The Whitewashed Wall
The Whitewashed Wall rape stories

ashnasaxena I try my hand out at art and poetry.
Autoplay OFF   •   4 months ago
My hands raked at the whitewashed wall

The Whitewashed Wall

My mind failed me Dry hopelessness evident in my widened eyes My limbs failed me Frozen and unmoving I failed myself As another took control over me Trailing trails of electric touches over my tender flesh Because that’s all I was at the end of it Meat to be used for another’s pleasure

Empty words of insincere comfort were muttered “There now, be quiet, it’s alright” As his hands explored Taking advantage of my lack of response The smell of cigarettes was heavy on him As he leaned in, burying his face in the nook of my neck

“Stop,” I croaked That only seemed to encourage him I saw the wanton lust burning in his eyes As I felt him against me “No.” I managed to say louder

The words were of no consequence With a sudden forceful move I was slammed against the rough whitewashed wall All I saw was the wall But what I felt was so much more Violated, for one And pain, as it is ripped through my body

My hands raked at the whitewashed wall My nails broke and bled My laboured breathing was loud But his guttural moans of pleasure were louder Each thrust sending an intense wave of pain through me

I whimpered against the whitewashed wall My hands curled into fists My nails bit into the skin of my palm His grip on me was unyielding As his hand dug into my side And held my face against the whitewashed wall

And then suddenly, it was over And I realised it was only him holding me up For as he left I crumpled to the ground A dull ache between my legs Curling up as the tears welled Staring at the smears of red on the whitewashed wall Echoing the same words again and again But only when it didn’t matter anymore.

I live But not truly, I live But as an empty vessel, For that was the day I died In front of the whitewashed wall.

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