I breathed.

I breathed again.

I clutched my pocket watch to my chest and rose from the desk. Pain shot through my spine, but I gritted my teeth and pulled up my pants, fastening them as tight as I could. My hands still shook. My breathing felt strange.

And I had only one place I wanted to go.

I darted across the room and quietly opened the door. I peered out into the hallway. It was empty. I ran across the carpet, jaw clenching when every step hurt more than the next. But I wouldn’t cry.

Tags: Tillie Cole Erotic
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