Hidden Intent Part 1
I did not have what they call a happy childhood. My father was a drunkard and a bully and I grew up spending a lot of time hiding in, or sometimes under, my bed. He was a road-worker and played as hard as he worked, leaving my mother and me to scrape along as best we could.
It wasn’t that I was not reasonably well dressed for school or even had the experience of going hungry. It was just the charged atmosphere when he was home that was wearing. As I got older he got more overbearing and used to hit my mother at the slightest excuse. There was no way I could try to defend her as I did not grow into the strapping young man he wanted, much to my shame and his disgust.
I did pretty well at school, especially in maths, English and the sciences. I was good at Physics and biology and held the dream of becoming a vet when I graduated. I kept a small zoo at home, a couple of mice, a couple of cats and I used to help out at the local stables. On the sporting side I was not big enough for the contact sports but was a good runner and did some lessons with the girls doing gymnastics as a good way to keep supple. It was my last year at school when things got worse.
My father started calling me Christabel, not Christopher or even Chris. He meant it as a constant insult to highlight my slight, but lean, frame and my long runner’s legs that had taken me to several podiums over the last couple of years. He had no regard for my protestations or even to my mother trying to put him right. I asked her to stop when he hit her one time she asked him to use my proper name.
As my final term at High School came to a close and all the exams had been completed, I decided that I needed to leave home as soon as I could. I had been saving up all of my prize money and any payments from odd jobs and I went to an op-shop to buy a few cheap tee shirts and jeans. Unfortunately the only jeans they had that fitted me were for girls but I managed to get a couple of pairs that were not too colourful. I got a good back-pack to put everything in and kept everything in my locker at school.
At home I started to separate all of the items I would take and made some hard decisions about the things I would leave. I let my mother know what I was planning and she told me that she had been putting money aside for me and told me where she was hiding it. She told me that she would leave as well and go to her sister across the other side of the country when she did, but she knew that her sister would not have room for me. On that day we held each other close and cried tears of regret for the situation we were in.
It was on the third day of my post-school days when I came home late in the evening after going some miles away to see about a job with a vet. When I walked in the house was quiet and I could hear my father snoring, so I went to bed wondering what was going on. I though he must have sunk more than a few to be sleeping so early. In the morning he crashed open my bedroom door and commanded me to get my arse out of bed and down to the kitchen to fix his breakfast. I was really scared and wondered if my mother had left without telling me.
I did manage to put something on the table to please him and, before he left for work, he ordered that I was to tidy up in the house and to make sure that there was something on the table for him when he got home. He then said that my mother had left for good and that I would be taking her place. He commented that it was a good job I didn’t have to go to school any more. When he left I carefully tidied up the kitchen and waited until I was sure he would not be back. I then had a good look around.
In their bedroom I discovered a partially filled suitcase with some of my mothers’ things in but could not see any evidence that she had left. All her cosmetics and lotions were still on the shelves and I looked in the place where she had told me that she was hiding the money and found a good-sized roll of notes. This I took back to my own room and hid it in my back-pack which was now at the back of my wardrobe. I then searched the house high and low to see where my mother may be hiding. I did tidy up as I went around to show that I had spent a productive day but only found a few dust-bunnies, no sign of my mother.
What I did find was that our garden shed now sported a brand-new padlock which resisted all of my efforts to pick. I did make a note of the number on the lock to see if I could get a key to suit another day. I had to get back into the kitchen to prepare something for him to eat when he got back from the pub. I was not looking forward to him getting home and, when he did, my fears were proven right.
He ate his dinner with gusto and told me that I was a better cook than my mother and then he got up and came over to me, wrapping his arms around me and lifting me off my feet. With his beery breath he told me that it was a good job that I had grown up to be a little sissy and then he carried me up to his bedroom and raped me. It was no good struggling and I tried hard not to scream with the pain. As I lay on his bed with his weight still on me and his dick slowly shrinking he told me that I was now the housewife and, if I knew what was good for me, I would start to try on some of the womens clothes in the wardrobe as he would be expecting me to submit to him whenever he wanted.
He then ordered me to take my torn clothes and go to my room but to be certain that I was up at a good time in the morning for his breakfast. I could hardly breathe, let alone speak, as I left the room. I pulled on my underpants as I was starting to leak and when I got back into my own room I screamed into my pillow and spent the night crying. By morning I had thought long and hard and had decided on a plan of action. It was no good going to the authorities as he was friends with several in the police force and no-one would give me the time of day. No, I had to make sure that what I did was not able to be passed off easily.
The next day was his day off and he demanded that I go and do some shopping, giving me some money. He told me that he had arranged with a friend of his on the other side of town to supply all the things we needed. I was given a couple of big bags and told to get dressed and on the bus. This I did and, when I got to the destination, my fathers’ friend had a number of jobs that he wanted me to do and even paid me for them. When I got home, laden down with my shopping, there was a note on the kitchen table saying that he was at the pub and to wear what was on his bed when he got home.
I put everything away and had another quick look around the house, finding everything as it was yesterday. Outside, however, was a different situation. The lock was no longer on the garden shed and we had somehow acquired a new garden bed with fresh plantings already showing some colour. I sat on my haunches beside it and cried for my poor mother.
On the bed in his room he had put out a nightie with a note to make sure I used some make-up as he wanted his girlfriend to meet him at the door. I had a couple of hours to prepare myself and his meal so I sat at the dresser and tried to use some of my poor mothers’ make-up. After a few tries I thought that I had achieved something like a girls face and, when I took off all of my clothes and put on the nightie, it made the transformation nearly complete. I quickly brushed out my hair and re-arranged it to fall to one side and I saw a reasonable teenage girl looking back to me from the other side of the mirror. This fact finalised the plans I was hatching.
Finding a robe and slippers I went back downstairs and prepared his meal. When he got in he stood at the door with a look of wonder on his face before coming to me and kissing me on the lips, much to my disgust. He was too strong to resist and I even put my hand on the growth at his groin, at which point he put his tongue in my mouth and kissed me deeply. He was in a real hurry to finish his meal and pulled me up to his bedroom. I took off the robe and sat on the bed quietly while he took off all his clothes. When he was naked I could clearly see the perpetrator of the pain last night in all its glory.
He then told me that after last night he had decided that he was not gay and would only want me to suck him off and came over to the bed to pull me flat on it beside him. He cuddled and kissed me as if I was a girl and I ran my fingers up and down his body before doing the same to his shaft. Finally he got me to put my head down by his groin where I started to lick his penis. When I took him into my mouth I was almost rigid with fear of what was going to happen but my resolve held firm and I licked and sucked and brought him to a climax. He filled my mouth and I looked at him and smiled while I swallowed it all, knowing just what I had decided would be his fate.
Marianne G 2020
Comments
Nice start to Chris' story
Very engaging and it's going to be a good story but brought back a few bad memories.
Don't Understand...
...why he's hanging around.if he feels his father can get away with murder as well as rape because of police connections.
It shouldn't take him long to put the pieces together and deduce that Mom's dead and buried in the new garden. There's the half-filled suitcase, the temporarily padlocked shed to stash the body, and then a hurriedly-prepared garden when he'd been sent away from the house without transportation.
Now that his father has decided that his son can't provide the kind of sex he wants, he'd seem to be a likely murder victim himself.
He doesn't have any good options, but he prepared for an escape before all this happened, so he can do it quickly while his dad is gone. Granted, there's a risk of his being framed for the murder if he leaves or even takes other action, but it ought to beat what he's going through -- and at least he'd have a lawyer.
Eric
And the police are where?
When it was plain his mother hadn't left, and with that new lock, and now evidence in the garden, where are the police?
Chris is old enough to move out and be on his own. With the way he's being treated he should grab his things and leave when his 'father' is drinking himself silly.
Others have feelings too.
it's awful to contemplate
That there are men out there who are really like his father. Surely, even bent coppers would have to recognise someone who was a murder victim and then take his story of sexual assault seriously. The father is an animal and needs to be culled. This was powerful stuff.
Angharad