The snow is falling, big fluffy wet flakes. His discharge mingles with my blood. The snow-covered peaks, thick patches of snow hanging heavy on the limbs of the pine trees. I wash, wash my clothes, and then put clean ones on. “How old,” he asks, pumping harder than before, his hips thrust, his whang gouging me. I get the bucket, sneak though the damaged fence into the next yard. Rape hurt, but maybe now I can just put it behind me. “Fourteen.”
“Oh, motherfuck-motherload,” his second burst of cum floods me, one thick discharge after another flooding inside my guts, followed down leaking in a slow, steady stream of disgusting cum, down my legs or trickles to the stones below. Even being raped is better than having to breathe the same air as my father. His discharge mingles with my blood. They drift this direction, ride up in the air, then drop that way, in a slow twirl. The cold invades every joint of my body. His discharge mingles with my blood. Landing, at last, on the cold
