Moochie’s Meandering Missives (and a pic or two)

He punched her with the fist holding the bike chain
And growled something at her angrily.

Her screaming quieted a bit,
But she couldn’t stop her body
From trying to stop the dragging.

Her scalp burned as though the hair was being torn
Out from the follicles.

Tears mixed with a dark warmth runnning down her cheeks
As she grabbed hold of the arm dragging her.

He had so much strength, weight...

She didn’t stand a chance.
 
He was dragging her out of the house.
That part was clear.

And he knew where he was going.
Pulling her kicking and screaming through the field...

...to the old barn.

No one would hear her,
She lived out here for the distance from people.
The privacy.

Such mother fucking irony.
 
By about halfway through the field to the barn,
She had decided to reserve some fight.
She just held on to the arm dragging her hair
So that her scalp got a little respite.

Her torso, legs, feet dragging on the ground behind her.
She tried to dig them into the grass that needed a mow,
But they just skimmed and never found purchase.
 
He stood her up by the hair,
His body looming a good 6 inches over hers.

She was bare foot and in nothing but a night shirt which had torn a bit
And dirty beyond recognition of colour now.

Her eyes stung and through the halo of the tears,
she couldn’t make out the features of his face.

She closed her eyes tight and screamed for him to stop.
 
He hit her across the face again.
Much like the last time,
Only this one left her dazed and she lost her feet
At the same time he let go of her hair.

She fell to the straw and dirt-strewn floor in a heap.
 
The next thing she felt was the toe of his boot in her side,
Throwing the air from her lungs with such force,
She curled her body in on herself.

She could hear a smirk as he remarked,
explaining her stupidity
And spitting on her when she lifted her head to his voice.
 
She didn’t know what to do.

Running through every scenario in her head:

She could try to run, but he would catch her before she could get out the barn door which he was blocking.

She could try to hurt him and get to the phone in the house, but he would just overpower her again.

She decided to go inside. She would be there, but she wouldn’t be. She would call upon that place she used to know so well.

And that was the right choice because he came at her then,
rolling her on her back,
pinning her legs with his,
Smacking her face again,
and wrapping her hands with the bike chain.
 
It felt like she couldn’t breathe.

His weight,
Her injuries: she was going to have such bruises on her ribs.

She cried harder
As he grabbed her nightshirt by the collar and tore it
Like it was a piece of notebook paper.
 
Picture break while real life happens.

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I don’t know where she’s headed, but it’s a terrifyingly good story so far.

Also, purple looks great on you.
 
I feel like my senses have been pummelled.......wonderful and on the edge writing. x
 

And there it was again.
This time more ominous
So she shrank into the couch
Rather than rising



...BANG!


Can this be understood by a guy with only a few brain cells operational, or is this a secret message to some lover with a time and date to achieve the shag of a lifetime.
 
Picture break while real life happens.

What could be more real, than you dressed with infinite taste, with that added spicy gift of knicker and thigh?
 
barn door

My immediate vision was of you being fucked against the barn door, your scenario is a little violent for my taste, but as its your imagination at work, all should be well.
 
This is not going the way of a walk through the rose garden, and them gazing into each others eyes.
 
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