Categories > Original > Drama
Underneath
1 reviewxander evanlaire agrees to keep angelle foster's mother's secret. the price? to be his personal whore. angelle's hell starts here. please r/r.
0Boring
UNDERNEATH
The moon cast an ethereal glow, enveloping my room with its light. I try hard to focus on its luminescent beauty instead of your hideous face above me. With your dark hair and beautifully captivating, seemingly innocent, azure eyes, you are far from ugly. But in my eyes, you are. Believe me; you are about the ugliest creature I know. You have no idea how much I abhor you.
I try to keep the tears forming in my eyes from falling as you push and thrust deeper, in and out of me. With your sweat dripping on my face and your hands touching me all over, I try to fight the growing urge to scream bloody murder and claw your eyes out for doing this to me. Each and every night you come to my room, knowing full well that I can't and won't resist you and your evil desires. You smile at me tenderly, as if you care about me, but I see your eyes, filled with lust and greed and hunger and that dark, ever-present evil taking over that sweet, charming Xander I was once best friends with. I hate you, you know that? I hate you for stealing my virginity; my innocence. I hate you for making me do this every fucking night. I hate you for making me your personal whore, your one and only prostitute.
I dread the nighttime now. Because as the sun sinks, so does my heart and spirit because I know for sure that you'll come. Every night I wait, terrified but trying hard not to show it and instead forcing myself to look indifferent, to make my face as blank as possible.
You're nearly there now. I wait impatiently for you to get this over with- at least for tonight. I hear you scream my name over and over into the night. "Angelle! Angelle!" I hate my name now. Because it passed through your lips, your lips that trailed kisses down my neck and all over my body. I hear that name now, but only vaguely, because my mind took me back to the first night you came and violated me. I was a virgin then, but you took that from me in exchange for excruciating pain and bloody sheets I had to wash the next day. I had locked myself in my bathroom and washed the stains away, tears streaming down my cheeks, my body heaving with uncontrollable sobs. But I composed myself, just like I do every morning, and my parents never noticed anything. I snapped back to the present when I felt your release inside me. You didn't want me to use protection, or use protection yourself, because I know you wanted to keep fucking me every night til I get pregnant and forever be reminded of your evil and my stupidity. You even made me swear that if I ever conceive your child I must give birth. Oh how I wished to spit at your perfect, handsome face, scream my lungs out, kill you and chop your body into tiny little pieces. But no, I kept my control and nodded. I'll never forgive myself for being so vulnerable and obedient to your wishes. god did I hate myself.
Oh Xander darling, I know why you are doing this. You and I have a deal, right? Yes. A deal. And I'm doing this only because of this deal. You shut up about my mother's secret, and I'll give you what you want every night. I wonder what the world would say though, if ever this finds a way to the press..."President's only son forcing sex on the vice's precious daughter!!!" Oh no. It'll be utter chaos, I believe. And what more if they knew both are following their parents footsteps?
But my mother was sixteen for god's sake! She was only a child! Sure, she willingly did what your bastard of a father and all his men wanted, but she was so young then, so very young. It's funny though, I'm sixteen, the same age my mother was when your father first took her to bed, her age when he proposed a deal, just like how you went to my room that first night, told me the secret and proposed the same, although different in a way, deal. Gee, like father like son. Wow. But why am I doing this to pay for my mother's sins, I don't know. Ok, fine, I do know. It's only because I love her very much, even if I now know what she did. That's not the same for you, though, because my only feeling toward you is hate.
I bet your father also told you how she eloped with my father and how she knew he wanted to be in the government. So when your father and all the others asked her for a so-called little favor, she agreed. She loved my father and would do anything to make him happy. She knew what love was, and how to love. Unlike you. Yes, what she did was wrong, but she was in love. Love can make you do stupid things. Things you may or may not regret later. She spread her legs for your father and all his men just so her husband can get to the top.
I suddenly felt your weight on me, and I know that you're done for the night. As I lay underneath you, your labored breaths on my neck, I try to think of my sweet, loving mother. She is the reason why I'm doing this, but she is also the reason why I'm here. I try not to think of the other reason why I'm here, the other reason being my father. No, not the man I call father; not the vice president. My real father. Yes. The president himself.
Yup. Xander, you're actually my half- brother. But you don't know that, and I won't tell you that. Not now at least. It's my only hope, because if you knew, you night say the deal is off or something. My own mother doesn't know that either. She thinks I'm their baby. She doesn't know I'm the product of her nights with the president. But I'll save her from the shame. I'll never tell her that I know everything.
You made yourself stand, but I know you want to just fall asleep on my bed. Over my dead body. As you walk to my door, putting on your clothes as you leave, the tears I've been fighting back finally found their way down my face.
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I always worry about it afterward. I always worry, because for all I know there's this thing already growing inside me. I'm scared of getting pregnant with your child. I'm scared that the baby might have abnormalities and I'm scared of having the baby of my freakin' half-brother. I don't know how I'd take it if I found out I AM pregnant. I might lose it. I might really kill you if your spawn is growing inside me. I swear. It would be my absolute nightmare if I'm actually pregnant at the age of sixteen.
So when I checked yesterday, imagine my shock when my absolute nightmare became reality. I checked again and again to make sure, but it's positive that I am now a mother. Nothing could have prepared the things above my bathroom sink, dresser and vanity table for the angry, hysterical flailing of arms, screaming of lungs and uncontrollable heart wrenching sobs and shrieks that erupted from me that all in all caused my room and bathroom to turn upside down as if a tornado passed by. Little did they know it was only a sixteen-year-old who just found out she was pregnant. Sarcastic emphasis on the 'only'.
Dirty. Violated. Hurt. Abused. Used. That's how I feel right now. A confused, angry, tormented jumble of fear and anxiety. I don't know who to talk to. I don't know who to tell. I'll have to tell you, of course, because you made me swear to if ever I find myself with child. Oh how I wish to just make this THING go away. You don't know how badly I want to get this out of me. But nooo, you had to make it part of the deal. You know how much I want to protect my father's job and my mother's dignity, and you, of course, being you, took advantage of that knowledge. And for nine months I have to deal with morning sickness and weird cravings, not to mention the obviously getting bigger stomach. I know I have to tell someone now, before it really grows and becomes obvious. Then I made up my mind to just tell my mother coz obviously she'd understand, and she'll know what to do, getting pregnant with, not her husband's, but someone else's child at my age. Me. But then it struck me. She doesn't know that. She has no clue whatsoever. Well, after I have this little chat with her, she will. With determination and resolve, I strode over to her room.
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As I walked back to my room, I thought back to our little mother-daughter conversation. I started with telling her that I know what she did with the president and his men when she was sixteen because I overheard them talking when I was younger. She was shocked, but she quickly got over it and answered my questions about it calmly. She did not deny it, and even if she did I'd know she was lying, with her eyes speaking for itself; they told me it was the truth. Then I told her I wasn't the daughter of her husband. I told her I was actually the child of the president- I knew because I checked. And the president himself told me when I was only three. I think he thought I wasn't going to remember at that age, but I do. I still remember his exact words. All he said was "Angelle, I'm your daddy, ok? Remember that, little angel. I'm your real daddy." I have no idea how or why I still remember. But I do. By then we were both crying, and when I told her about the deal and that I am pregnant with your -my half-brother no less- child, we cried even harder. But right after talking to her, I felt sort of free. Lighter. But then I had to throw up. There goes my good mood. Fuck.
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The months flew by quickly, but to me it seemed more like 9 long years of torture and torment rather than 9 months of pregnancy. I don't know why I am in a white padded room. Why the hell did they put me here? It's not like I'm crazy or something. Psh.
FRONT PAGE NEWS:
The vice President's daughter- driven to insanity by her pregnancy and birth to the first son's baby girl!
Sources say that the young Angelle Foster was a screaming wreck during her pregnancy; they say she mostly trashed about but sometimes she stayed quiet in a corner just talking to herself. Her mother and father refused to talk, but sources say that she really tried to love her baby, but in the end gave up. It is still not certain if this child was a product of love, or rape. Either way, she bore no love for her child. Her hatred was evident the whole time, and it was obvious she wanted it out of her body right away. Doctors were shocked about the fact that when they tried to hand her the baby she screamed and didn't want it anywhere hear her. They were slightly puzzled that the baby was perfect, despite the parents confirmed to be half-siblings. The infant had a clear resemblance to her father, Xander Evanlair; she has dark hair and the bluest blue eyes. Angelle was driven to the edge of her remaining sanity when she saw her child looking exactly like her father, rumor has it. Ms. foster is now staying in a room in the high security wing of the country's most expensive mental hospital.
There are times when everything comes to me in a flash- the nights with you, the 9 long months of waiting, the birth of our baby. The gods must hate me- the times I am most sane is when I remember the things I'd rather forget.
I'll never forget you, though. I'll never forget my hatred towards you. I'll never forget the day you stole my innocence and forced my eyes to open and realize the cruelty of the world.
I know that now you feel you've accomplished something. Because I know now that what you did to me wasn't about sex whenever you want it; now I know it was all about my ruination. You wanted to break me, to taint my soul, to crush my heart and make me bleed. You wanted me to suffer, to shatter and to break apart that I'll never be able to recognize and put myself back together. And when I look around me and see the white walls, I only have one more thing to say.
CONGRATULATIONS, you pulled it off.
The moon cast an ethereal glow, enveloping my room with its light. I try hard to focus on its luminescent beauty instead of your hideous face above me. With your dark hair and beautifully captivating, seemingly innocent, azure eyes, you are far from ugly. But in my eyes, you are. Believe me; you are about the ugliest creature I know. You have no idea how much I abhor you.
I try to keep the tears forming in my eyes from falling as you push and thrust deeper, in and out of me. With your sweat dripping on my face and your hands touching me all over, I try to fight the growing urge to scream bloody murder and claw your eyes out for doing this to me. Each and every night you come to my room, knowing full well that I can't and won't resist you and your evil desires. You smile at me tenderly, as if you care about me, but I see your eyes, filled with lust and greed and hunger and that dark, ever-present evil taking over that sweet, charming Xander I was once best friends with. I hate you, you know that? I hate you for stealing my virginity; my innocence. I hate you for making me do this every fucking night. I hate you for making me your personal whore, your one and only prostitute.
I dread the nighttime now. Because as the sun sinks, so does my heart and spirit because I know for sure that you'll come. Every night I wait, terrified but trying hard not to show it and instead forcing myself to look indifferent, to make my face as blank as possible.
You're nearly there now. I wait impatiently for you to get this over with- at least for tonight. I hear you scream my name over and over into the night. "Angelle! Angelle!" I hate my name now. Because it passed through your lips, your lips that trailed kisses down my neck and all over my body. I hear that name now, but only vaguely, because my mind took me back to the first night you came and violated me. I was a virgin then, but you took that from me in exchange for excruciating pain and bloody sheets I had to wash the next day. I had locked myself in my bathroom and washed the stains away, tears streaming down my cheeks, my body heaving with uncontrollable sobs. But I composed myself, just like I do every morning, and my parents never noticed anything. I snapped back to the present when I felt your release inside me. You didn't want me to use protection, or use protection yourself, because I know you wanted to keep fucking me every night til I get pregnant and forever be reminded of your evil and my stupidity. You even made me swear that if I ever conceive your child I must give birth. Oh how I wished to spit at your perfect, handsome face, scream my lungs out, kill you and chop your body into tiny little pieces. But no, I kept my control and nodded. I'll never forgive myself for being so vulnerable and obedient to your wishes. god did I hate myself.
Oh Xander darling, I know why you are doing this. You and I have a deal, right? Yes. A deal. And I'm doing this only because of this deal. You shut up about my mother's secret, and I'll give you what you want every night. I wonder what the world would say though, if ever this finds a way to the press..."President's only son forcing sex on the vice's precious daughter!!!" Oh no. It'll be utter chaos, I believe. And what more if they knew both are following their parents footsteps?
But my mother was sixteen for god's sake! She was only a child! Sure, she willingly did what your bastard of a father and all his men wanted, but she was so young then, so very young. It's funny though, I'm sixteen, the same age my mother was when your father first took her to bed, her age when he proposed a deal, just like how you went to my room that first night, told me the secret and proposed the same, although different in a way, deal. Gee, like father like son. Wow. But why am I doing this to pay for my mother's sins, I don't know. Ok, fine, I do know. It's only because I love her very much, even if I now know what she did. That's not the same for you, though, because my only feeling toward you is hate.
I bet your father also told you how she eloped with my father and how she knew he wanted to be in the government. So when your father and all the others asked her for a so-called little favor, she agreed. She loved my father and would do anything to make him happy. She knew what love was, and how to love. Unlike you. Yes, what she did was wrong, but she was in love. Love can make you do stupid things. Things you may or may not regret later. She spread her legs for your father and all his men just so her husband can get to the top.
I suddenly felt your weight on me, and I know that you're done for the night. As I lay underneath you, your labored breaths on my neck, I try to think of my sweet, loving mother. She is the reason why I'm doing this, but she is also the reason why I'm here. I try not to think of the other reason why I'm here, the other reason being my father. No, not the man I call father; not the vice president. My real father. Yes. The president himself.
Yup. Xander, you're actually my half- brother. But you don't know that, and I won't tell you that. Not now at least. It's my only hope, because if you knew, you night say the deal is off or something. My own mother doesn't know that either. She thinks I'm their baby. She doesn't know I'm the product of her nights with the president. But I'll save her from the shame. I'll never tell her that I know everything.
You made yourself stand, but I know you want to just fall asleep on my bed. Over my dead body. As you walk to my door, putting on your clothes as you leave, the tears I've been fighting back finally found their way down my face.
=================================================
I always worry about it afterward. I always worry, because for all I know there's this thing already growing inside me. I'm scared of getting pregnant with your child. I'm scared that the baby might have abnormalities and I'm scared of having the baby of my freakin' half-brother. I don't know how I'd take it if I found out I AM pregnant. I might lose it. I might really kill you if your spawn is growing inside me. I swear. It would be my absolute nightmare if I'm actually pregnant at the age of sixteen.
So when I checked yesterday, imagine my shock when my absolute nightmare became reality. I checked again and again to make sure, but it's positive that I am now a mother. Nothing could have prepared the things above my bathroom sink, dresser and vanity table for the angry, hysterical flailing of arms, screaming of lungs and uncontrollable heart wrenching sobs and shrieks that erupted from me that all in all caused my room and bathroom to turn upside down as if a tornado passed by. Little did they know it was only a sixteen-year-old who just found out she was pregnant. Sarcastic emphasis on the 'only'.
Dirty. Violated. Hurt. Abused. Used. That's how I feel right now. A confused, angry, tormented jumble of fear and anxiety. I don't know who to talk to. I don't know who to tell. I'll have to tell you, of course, because you made me swear to if ever I find myself with child. Oh how I wish to just make this THING go away. You don't know how badly I want to get this out of me. But nooo, you had to make it part of the deal. You know how much I want to protect my father's job and my mother's dignity, and you, of course, being you, took advantage of that knowledge. And for nine months I have to deal with morning sickness and weird cravings, not to mention the obviously getting bigger stomach. I know I have to tell someone now, before it really grows and becomes obvious. Then I made up my mind to just tell my mother coz obviously she'd understand, and she'll know what to do, getting pregnant with, not her husband's, but someone else's child at my age. Me. But then it struck me. She doesn't know that. She has no clue whatsoever. Well, after I have this little chat with her, she will. With determination and resolve, I strode over to her room.
=================================================
As I walked back to my room, I thought back to our little mother-daughter conversation. I started with telling her that I know what she did with the president and his men when she was sixteen because I overheard them talking when I was younger. She was shocked, but she quickly got over it and answered my questions about it calmly. She did not deny it, and even if she did I'd know she was lying, with her eyes speaking for itself; they told me it was the truth. Then I told her I wasn't the daughter of her husband. I told her I was actually the child of the president- I knew because I checked. And the president himself told me when I was only three. I think he thought I wasn't going to remember at that age, but I do. I still remember his exact words. All he said was "Angelle, I'm your daddy, ok? Remember that, little angel. I'm your real daddy." I have no idea how or why I still remember. But I do. By then we were both crying, and when I told her about the deal and that I am pregnant with your -my half-brother no less- child, we cried even harder. But right after talking to her, I felt sort of free. Lighter. But then I had to throw up. There goes my good mood. Fuck.
=================================================
The months flew by quickly, but to me it seemed more like 9 long years of torture and torment rather than 9 months of pregnancy. I don't know why I am in a white padded room. Why the hell did they put me here? It's not like I'm crazy or something. Psh.
FRONT PAGE NEWS:
The vice President's daughter- driven to insanity by her pregnancy and birth to the first son's baby girl!
Sources say that the young Angelle Foster was a screaming wreck during her pregnancy; they say she mostly trashed about but sometimes she stayed quiet in a corner just talking to herself. Her mother and father refused to talk, but sources say that she really tried to love her baby, but in the end gave up. It is still not certain if this child was a product of love, or rape. Either way, she bore no love for her child. Her hatred was evident the whole time, and it was obvious she wanted it out of her body right away. Doctors were shocked about the fact that when they tried to hand her the baby she screamed and didn't want it anywhere hear her. They were slightly puzzled that the baby was perfect, despite the parents confirmed to be half-siblings. The infant had a clear resemblance to her father, Xander Evanlair; she has dark hair and the bluest blue eyes. Angelle was driven to the edge of her remaining sanity when she saw her child looking exactly like her father, rumor has it. Ms. foster is now staying in a room in the high security wing of the country's most expensive mental hospital.
There are times when everything comes to me in a flash- the nights with you, the 9 long months of waiting, the birth of our baby. The gods must hate me- the times I am most sane is when I remember the things I'd rather forget.
I'll never forget you, though. I'll never forget my hatred towards you. I'll never forget the day you stole my innocence and forced my eyes to open and realize the cruelty of the world.
I know that now you feel you've accomplished something. Because I know now that what you did to me wasn't about sex whenever you want it; now I know it was all about my ruination. You wanted to break me, to taint my soul, to crush my heart and make me bleed. You wanted me to suffer, to shatter and to break apart that I'll never be able to recognize and put myself back together. And when I look around me and see the white walls, I only have one more thing to say.
CONGRATULATIONS, you pulled it off.
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