Androshorts: That Bloody Woman!

She pulled her cardigan across her and stood, but he grabbed her and pushed her back down. She hit the arm of the chair she had been sat on with a cry and rolled off of it and onto her bed, pain in her bottom from the hard arm of the chair.

"Where do you think you're going?" he said standing up and over her, slapping her bottom hard, again sounding like a younger and far more terrifying version of their father.

He ripped at her white blouse and several buttons pinged off in various directions, her hands across her almost bare boobs. She made to stand again, but Harry slapped her face and she put one hand to soothe it.

"There," said Harry reaching out and touching her now bared right breast, "that's much better, we can all see what's going on now can't we." He grinned evilly, "the dog can see the rabbit, or in your case the rabbit can see the ugly fucking dog."

He reached out and pinched her bared nipple, and it was agony.

She covered it and tried to comfort it at the same time. He pushed his face down and an inch from hers and growled and she could smell his foul breath,

"Take... your... fucking.... hand... away," he said in his best army voice. She shook her head with tears in her eyes. He slapped her face again and she began to cry. "Mummy's not here to save you now you stupid fucking bitch," he slapped her other cheek, and she moved both hands to her face now trying in vain to cover her breasts with her elbows. "Darling Daddy believes everything I tell him Deborah, haven't you noticed?" he said with a psychotic smile, "EVERYTHING!" He giggled, "So why don't you just phone him and tell him what's going on," their father was away with another training exercise, "Gonna?!"

His grin was now challenging and hateful. He put his hand to her bare breast and squeezed, gently at first then as his passion and his power increased he mauled her, with both hands on both breasts as she sat in fear. "Yeah, you fucking know it, just a fucking woman, second class citizens in THIS house!" he said with triumph. "Ooooh look at Deborah's nipples! Both rock hard! She obviously likes having her big tits played with, well it's just too fucking lucky that I'm here to do it for her." His use of the third person while she was still there made her shiver, and break eye contact with him. "Glad that you know your place," was all he said in response.

He pulled at her bra, but unlike in the movies it didn't give way, it just resulted in her whole body coming forward and her face impacting on his. He hit her again, calling her a bitch and pinching both nipples and making her cry out for the first time.

He bored with her tits and her terrorised, rigid, unresponsive stare as he played with what he considered his latest toy. He got right into her face again.

"OK bitch," he hissed, "this is how it's gonna be from now on," he sat back in his chair, his erection straining in his trousers, "I'll be coming into your room each night once that fucking housekeeper has gone, so we can play!"

Dad had hired a housekeeper, the large mid-fifties lady that put up with no shit from either of them and in doing so provided only temporary respite from Debs torturing sibling.

Debs just knew what father thought especially when his Golden child Harry said it. "You'll say FUCKING NOTHING!" He slapped her face one last time to get his message home, "no one will believe you any fucking way, I mean," his voice dripped scorn, "who'd think I'd be interested in a fucking ugly dog like you? Hmm?"

She couldn't speak such was her terror.

"You already know that Dad won't believe you, Mrs Moffatt definately won't; she already thinks you are a stupid stuck-up, smart-arse bitch, she told me."

That was a lie and Deborah cursed herself later for not believing something that obviously made up.

"You're 18 years old and legally allowed, you're my little playing thing now Deborah and don't you EVER FORGET IT!" he kissed her red cheek, she almost screamed. He broke the terrifying silence by laughing and slapping her cheek again.

"I should have put my coat on and gone straight to the police there and then but..." she sniffed and took the tissue that Dave handed her, "But Harry was right, Daddy would have done anything to save the family name and to make sure that Harry got into the army. So I repaired my blouse, put cold flannels on my cheeks to bring down the redness and cried myself to sleep hoping that the redness would be gone by the time Mrs Moffatt got back.

I hoped that he would just get bored with me and go out with Julian like he normally did two or three nights a week," she shook, just once, "but no, he stayed in, and Dad thought it was fantastic that he was showing so much dedication to his studying. Sadly it was me he was studying, and in great detail.

He did his homework well, looking at Dad's porno mags he'd found under his bed, and learned all kinds if things about female anatomy that he could then check out on m..."

Her face screwed up in misery, and she had to look away from her caring confessor as the memories that had been haunting her for twelve years flooded back.

"He ripped my nightdress off and mauled my boobs, he stuck his fingers into my... vagina, he was so... brutal that in just that moment he broke my hymen and I bled. I phoned Ellen in tears and tried to tell her, but I was just too ashamed of what I'd let him do to me." She hugged herself tighter rocking slightly, "he told me constantly that no one would believe me, that I was so fucking worthless that it was actually my fault..."

"What did your sister say?"

"Nothing, I think she just thought it was poor little Deborah still crying about Mum, so she told me it would be OK and that she had to carry on with her studying." She steadied her breathing again, "next night him came into my bedroom with a box of condoms... and he... he..." she gulped, forcing herself to confront her memories, "he made love to me."

"NO!" said Dave, looking into her face, "don't confuse what he did to you with love!" He put a hand to her face, "that bastard fucking raped you Debs."

"But..."

"Did you want him to?"

"Of course not," she spluttered.

"Then that psycho bastard raped you honey, nothing less."

She took a deep breath, her hard fought realisation giving her some strength now, "He raped me," she said, her sad face taking on a new firmness. She set her jaw angrily, "that bastard fucking raped me." She wiped her face, "and he went on to do it five more times, always when Dad and Mrs Moffatt weren't around..."

It was agony and had none of the passion that the films and TV had led her to believe. It was just pain and misery, and she learned that first time to lay there and let him get on with it.

The next night he came back dragging her nightdress off over her head and this time getting her to lay on her hands and knees like he'd seen on the internet porno he'd watched on Julian's laptop.

After that one she begged him to stop, pleading that they were brother and sister and this kind of thing was against the law.

He slapped her face again in fury, as if her pointing out the obvious truth to him was ruining his leisure and pleasure. She pulled away from him and his now soft condom covered dick, and he looked concerned as if the ramifications of his abuse of her had finally come home to him and the kind if shit he could get into.

He stood, collecting his PJ's and throwing her nightdress at her, babbling that he would tell their father that she had asked him to do it; after all who would actually WANT to screw such a Fuck ugly bitch like her. He then threatened that he would then tell everyone at the school he had gone to as well what a fucking whore his sister was and because everyone thought he was such a great guy they would believed him while she'd just be the slut that had gotten her own brother to fuck her.

She was in so much fear of him that she actually did believe that it was her fault for letting him do it to her and that she was as worthless as he told her she was.

He did nothing for another week but the lack of punishment from anyone made him bold again, and the moment Debs heard Mrs Moffatt's car pull away he was pushing her bedroom door open and standing before her again, naked, aroused and with that terrifying look on his face.

He raped her twice more that week, having to stop when their father was home for the weekend, but recommenced his attacks on the Monday evening by which time Mrs Moffatt could smell a rat, or at least the mess he made when he raped his sister.

The next night he left a note for Debs telling her not to wear a nightdress ever again because it meant he could use her whenever he felt like it, '24/7 - 365' -- another of her Father's stock phrases. Fortunately for her she kept it.

She did what the note said, throwing the clean one put out for her straight into the laundry basket unworn, something else to make the housekeeper suspicious.

He paraded into Debs bedroom like a prize fighter preparing for a match, telling her to get her arse in the air. He tore the condom open throwing the packet at his victim with a cackle, not seeing half of it fall down beside the bed. This was to be the next piece in the puzzle.

As he began what was to be his final violation of her he pushed a finger in her arse insisting that the next night he'd put his cock up there and have his first anal, no condoms needed, just Vaseline and there was plenty of that in the medicine cabinet. Just the thought of that act making him come very quickly, quicker even than his usual half a dozen short strokes, and he pulled out the condom slipped dripping his semen onto the edge of her bed.

It was the housekeeper that finally put a stop to it. Being a lady of a certain age she could detect the odours and marks left by sex and felt that they shouldn't be appearing in a just eighteen year old girl's bedroom - especially one as quiet and mousey as Deborah. The final clincher was when making beds she found half of a tiny foil packet marked 'Durex' so carelessly thrown aside by the user and now caught between the mattress and the base. A search of her brother's bedroom and the top of his wardrobe showed not the box, but a paper bag from a chemist and a receipt for two boxes of contraceptives.

She confronted Debs who said that she didn't know anything about it at first. Mrs Moffatt could only see fear in that pretty young face, not deceit.

Then under more intense questioning (the housekeeper was a mother and grandmother and well versed in such things) Debs broke down and confessed that Harry had been abusing her for almost three months and had finally forced her to have sex with him.

Sat in the poor weeping girl's room hearing of her torture, the housekeeper took Debs into her arms, seeing the shock and the hurt and promised her it would be OK. She took Debs to her father as soon as he returned two hours later and told him what Debs had told her. Harry was noticeable by his absence, knowing that with Dad and Mrs Moffatt at home, there wasn't going to be any fun to be had, that was for sure.

Her father was angry and disbelieving but Mrs Moffatt didn't give a fuck if he had dropped into the jungle from a helicopter, had killed Iraqi soldiers with his bare hands, had been presented with the Distinguished service order AND the Military Cross from the Queen herself, the truth was his son had been systematically abusing Deborah for months.

"Rubbish!" he snapped arrogantly, as if such a thing was impossible.

"His crappy hand writing, yes?" Mrs Moffatt held up the nightdress note. The Colonel gazed at it, squinting without his glasses.

"Looks like it," he said matter of factly.

"Read it..." snarled Mrs Moffatt.

"What does it..."

"FUCKING READ IT!" screeched his petrified daughter.

He snatched it from the housekeeper's hand, looking angrily at his daughter after her outburst and lack of respect, but decided not to take her to task on it until this rubbish about his son was sorted out.

"This... this could mean almost anything..." said her Father.

""Yeah," said Mrs Moffatt, "perfectly natural for a brother to write a note telling his sister she must go to bed naked so he can get to her whenever he wants to, must have had HUNDREDS OF THEM..." she snarled.

"IF that's what this means," said the Colonel re-reading the four lines of scruffy text desperate to find an extra meaning over the obvious 24/7 365 quote He shook his head and handed the note back, "could mean anything..." he said.

"And this receipt for condoms in his bedroom, and this wrapper, I expect young Harry took his girlfriend into Deborah's room perhaps?"

"He might well have done," he snorted grasping at this straw, "How do you known he didn't? Huh? Huh? Answer for that one?"

"Oh for fuck's sake," the now fuming housekeeper put her arm around the weeping girl.

"Why didn't she damned well tell me?!" he demanded, "I'm not that much of a monster!"

"You fucking are!" said Mrs Moffatt.

"Get out of my house!" he demanded, "you're fired!"

"OK," she said, "But I'm taking your daughter with me."

"How dare you!" he snapped.

"She needs protecting!" snarled the angry housekeeper.

"And you obviously don't think that I'm capable of doing that?"

"Not been so bloody brilliant at it so far have you?"

"IF what Deborah says is true..." he began.

"FUCKING IF?!" screamed Mrs Moffatt.

"Get out!" Daddy snarled again.

"I don't think so Colonel Conroy, it worries me that after everything you have been told, you're still more worried about getting me out of the house than checking on her wellbeing."

In the biggest but thankfully final act of ridiculousness in the whole thing, her father stepped forward and checked from Deb's shoes, up to her face and neck, smiling at her as if that inspection would be sufficient.

"People rarely get raped via their feet Colonel Conroy," said Mrs Moffatt.

"Is this true Deborah? Did Harry ra... did you and Harry have sex?" Debs was crying, and nodding her head.

"JUST LOOK AT HER YOU FUCKING IDIOT!" screamed Mrs Moffatt, "does she look like she consented to that idiot thug son of yours?"

"How dare you!!" Dad snapped again.

"Oh for God's sake," she said, "Debs, come with me sweetie, I'll take you to the police station."

"You'll do no such thing!" said her father standing up and standing over the fuming Housekeeper, "Get out of my house!"

"Not without Debs," she said, the first person ever to stand up to her Daddy since her mother had died, those terrible months since.

"GET... OUT!"

"NO!" The housekeeper was face to face with the Colonel and not about to back down. Her father took a firm grip of his daughter's elbow and she flinched. The impasse was not looking good and the Housekeeper decided to up the ante just a bit. "OK Colonel," she said, "I'll leave, but the police will be here in an hour, forty five minutes if I speak to an inspector, they'll call the Military Police of course and then... well... we'll just have to see won't we?" The room was silent, "Well Colonel?"

"Perhaps it's better if she goes away with you for an evening or two while I get to the bottom of this. I'll speak with Harry and see what he has to say about this... this matter."

"Come with me honey," said Mrs Moffatt putting an arm around her and leading her out, picking up the already packed bag in the hallway.

With his father home there was little opportunity for Harry's latest pastime, so he stayed later at college, hung around the shops now being too old to be at the cadet hut, or stayed with Julian who was home from the University he was now studying at. This day was no exception and the Colonel had waited in all day to speak with his son.

He was busy re-reading some training schedules when there was a knock on the door.

"Mr Conroy?" said a woman he recognised but could not for that moment put a name to. The mother of the children's friends he guessed, after all that was always his wife's department.

"Yes?" he said with his best commanding officer smile.

"Err... I'm really not sure how I should put this, my name is Hawtson, Michelle Hawtson, Julian's Mum?"

"Oh yes, Julian, Harry's best friend! Talks about him all the time!"

"Yes," she said guardedly, "Look, Mr Conroy... can we talk about something... err..." she looked flustered, "might I come in for a moment?"

"I suppose," the Colonel stepped back into his oak panelled hallway.

She took a deep breath,

"I was about to take Julian's laptop computer to have the CD drive repaired," she held up the offending machine, "my own fault, I was using it to watch a DVD in the kitchen and it broke down, well..." she tried to smile but gave up, then took another deep breath, "I was just about to back it up to our main PC when I found these pictures," she opened the laptop and pressed a few buttons, and within seconds there were several shots of a naked young girl he didn't immediately recognise in a room he did. Perhaps this was the girl that Harry had...

Suddenly he recognised the girl as well; pale, thin, red eyed and red cheeked, there was his youngest daughter Deborah, scared eyes miserably peaking out from under heavy eyelids.

"But... that's... that's Deborah!" he said in disbelief, adding, "my daughter Deborah," as if that aspect had only just come to him. "What the hell has your son..."

"It's not just my son Mr Conroy; trust me, it gets worse..."

She handed him the laptop and he took it, reading the poorly written and spelled blocks of text above, below and around the pictures of his daughter, and the words he read were so much like his own, right up until he got to 'slutty teen whore Debbie after I finally got a grip of her...'

'Get a grip'; like '24/7 -- 365', it was one of his favourite motivational phrases and one that Harry had cultivated the use of since he'd pulled on his army cadet uniform some seven years before.

The written word got worse as the narrator laid out his plans for this girl's future and it read like a porn story -- a porn story he recognised. It was almost word for word one of his favoured passages from a book from his collection safely hidden under his bed, or not perhaps.

Lieutenant Colonel Henry Conroy MC DSO, mostly unsung hero of the nation, fighter of wars on many fronts for his Queen and Country moved back to the staircase and slumped on the bottom few steps, the laptop computer slipping from his hands to land two steps down but undamaged, the face of the girl he loved so much staring miserably out of the screen at him naked, hurt and, as Mrs Moffatt had pointed out to him not 24 hours ago, fucking terrified.

And he had ignored it. In the picture she had a black eye with the slight cut, the one that had Harry had told him she'd got from a fall from his bike in the garden when she was trying to learn to ride the thing, not having one herself. Harry had added the interpretation that it was man's bike and she should have tried riding Mum's old bike in the garage, with a 'bloody women' added for good measure.

He of course had lapped it up with a giggle and told his injured and abused daughter to 'man up and get over it', sick of her constant whining and attempts to get Harry in the shit every time she so much as broke a fingernail.

That was just three weeks before when his regimental band had been 'beating the retreat' at Horseguards Parade in London and he'd stayed at the Army and Navy Club. He'd had a proper session in the bar with all of the other senior officers, when his son had been enjoying himself at home evidently and 'beating his sister'.

He thought his heart would break; his son, his boy, his hope for the family name and his regiment had done those things she had accused him of and worse, and here was proof of his lying, cheating savagery to his own flesh and blood and it made him feel sick to his stomach.