The Basement

Presley stared at the new house from the back of the social workers car. It looked... awful. There was no dressing it up. It was run down, there were old cars and appliances in the yard. How had this place even qualified for the foster program? There were usually requirements.

She sighed. Two weeks. She only needed to make it two weeks.

She felt a twinge of anger rise up for Blaine Ericson. She had been so happy at the last home. She and Leila had gotten along so well, had so much fun. She was hardly older than Presley, but she had been the best foster mother Presley had ever had. Then Blaine got home from his tour overseas. At first things were great. Leila was happy, they were both happy and excited, spending a lot of time alone. Then Leila went back to work.

Presley had noticed his lingering looks first. She stayed later at school, throwing herself into afterschool clubs and volunteering and tutoring. It hadn't worked long. Leila was an LPN, so her hours were sporadic and long. When she finally began noticing the way Blaine was looking at their foster daughter, she had immediately called Presleys social worker and told them it wasn't working out. Worse, she treated Presley like it was her fault. Now here she was, less than two weeks before her birthday and stuck in this horrible looking place.

She took a deep breath. No. Don't judge based on its appearance. One of her kindest foster mothers, or grandmother as she liked to be called, was dirt poor and she had been wonderful until she was no longer able to care for her foster children.

"Are you ready?" Miranda asked brightly, but Presley could see and hear the false cheer in her voice.

"Sure," she answered, shouldering her bag.

Miranda walked to the door militantly, it was the only way she moved, and knocked smartly. Rap rap rap. Presley caught up to her but stopped behind her. Miranda was short, but she still looked down at Presley as she turned to give her a tight smile. She turned, then gave a quiet huff and knocked again. Rap rap rap.

The door jerked open and a bleary eyed woman looked out. "Oh. S'you. You're early, you weren't supposed to be here till ten."

"It's ten after ten," Miranda said primly, looking up at the tall, skinny woman in her nightgown that hit her above mid thigh. The woman had bleach blonde hair that was tangled and scraggly and lank with more than two inches of gray roots showing. Her face was gaunt and she had a perpetually dissatisfied expression on her face.

"This her then? Come in." The woman shoved the door open and walked away.

Miranda looked back at Presley in worry, then they both followed the woman into the house. For a wonder, the living room was tidy. The furniture was old, like it had been passed down from her grandparents, but it was all clean.

"Sit down," the woman commanded tersely. "Want coffee?"

"No thank you," Miranda answered, perching on the edge of a chair, clutching her bag on her lap and looking around distastefully.

"No thanks," Presley said quietly, sitting on the and of the couch, dropping her bag at her feet.

The woman scowled and sat down. She had obviously wanted coffee herself, but knew it would be rude to leave them sitting while she made herself some. Making them some too would have been a good excuse.

"This is Presley," Miranda said by way of introduction. "Presley, this is Dorris Hanson."

"Mrs. Hanson. Don't let my kids call me Dorris, it just sounds disrespectful."

"Of course. Mrs Hanson then."

"This is only for two weeks, right? I usually only take younger kids, but you said this was just two weeks."

"Yes, twelve days actually."

"That's fine. Your room is right through there, girl," Dorris said, waving at the door to the hall.

Presley glanced at Miranda who nodded minutely. "Go ahead, there are a few things Mrs Hanson and I need to talk about."

Presley got up and grabbed her bag, going down the hall. As it turned out, it was easy to find. There were two doors. One was a bathroom and one was a small bedroom. It held a single twin sized bed and an old chest of drawers. That was it. No closet, just a small room with just enough room for the two pieces of furniture. Presley was fine with that, at least she had her own room. She set her bag on the bed and looked out the small window to the backyard. There was a clothesline full of mens clothes and beyond that, a field of old cars.

She sat down and wondered if she would be going to a different school now or the same school. She glanced at her bag but didn't want to open it. She didn't want to unpack. She wanted to stay ready to leave.

An hour later, Dorris came in without knocking. "Well, you ain't much, are ya? Little slip of a thing. S'pose you're useless for hard work. It's fine. You'll still have chores, of course. You'll pull your own weight here."

"Of course," Presley said softly, standing. She was used to this part. Two weeks. Not even that. Twelve days. Twelve days. She could do this. She forced a smile.

Dorris led her through to the kitchen. "Dishes will be your responsibility after every meal. Keep the kitchen clean. Mopping, trash, dishes, everything."

"Ok, I can do that," she answered with a smile.

The woman led her on through the house and into a mudroom with a washing machine and an open door to the basement. "This is where you will wash the laundry. You know how to do laundry?"

"Yes ma'am."

"You'll wash it here and hang it up outside. You'll gather it up from each room every day. Come on," she said, turning and heading down the stairs.

Presleys stomach sank as she got to the bottom of the stairs. She knew as soon as she saw it that this was where Dorris lived. Upstairs was a facade, a way to pass the foster system test. The main room was a large living room, full of old, dirty furniture. A tall, skinny man looked over his shoulder and looked Presley up and down, then sneered at her. There were three boys, ranging from eighteen to about twenty five. She knew the youngest, she had seen him at school. They all stared at her as well.

"That's Mr Hanson and three of my boys. Bobby, Lewis and Dale JR. Boys, this is... what was your name girl?"

"Presley Miller," Dale answered for her. "She's in my class. She thinks she's real smart."

Presley swallowed hard. Dale was one of the boys who ran with the bullies though she had never seen him do anything himself. He was a hanger on, too afraid to bully on his own, but happy to hang out with those who did.

Dorris grunted. "You'll be keeping this area here clean too. I cook, but you'll be bringing the food down here and taking the dishes back up. Come on."

Twelve days.

Dorris led her down a hall and Presley knew from the length of the hall that the basement was larger than the house upstairs. "These are the boys' bedrooms. Johnny and Everett are at work right now. That one there is mine and Dales room. You don't go in there, I will put the laundry outside the door. This last room here is the bathroom. You'll scrub it every day. Every day, you hear?"

"Yes ma'am."

That room across from it? That's where you'll be sleeping."

Of course. Twelve days.

"Go get your bag and bring it down to your room and you can get started on your chores. Clothes on the line should be dry."

Dorris turned and walked away and Presley went to retrieve her bag. Her 'room' was a glorified closet with a thin, dirty mattress on the floor.

Nope.

Presley pulled her phone out and snapped a picture, then went to send it to Miranda. No signal. She would have to go back upstairs to send it. She slipped it into her back pocket and set her bag down on the mattress. There was no floor, it was only big enough for the mattress. She turned and started to go back up the stairs.

"We got rules here," one of the older boys said quickly, before she made it to the stairs. "During chore time, we can't have electronics, including phones. It distracts you and you ain't workin' like you should. Phone goes in that box right there," he said, pointing to a black metal box with a lid and hasp. Presley did NOT want to put her phone in there.

Calm down. She could get it as soon as she was done. She could sneak it if she had to. She put her phone in it. She wasn't too worried about them looking at it, it was password protected.

When she finished laundry and dishes, she was distraught to see a padlock on the hasp as she went down to clean the bathroom. She couldn't say anything yet, she still had things to do.

When she finished and did ask, Bobby had the key and he had gone to work. He worked overnights at the factory and wouldn't be home till morning. She asked for a blanket and pillow and Dale laughed at her. "We all make due with what we have here, girl. If you are cold put more clothes on, use your bag as a pillow."

Twelve days.

When Presley woke up, she sat bolt upright from a nightmare, panting. There was no light in this room, she had to open the door. What time was it? She stumbled down the hall and looked around, looking for a clock. There was a man out there that she hadn't seen the day before.

"Umm, hi. Do you know what time it is?"

"Who are you?" the boy/man asked with a lazy smile as he looked her up and down.

"Presley?"

"Are you asking me?"

"Umm, sorry. Presley. Do you know what time it is?"

"I'm Everett. My friends call me Rett. You know, like the old timey movie? I don't give a damn?"

"Oh. Sure. Umm... so, do you know what time it is?"

"Pretty sure it's past time for you to bring breakfast down," he answered with a grin.

Presley sighed and glanced at the still locked box, then went upstairs. Dorris glared at her as she set more plates on the table. "Took you long enough! There's no sleeping in around here!"

"Sorry, I didn't have an alarm. I usually use my phone, but it's been locked in a box?"

"Chore box. Start taking plates down. If they ain't in the main room, they're in their rooms. Take their food in and gather their laundry as you go. Stay out of Dales room, I'll take his down."

Presley quickly did as she was told, then hauled the laundry upstairs and put a load in. She hurried back to Dorris. "Do you know what time it is? I am going to be late for school."

"I had Junior tell them you needed a day to settle in since you didn't wake up in time. Go pull the clothes off the line and fold them."

Presley felt a dread setting in on her.

Her feeling turned out to be true.

Dorris handed her a bowl of oatmeal when she was finished with the laundry and Presley ate it glumly. There was no butter or sugar or fruit, just sticky oatmeal. It had an off taste like it had sat too long on the shelf.

She jerked awake with a start in her pitch black room. What the hell? She crawled to the door to open it for light, but it wouldn't open. The knob turned, but it wouldn't push open, it was locked from the outside with a hasp lock. She pounded on the door. No one answered. She screamed and pounded louder. No answer.

She didn't know how many days she spent locked in that little room, but all they gave her were two thermoses a day filled with a watery oatmeal. Pleading with them did not help, nothing helped. They wouldn't even speak to her. She discovered quickly that the food she was given had something in it that made her sleep, but she couldn't go without eating or drinking.

She was fairly sure it was a month later, it felt that way, when Everett opened the door and held it open, grinning down at her. "You look like shit. For your birthday you get a shower."

Presley squinted at the light and him, filling the doorway. Her birthday? It had only been eleven days? She managed to stand, leaning on the wall as she did. She made her way out of the room and into the hall. Everett had stepped back, blocking the hall so all she could do was go straight across to the bathroom.

When she tried to shut the door, he slammed his hand against it. He was still grinning, though it was hardly pleasant. She swallowed hard. "I just have to use the restroom first and then get some clean clothes from my bag?" she said, her own voice sounding odd to her ears.

"Grab your clothes," he said, gesturing back to the small room.

Presley was half afraid to go back in. Would he slam the door and lock it on her? Was this all a trick?

She darted in and grabbed her bag and hurried back out. She clutched her bag close and hardly glanced at him before passing into the bathroom. She started to close the door again, but he held it open.

"I need to use the restroom..." she whispered again.

"Ain't stoppin' ya," he answered, leaning on the doorframe.

Presley felt more tears welling in her eyes. She had spent the last eleven days doing nothing but crying. "I'm eighteen now," she said with as much courage as she could muster. "I am free of the system. I can go now."

He laughed. "I don't know what you are talking about girl. As far as the rest of the world knows, you left for school with Junior and never showed up at school. You ran away. No one has seen you since. Some uppity social bitch came and looked around upstairs, but there was no sign of you. She said it's not uncommon for a girl your age to take off this close to your birthday. No one is looking for ya'. No one. You are an adult. Free to do as you want. No one cares. Just so you know, you won't be leaving here any time soon."

Presley felt sick. She knew what was about to happen to her. She tried to stay calm, she tried to make a plan, but panic was clawing at her throat, refusing to let any thoughts in.

"Take them clothes off girl, you stink," Everett said, moving to block the doorway, filling it. "Hurry up, everyone is out there waitin' on you for your birthday party."

"Please? May I shower alone?" she asked piteously.

He laughed then, but stepped forward without answering. He turned the water on in the shower, then began yanking Presley's clothes off roughly. He shoved her into the shower and she screamed as the freezing cold water hit her.

"Soap and shampoo," he said, shoving the two items at her. Shaking and teeth chattering, Presley washed as fast as she could. She climbed out, shivering from head to toe only to find that her bag and clothes were gone. Everett shoved a towel at her and she wrapped in it quickly, looking down in horror at the flimsy little scrap of pink fabric on the toilet seat. "Dry off," he demanded. She dried off and before she was completely done, he yanked the towel away and made a motion to the pink thing on the toilet. She picked it up and a ribbon fell off of it onto the floor. She picked it up and realized that it was supposed to be underwear. Miserably, she pulled them on, then the sheer pink babydoll lingerie. She may as well have worn nothing, you could see right through it. She crossed her arms, but he took her by one arm and pulled her down the hall.

The entire family was in the main room, all the boys and Dorris and Dale, all standing and facing her. Dorris looked furious, but the men all had the same hungry look.

Presley tried to hide herself as more tears threatened.

"You'll have new chores now," Dale announced loudly, his grin lascivious. "Keeping me and my boys happy. You best work hard at it girl, your life depends on it. You get fed one single thing in the form of pure protein," he sneered. The boys all laughed at the joke, but she didn't understand. "You'll rotate among the boys at night, keeping them warm and happy. First though, every night, every single night, your most important chore is putting me to bed happy."

Dorris made an angry noise and stormed up the stairs. She wasn't happy about this new development at all, but she wasn't going to stop them. Not any of them.

"So where do you want to start?" Junior asked, rubbing on the bulge in his pants.

"She starts here," Dale snarled, then undid his pants, dropped them to his knees and sat down.

Presley had turned away as soon as his cock sprang free, but the image was already burned in her head. His pubic hair was as red as the hair on his head and his five inch cock was as ruddy as his face. "Get over here and start sucking," Dale demanded as Everett shoved her in that direction.

"I'm going to fuck her from behind while she sucks," Bobby announced, undoing his own pants.

"No," Dale spat. "Not while she is sucking me. I don't care what you all do with her on your time, but on my time she is mine. And remember, don't you dare fucking cum in her. All of it goes down her throat. We don't want our new toy starving, do we?"

Presley shook her head in disbelief. She darted towards the door, but Johnny caught her around the waist, laughing. "Door up top is locked, bitch. There's no way out of here for you. Get over there and start sucking, hurry up, we all want our turns." He shoved her towards his father, making her fall to her hands and knees in front of the man.

"Right up here baby," Dale cooed, stroking his very unremarkable cock.

Presley wasn't a virgin. She had had boyfriends and she had gone down on a guy, but never like this. She wasn't sure she could do it. She looked up at him fearfully, but he had no pity or even a glint of compassion in his eyes. He was cruel and full of lust. She knew if she didn't, he would probably punish her, but she didn't care.

"No," she said angrily, backing away.

Someone had been waiting for that response. A belt came down on the back of her legs, across her thighs and ass. She squealed and tried to escape it, but the next blow came rapidly, and the third as she huddled into a ball on the floor.

"He won't stop till this cock is in your mouth," Dale said, laughing.

Presley scrambled as the belt landed again, screaming as she scurried to close the space. She practically dove onto the man's cock, grabbing his legs and putting her mouth around him, tensing for the next blow. It did not come and she sobbed around the cock in her mouth. The only blessing, which wasn't a huge one, was that he smelled like soap and he didn't stink like she had been afraid of.

"Start sucking," Dale demanded, his hand on the back of her head and shoving her down on his cock.

Presley sucked, trembling and shaking, still crying as she worked him with her mouth. She had hardly begun when he grunted and grabbed the back of her head forcefully. "Swallow all of it!" he yelled, shoving himself as deep as he could in her throat. She almost choked as he shot into her mouth, hot and thick. She wailed around him as she tried to swallow but gagged again. He finally released her and she pulled back so hard she fell backwards on the floor.

"Now me," Bobby demanded, grabbing her by the hair and pulling her up. He drug her over to the couch and undid his pants as he sat down.

"No," she pleaded as he pulled her mouth close, pointing his semi at her lips.

"Start sucking, get it hard bitch," he demanded, shoving her closer.

Almost as soon as she put her lips around him, someone knelt behind her and yanked her underwear down before clumsily fingering her pussy. She screamed again, but Bobby kept a tight hold on her hair, shoving himself to the back of her throat as he got harder. He was larger than his father, but not by much. The fingers fumbling at her pussy found her hole and one of the digits jammed into her roughly. She squealed around the cock in her mouth and tried to pull away, but Bobby grabbed her head with both hands and started fucking her face.

"If you make her bite me Junior, I will kick your ass after I kill her."

Dale only made a noise as he fumbled some more, then she felt him press his meager cock against her pussy. "You ready, miss smarty pants?" Dale asked, then shoved into her. Presley sobbed louder as he started pounding into her from behind, holding onto her hips. "Fuck, turn her, I'm gonna cum!" Dale yelled and Bobby yanked her off of his cock to turn her face. Dale pulled out and moved up, shoving his cock into her mouth half a second before he came. "Swallow it cunt," he demanded, his fingers digging into her jaw. Presley was half dizzy as she was spun around, yanked off of Dales softening cock and shoved back down to Bobby's. She was given no reprieve as another set of hands took hold of her hips. The cock that was shoved into her this time was larger than the others and Presley let out a wail of shock. The man behind her laughed as he began pounding into her.