Child Abuse Story From Emme

by Emme
(USA)

No One Ever Listened: 
I was born and raised in a little town in Mississippi, where a Good beating was heartily accepted and encouraged. My brother Nikki and I were the children of the town drunk and the dregs of society in the eyes of the mommies. We could hear them whispering things like: "That's the same dress she's worn for a year" and "That poor boy has another black eye" or the favorite, "Someone should help those poor kids." They had no idea, the pain and the suffering that we suffered in our little shack of a house on the edge of the bayou.

I was the little maid, cleaning and cooking and such. There is a photograph of me when I was 4 years old, in a dirty, shapeless, ragged dress that had one sleeve ripped off, holding a broom and sweeping the porch. There were clear welts on my exposed shoulder. My brother was the little handyman, fixing everything he could with his tiny little 7-year-old hands. Anything that was not done correctly warranted a good beating with a belt.

I remember those times that I escaped a beating, and lay in our bed, hearing the snap of the belt and my brother's screams. If there was a chore incomplete, I was beaten. But there was another punishment for me. If I did not clean certain things, like if I didn't clean his room, then this punishment was enforced. I would get down on my knees and have his penis shoved in my mouth. I would cry and cry and cry and he'd laugh. My brother once told me to bite down as hard as I could, and I did. He screamed and threw me off and beat me so bad that he split my tailbone, broke my nose, cracked a rib, and left angry welts all over my body. I never did that again, I just stayed stationary. I knew that I was being hurt, but it was all I knew, so I never questioned.

Then there was the "8 rounder". I shudder to think of it. It was the most brutal beating I ever had, though it occurred many times.

Nikki was getting older and hated to see and hear my pain. I hated to see and hear his, but I was so helpless. But by the time he was 13 and I was 10, the "8 rounder" was falling upon him mostly as he covered up as much of mine as possible, while my other punishments escalated to a punishment for him, too. We tried our best to comfort one another by cuddling close and telling how much we loved each other.

When I was 14, Nikki decided not to come home right after school. I received the immediate beating while the rest was saved for later. When he got home, he marched him right down to the basement where I lay, sobbing and bleeding. He roughly tied Nikki to the chair and said "If you're not man enough to take the punishment, then maybe you're man enough to watch someone else." Nikki bucked and screamed for him to beat him, that I did nothing wrong. I tried to crawl away, but his hand caught me by the hair and dragged me to the whippin' pole. He tied me there, as I cried and cried, and said, "This is not me beating you, little bitch. This is the bastard over there." Nikki screeched once more, begging and pleading. "Don't hurt Emme! Please don't hurt her!" still echoes through my mind. I could hear him sliding off that strap, that awful strap, and I heard it whistle through the air. As it landed on my back it felt like fire, but I held back my scream. He hit again. I finally screamed at the last one in the succession. As he continued to hit, I continued to scream, and Nikki continued to scream. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, he dropped the belt and untied me. I slumped to the ground, my bloody back screaming. "You Bastard!" my brother screamed. He smiled an evil smile. "And I'm not even close to done." He took off his jeans and underwear. He spread my legs and dug into me. I screamed in agony as Nikki screamed. After a few thrusts he was finished, so he untied Nikki and left for the bar after locking us down there. Nikki rushed to my side and held me in his arms. I cried and cried and we cried together. He told me that he was gonna kill him, but I told him no. He was our father! Nikki yelled at me to stop being so stupid, which reduced me to tears. He held me tight and stroked my head, shushing me and promising everything would be fine. Of course I wasn't. I could not walk without help for 3 days after that, and then this punishment seemed to become regularity. I would be beat and raped and my brother was forced to watch. This continued until my father's mysterious death 4 years later. There was a usual go through the motions when my father was found, shot in the head, suicide style. I think he killed himself...but I wonder if it was revenge for all those times...

I am happy to say that though my past was rough to say the least, I am happily pregnant with my second child. I am not married. I get sperm donations from one man and I have the ability to experience the joy of motherhood without any fear for my children. Nikki is also not married, but adopted one boy from an abusive home much like ours. We live exactly right next door to each other and raise our children together, and we have NEVER ONCE RAISED A HAND TO THOSE CHILDREN. And they are the best children in our town.

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