Wakes in an alley

The taste of copper fills Megan’s mouth as her senses slowly return to her. She realizes she can’t hear anything above the dull ringing her brain’s doing as it seemingly swings back and forth in her skull like a heavy church bell. Her long eyelashes flicker as light filters through the slits of her eyelids when she tries to open them. Spitting out the mouthful of blood to the gravel floor, she shifts her weight into a seated position, pieces of cardboard falling from her. “Nnnghh!” Her stomach is in knots, every part of her abdomen feels battered and bruised. Even momentarily shifting her weight to her arm causes pain to shoot up it. If it was broken during the fight it wasn’t broken now, yet paradoxically everything in her screams out that her body is broken. Her eyes open further and adjust, taking in more spectrum of color.

It’s daylight, and she’s sitting in a filthy alley, large green trash bins either side of her, litter and grime covering the floor. Despite the rays of the sun piercing through the crud across her face and hair, she shivers, and the floor beneath her feels like a seesaw that could tip her over at any second. She has no concept of how long she had been , sleeping with nothing but the rags left of her red costume which even now flake off from her lithe, mostly naked body covered with cuts and dirt. Slow gusts of wind blow her filthy dark hair in front of her but she lacks the strength and will to brush it away. She sits like this for a long time, aware of her shallow breath coming in and out, ragged, feeling it along her tender throat, the bones of her ribcage creaking and mending. Megan gazes out along the brick wall away from her, trying to trace patterns along it like a game, noticing its sprouting slimy green moss. It’s like the endless corridor from Labyrinth, she thinks. Then, flashes of brutality through her mind. Fire. Blood. . She pushes it back. Thinking instead of fantastical puppets doing their gravity defying jumps as she watched on DVD a hundred times. No, a wave of depression won’t crush over our heroine, Megan Summers. She won’t think about last night – won’t let those images come to the forefront of her mind. Instead, absurdly, she thinks about the crush she’s had on Jared for years. Dance magic dance.

Slowly, she can feel her body get better. Her powerful healing ability had to have been working overtime all night, but clearly still she isn’t anywhere close to being recovered. The ringing in her head subsides and her legs can move. She pushes herself up, standing, and immediately regrets it. Doubling over with the agony from her cunt up through her uterus, and every nerve ending she has firing up. She falls to her knees, clutching them, tightening up into a ball. Her consciousness betrays her, remembering the shades of black that battered her head around like a yo-yo. The explosions so hot on her skin. The wrecking ball that should have killed her. The metallic monster Big Package moving through the smoke, a nightmare of tentacles writhing all around her… inside her. No… the girl whimpers. No…

Megan’s soft hands drift across her stomach. The tears flow freely. Her cries are fierce, full of anguish.

……………….

The sky is an ocean blue with orange rays through the clouds as Megan emerges from bushes not far from the back of her suburban home. She’s covered in a long coat stolen from a clothing line, her bare legs showing at the bottom, and her filth covered jet-black curls falling out from under her hood. She scopes out the scene, peaking through the kitchen windows of her home. Her parents aren’t even here by the looks of things. Typical. She looks around, and ignoring the aches in her body she half-scales, half-flies up the wall of her home towards the open window of her bedroom. Her room is as she left it - a cupboard leaning on the door, stuffed bears on the dresser, and a poster of Jared holding a crystal ball with Sarah hiding inside. She removes the coat and the tattered remains of her ruined costume before checking her phone – left unattended on her dresser. Six messages from Ross, her stomach flipped at the name. Somehow, she had forgotten all about him, then it all came back. She remembered taking his insane monster dildo all the way down her throat, remembered his awful cum dripping all over her face just yesterday, before the Syndicate got their hands on her. God… all of that was just one day… She leans against the wall, holding herself with an arm against her thin waist, her naked body still covered in dirt and bruises. Megan was supposed to be at school today, and Ross explicitly ordered her to wear the tiny tartan skirt to school. Her heart suddenly skips a beat –would there be a reprisal from Ross for failing to follow through? She checks the first message.

‘We know what happened to you last night. You are to come to my classroom tomorrow morning, 8AM, wearing the skirt you were ordered to. No more second chances – if you fail to obey, everything gets released’.

“We”, she says aloud. Ross and his mysterious benefactor. The rest of the messages are image files – Megan’s bright hazel eyes looking directly into the camera as she sucks Ross’s dick, the teenager in various states of rope bondage with sweat glistening on her skin, cum dripping down her pretty face as she wears a doggy bowl on her head, stills from her by Raptor. The last message shows pictures of Megan’s own facebook photos. Her angelic, cheerful smiles in each picture hide her own loneliness as she is faintly aware, remembering back to all the years of an empty house. But what is most distinct about these pictures is they have been printed out, and thick gobs of cum are plastered over them. Megan shivers with revulsion at her reality as a teenage sex to this vile creepy man.

There’s a message from Jamie. ‘Hi, I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. I’m so sorry about this horrible crap with that video. I didn’t see you today. I really hope you’re okay. If you’re up to it, we can meet tonight at the Apiary. We’ll just chill and we can talk if you want! Hugs!! xx’

Megan draws herself a hot bath, filling it with bubbles, filling it practically to the brim. ‘Oooh’ she coos, slowly allowing her lithe filth covered body into the steamy water, soothing her cuts and bruises. _Jamie’s so sweet to be concerned about me… just about the only person concerned about me. I’m always ditching out on Jamie. _She holds her phone out of the reaches of the water, replying fast. ‘Hey girl, you’ve got yourself a date! It would be so good to see you tonight! xxx’.

Megan rubs the dirt from her tan, shimmering skin with a soft sponge. She dunks her head beneath the bubbles.