Ali smiles as she squishes her toes into the sand, the sun bathing her tan skin. She hears footsteps, turns around. She's grabbed, groped. Her mouth is bound and gagged.
She is scared. She is high.
She is alone. On a deserted beach.
She is just 12.
They blindfold her, she hears them speak her name. There are three, maybe four.
"Alone?"
One grunts.
"Ali, right?"
"Oh yes...," says another.
Ali cries out. Her face is slapped. More groping. Grabbing. Squeezing. Her clothes are torn. She blushes, squirming under them. She's sucked, bitten. Never kissed. Never stroked. Never carressed.
Why? Why her?
She is pinched, pulled, smacked. Spanked?
She whimpers but that urges them on.
One inserts himself. She cried out, tears welling in her eyes. Bood falls and he is commended.
"Lucky bastard! How tight is she?"
He laughs, unrelentlessly pleasuring himself.
Ali is now sobbing. They continue. Another inserts himself from behind, more blood. She needs to go to the hospital.
She needs help. Needs to be saved.
No one comes.
They switch. On and off for hours. Seemingly endless hours. She's still crying by the time they finish. She hears panting. She mumbles.
The last noise she ever makes.
One pulls out a switchblade. Slits her throat.
They throw her body into the ocean. Walk away smiling, satisfied.
Ali was a foster child. Her parents dead from overdoses. Her foster parents hate her. Hated.
Ali's body was never identified.
Never missed, either.
No comments:
Post a Comment