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Friday, January 22, 2016

Happy Story Orgy Monday - Parallels pt.3 #storyorgy #blogstory

So last week I patted myself on the back for posting my Monday SO story on time…and this week I’m four days late…welcome to my life. LMAO

But at least I’m getting it in the same week – and hopefully in three days I’ll have another one up *crosses fingers*.

This is a continuation of last week’s story…and it just keeps getting weirder. :) Ooooh…and it has a title now too!

**WARNING—this story is out of my comfort zone, but I think that will make it quite interesting…hope it draws you in. :)

Prompt: I can imagine…

Parallels
Part 3
copyright © 2016 Havan Fellows

Chapter Three

November 15, 1979

“Stupid fucking bitch! Your parents are loaded, what the fuck do you mean they won’t set us up. You’re pregnant with their goddamn grandbaby.” Chris headed for the front door. “You better get your ass home and fix this. I didn’t fuck you just so I could live my life in a trailer park. If I wanted that there were plenty of other bitches I could’ve knocked up.”
He turned around and stared, jabbing his finger in the air at her. “I’m serious. I will make sure your life is a living hell.” He slammed the door on his way out.
“My life already is a living hell,” Maggie whispered as she rubbed her growing belly.
A tear slid down her face, as she pressed against the wall in the sparsely decorated family room of the one-bedroom apartment. This was Chris’s place, well his dad’s and his. It wasn’t much to look at, actually gave her the creeps knowing Chris’s drunken father was asleep in the bedroom with only one warped plywood door standing between them—the man was a slobbery pervert, constantly making rude comments to her and leering at her breasts. But she wasn’t willing to leave the apartment right away either. What if Chris was hanging in the stairway talking to someone?
She gingerly touched her cheek, feeling the heat from his slap on her tender skin. She needn’t worry, Chris never hit her hard enough to leave a mark…where people could see. Was it an inherit trait that abusers knew exactly where to hit and how hard? She touched the underside of her swollen belly, ignoring the pain from the dark purple shoe-shaped bruise on her hip. She knew that if she pulled down her oversized leggings and pulled up her bunchy sweater there would be a yellowing bruise, almost done fading away. He didn’t actually hit the baby, he stated to her when she accused him of trying to hurt their child. No, he said he hit under the baby, no harm done.
That was the night he let it slip that he purposely got her pregnant. It was all part of his master plan to get out of the projects, away from his father, and start a promising life on the other side of town.
What he just found out today, though, was that Maggie’s parents had no intention of letting them live at Talcott Manor. True, Maggie’s house—the only place she ever called home—was big enough with eight bedrooms, seven baths, and over a dozen other various rooms. It also boasted a full time staff including an assistant, cook, and ground’s keeper. Maggie’s father was a well-respected chief of surgery and her mother a highly sought after criminal psychologist and they demanded routine and order in their lives always.
Their only child completely screwed that up for them, and that was why her parents and none of the staff would lift a finger to help her.
The doctor her mother dragged her to—two counties over—estimated the due date as the end of February. Her mother had the idea of wedding her off to Chris before she started showing, then purchasing them a trailer in another town. Unfortunately, she got called enveloped in a particularly heinous murder case that took all of her waking hours—and probably some of her sleeping ones also. For close to two months, Mrs. Talcott was hardly around the house, and since Dr. Talcott hadn’t spoken to his daughter since August, Maggie was able to dodge the marital aspirations.
But now her mother was back and the plans were in overdrive. It was highly important for Mrs. Talcott that the parents-to-be be married before their little bundle of joy entered the world. Maggie wasn’t sure why, it’s not like her friends weren’t smart enough to calculate the dates in their head and figure out that conception happened many months before marriage. But with her mother it was all about appearances, and since Maggie wasn’t showing yet—thanks to baggy pants and oversized sweaters—they could still make this work.
Maggie shook with the realization that this was going to happen. She couldn’t stop it.
A noise came from the bedroom, a cough then a bedspring squeaking. Chris’s father.
She ran out of the apartment and down the first flight of steps. When she rounded the landing she smacked into a solid chest, fingers circling around her upper arms and gripping her firmly.
“Hey, where’s the fire?” A slightly familiar voice asked.
She looked up into the face of Greg something or other—the man who lived next door to Chris.
“Whoa, why’re you crying?”
“I… I don’t…” she stumbled on her words, trying to hold back the real loud sobbing tears that threatened to take over.
He immediately turned her around and led her back up the stairs. “Let me get you a mug of cocoa. You can relax, catch your breath, and maybe let me know exactly why you look like your world just imploded on itself.”
She resisted his direction, but only a little bit. Right now she didn’t want to go home, she didn’t want to be at Chris’s place, and Greg was being so nice to her. She hadn’t received nice from anyone in such a long time. She could really use a little of it now.

***

“I can imagine her going with him is a bad idea. Why is that?” Brother asked Sister as they followed the two into the man’s apartment.
Sister giggled, “Because if it was a good idea we wouldn’t be here, and you are much smarter than the average sociopath’s mom.”
“Oh good, you’re encouraging your sense of humor today,” he replied, glancing around Greg’s ramshackle apartment. It was a mirror image of the one they just left except with marginally better furniture and less pests crawling across the floor. “But I thought he was a psychopath, not sociopath.”
“How does one determine how much conscience a person has?”
“Isn’t that part of this experiment?” Brother asked, sitting on the hassock.
Sister only shook her head as answer.
They watched Greg talk to Maggie, how he gently probed the side of her face, where no bruise showed but the skin puffed out a little.
It didn’t take long for Maggie to open the dam and quickly fill Greg in on the pregnancy and forced marriage. He listened, rolling a joint for them to share, telling her it would take away some of her problems, if only for a short period of time.
Smoke filled the apartment as they laughed together and finished off a bag of chips and pretzels. But as it always happened, Maggie’s buzz couldn’t last forever and soon reality started invading her mind again, bringing even more despair than she originally had. She couldn’t help but cry.
“Shh, honey, don’t do that. I can’t stand when a pretty girl cries…” Greg stood and walked into the tiny kitchenette, with a counter separating it from the family room. “I have something else…something stronger…that can help you forget your problems even better than weed does.” He placed a makeshift cellophane baggie that came off a pack of cigarettes on the counter next to a metal spoon. The baggie had a little yellowish rock in it.
Maggie, who had walked to the opposite side of the counter out of curiosity, took a step back, her hands automatically going to her abdomen. “I don’t think I should,” she whispered.
Brother took notice that she continuously blinked her eyes, her hands shaking uncontrollably pressed against her midsection. “He did something to her,” he unnecessarily stated.
Sister nodded. “I suppose you shouldn’t automatically trust someone who is willing to give you free drugs”—she looked around at the slum apartment—“at least not in this environment.”
Greg now stood next to her, working her sweater up over her head. “I’m gonna make you feel so good…” he cooed in her ear, pinching her breast through her bra before sliding it down over her baby bump. “Damn you really are pregnant. He’ll enjoy it too.” He laughed.
Sister had obviously already done her homework considering none of this surprised her. Brother, on the other hand, didn’t have that luxury, and he felt as defiled as Maggie soon would be, if his assumptions about Greg’s intentions were correct. “Why?” he asked out loud. “What could he possibly gain from this except a quick orgasm. Surely the money he spent on those drugs doesn’t warrant the few moments of bliss he will take from her.”
“Oh Brother, not everyone thinks solely of physical pleasure when in the company of the opposite sex.”
He raised his eyebrow at Sister. “I have no desire to watch this scene.”
Maggie and Greg froze—her with her eyes partially closed, him with her arm in his hands.
“He sees in her the potential to make some quick money. Using her body for his own means is simply a bonus.” Sister surrendered, leaning against the counter next to the frozen two. “If you give a little something away for free, to—let’s say—someone completely desperate to forget their reality who happens to have access to more money than you would normally see…” She waved her arms out in a giving motion, letting her words trail off.
“And anything she can get her hands on at her house would be more than Greg is used to seeing.”
“Precisely, Brother. Sweet words and gentle touches go a long way with someone starved for affection. You and I both know what he’s doing, but she still sees him as the nicer of the available evils.”
“And so it begins?”
“Yes,” Sister agreed, walking around the frozen duo to look at them from a different angle. “We couldn’t do anything at the conception, because without Roane in the womb there is no experiment. Nothing could be done during the argument with her parents because—”
“She hadn’t done anything yet to harm the baby,” Brother completed her sentence.
Again, she nodded. “This is when Roane’s troubles began. Giving birth to an eight week premature addicted infant is not recommended.”
“Okay,” Brother said.
Sister walked through the frozen people to his side, taking his hands. “Yes?”
He removed a hand from hers and cupped her jaw in his palm. “It will make you happy?”
She nodded even more rapidly this time. “Yes…yes it would. I want to know.”
“Then we will learn together.”

***

They stood in the hallway an hour earlier when Maggie ran down the stairs and swung around the landing to crash into Greg.
“Whoa, why’re you crying?” he asked.
“I… I don’t…” she stumbled on her words.
Brother leaned over, whispering in her ear, “I’m sorry, I must leave now.”
Maggie stopped babbling and looked at Greg with glossy eyes. “I’m sorry, I must leave now.”
Greg shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, why don’t you come up and I’ll make you some hot cocoa.”
“No. I have to go,” Maggie firmly repeated the words murmured to her.
Sister grabbed her upper arm and guided her easily around Greg, and she ran down the next flight of stairs just like she did the first set.
When she exited the slum apartments, she immediately turned to the left—the way she would go to catch the subway to home.
“Go right,” Sister informed her, and Maggie did a one-eighty and headed in the opposite direction.
She followed the directions beautifully, and before she knew it was at the doorstep of Caring Courage—a non-profit organization that helped abused women escape from their lives and start new ones.
“Um…” Maggie took a step back, shaking her head. “No…this isn’t right…”
Brother looked over, but Sister was no longer standing with them. He crossed his arms and waited.
A plain brown haired mousy woman walked out the front door, followed by Sister. She quickly descended the half dozen steps and approached Maggie. “Perfect timing, I just made some coffee, would you like a cup?” She reached her hand out to Maggie.
“I’m not one of those women,” she stated, gesturing to the building in general.
The woman smiled at her, and her plain looks disappeared, her eyes shone and her smile welcomed. “You don’t have to be anyone but who you are to accept coffee, promise.”
Maggie tentatively took the offered hand, and they ascended the steps together, disappearing into the building.

To be cont’d…

Here are the blogs of my fellow orgiasts…see if they’ve got goodies for you. ;)


1 comment:

  1. Okay, now you have me hooked. How will this 'experiment' change Roane's life? It will be interesting to find out.

    ReplyDelete