Blood Wild - Sex Stories

Blood Wild

... to bring her to this sorrowful night. She did know that her father liked to drink and would often stay out late doing so, and when he did come home there was the inevitable fight between him and her mother.

She knew her mother loved him dearly but something he was doing was hurting her terribly. Eventually even the quiet sobbing from her mother’s room quieted and the night sounds were the only thing to be heard. The heat had brought all the bugs out but none so noisy as the cicadas. After a while though, even those couldn’t keep her awake, Deeny slipped off to sleep.

***___***___

Tom was awakened by the crowing of the scraggly old red rooster the next morning. He groaned and rolled over pulling his damp pillow over his head. Another day on the farm. Another day of chores and sweating and being his father’s whipping boy. In all of his seventeen years he had never seemed to have pleased his Pa. It was as if his Pa hated him for some reason. Tom always worked hard and tried his best but it never seemed to be good enough. His only solace was that in another two weeks he’d be turning eighteen years old. After his birthday he could legally walk away from the farm and make a different life for himself.

“Is that lazy assed boy up yet?” a gruff angry voice shouted from the porch.

Tom’s Pa usually sat on the porch of the morning drinking his coffee. He’d yell through the ratty old screen door at his mother as she cooked his breakfast. Mom was a sweet woman at heart, but ...

... too timid to stand up to the old man. She treated him like a king and he treated her like just another head of cattle. She was his property to do with as he wished. Just like Tom was just property, not even worthy enough to be considered a hired hand. Tom didn’t know why the old man hated him or acted like he did anyway.

Tom groaned again and rolled over and sat up on the edge of his cot. His bare feet on the rough oak floorboards as he ran his calloused hands over his face and through his hair. The smell of biscuits cooking downstairs made his stomach growl. He stood up and pulled his blankets up to at least halfway make his bed. Tom then reached for his worn and patched jeans hanging on -the chair next to his small study table.

After slipping into his jeans, he pulled on an equally worn cotton work shirt. One of the buttons was missing but since it was close to the top it didn’t matter much. Besides, his white undershirt kept him reasonably covered. Slipping his feet into his extremely worn work boots, he bent to tie the laces. Once dressed, Tom left his bedroom to go down stairs to the kitchen.

Tom’s mom, Annie, was hastily moving about the kitchen setting things on the table and fussing over food still cooking on the stove. He was about ask her if there was anything he could do to help when the screen door squeaked open and the backlit shadowy figure of his dad, JD stepped in from the porch. He carried his chipped coffee cup in one gnarled and calloused hand, and ...