cademia023
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Séx Toys by reddit user u/AsDeathBeckons
TRIGGER WARNING: NSFW
My sister and I had it hard growing up. My mother was a single parent, and she made so little money that feeding us, paying the rent, and maintaining a healthy and normal lifestyle was a daily struggle. Despite how shitty a life we lived, the holidays remained mine and my sister's favorite time of the year.
Whenever the snow started to fall and the Christmas music began to blare on the radio, my mother started to spend even more time than usual away from the apartment. We missed her, but the payoff was great-we always got at least a couple of toys each, which meant the world to us. It wasn't until I was a little older, about nine or ten, that I realized what my mother was doing to garner a little extra cash in her pocket. I would hear her leave the apartment and watch from the window as she would get into cars with all sorts of different men. Bailey, who was three years younger than me, never caught on, but I knew full well what my mother was doing.
There was good, and there was bad that came with it. I got all sorts of action figures, water guns, and the occasional book. My sister got all of the Barbie dolls she would see on commercials, and even an Easy Bake Oven one year. To make sure we would go to bed, though, and sometimes as punishment, my mother would put the toys in a large glass case that she had used for dishes at first. I would wait till she fell asleep to sneak my toys back out of it. Bailey, however, was too short to reach the handle to open the case, and I would tease her endlessly about it.
But there was a negative to this too. Word got out about my mother being a whore, and I got into a lot of fights at school. I started to hate being at school in general, but I figured it was a worthy compromise. A few fights but toys under the makeshift Christmas tree every year? I could deal with that.
When I was eleven, right around Christmas time, my mother was fired from her job. She told my sister and I that she had been caught s†éáling money from the register. She cried, and no matter how much we tried to console her, she wouldn't stop. I started to pick up newspapers from the local gas station to help my mother with her job search. My mother, however, turned her full attention to street corners, which she started to walk all day and night. Our low quality in food soon became less food in general, and I began to suspect that we weren't going to be getting any toys this year.
On Christmas Eve, however, everything changed. I remember playing with GI Joe and my teddy bear with white ribbon around his neck, who I called Salazar, King of All Toys. My sister was playing with one of her headless Barbie dolls and coloring in an old coloring book. Though there were no presents under the tree, we were still as festive as ever. Our beat up old T.V. had the Grinch playing on it, snow was falling outside, and everything just felt right. Then our mother came home. It looked like she had been crying; One of her straps was hanging from her shoulder, and she was accompanied by three men.
"Play time is over! It's time to go to bed!"
It was only 7:00.
"If you stay up too late, Santa won't come this year!" she declared, and I became uncomfortably aware of the the way the three men were staring at my sister. My mother scooped up all of our toys, but I begged her to let me sleep with my teddy bear the King. She was unusually cruel that night, though, and snatched him from my grip. She slammed all of the toys in their case and seized me by the back of my shirt. "To your room, now!"
"What about Bailey? She should be coming to bed too!" I protested, glancing behind me. What I saw made my stomach drop. The three men had surrounded Bailey, one of them kneeling down beside her, brushing her hair from her face. Bailey looked terrified, and looked in my direction.
"Mom! Mom, let Bailey come with me, Mom!" I fought my way from my mother's grip and ran back to my sister. One of the men, who looked like he was a bodybuilder, was obviously frustrated and slugged me in the face. Two teeth fell from my mouth, and, stunned, I fell to the floor. I remember being in a daze as he dragged me by my collar to my room and threw me inside.
"Bailey..." I groaned, and I ran for my door. The man slammed it behind him, and I could hear him telling my mother, "Make sure he doesn't get out," from the other side. I yanked on the door but my mother had a firm grip of the knob on the other side. I pulled as hard as I could, but could not get out. I collapsed on the floor, panting. That was when the screaming started.
I awoke the next morning, Christmas Day, lying on my bedroom floor. My jaw was numb and I had dried blood on my face. I could smell it...strong, coppery, abundant. I sat up and stared at my bedroom door. The apartment was completely silent. I tiptoed forward, put my hand to the doorknob, and pulled it open slowly. The blood I had been smelling wasn't my own. One of the men was lying on top of our now broken table, his throat cut so deeply it was a wonder his head was still attached. The second man was on the couch, his intestines hanging from his belly; the third had both his knees dislocated and his head bashed in, my baseball bat lying next to him. My mother was lying next to my bedroom door, her wrists slit, a crazed look in her glassy eyes.
Bailey had been completely untouched; She was silent, and would only stare whenever the police questioned her. They were completely baffled. The apartment showed no signs of breaking and entering. They could not fathom how a little girl, eight years old, could possibly have fought off and managed to gruesomely kill three full grown men. My mother had died on her own accord; What she had seen that night had clearly driven her crazy. I wondered if Santa Claus was real after all; Maybe he had come and saved my little sister from a terrible fate? And then I noticed the toy case. Walking up to it, I could see that it was unlocked, and all of the toys were out of place. Salazar the King had red stains on his otherwise white ribbon. I looked up at him, put my hand on the glass, and said, "Thank you."
TRIGGER WARNING: NSFW
My sister and I had it hard growing up. My mother was a single parent, and she made so little money that feeding us, paying the rent, and maintaining a healthy and normal lifestyle was a daily struggle. Despite how shitty a life we lived, the holidays remained mine and my sister's favorite time of the year.
Whenever the snow started to fall and the Christmas music began to blare on the radio, my mother started to spend even more time than usual away from the apartment. We missed her, but the payoff was great-we always got at least a couple of toys each, which meant the world to us. It wasn't until I was a little older, about nine or ten, that I realized what my mother was doing to garner a little extra cash in her pocket. I would hear her leave the apartment and watch from the window as she would get into cars with all sorts of different men. Bailey, who was three years younger than me, never caught on, but I knew full well what my mother was doing.
There was good, and there was bad that came with it. I got all sorts of action figures, water guns, and the occasional book. My sister got all of the Barbie dolls she would see on commercials, and even an Easy Bake Oven one year. To make sure we would go to bed, though, and sometimes as punishment, my mother would put the toys in a large glass case that she had used for dishes at first. I would wait till she fell asleep to sneak my toys back out of it. Bailey, however, was too short to reach the handle to open the case, and I would tease her endlessly about it.
But there was a negative to this too. Word got out about my mother being a whore, and I got into a lot of fights at school. I started to hate being at school in general, but I figured it was a worthy compromise. A few fights but toys under the makeshift Christmas tree every year? I could deal with that.
When I was eleven, right around Christmas time, my mother was fired from her job. She told my sister and I that she had been caught s†éáling money from the register. She cried, and no matter how much we tried to console her, she wouldn't stop. I started to pick up newspapers from the local gas station to help my mother with her job search. My mother, however, turned her full attention to street corners, which she started to walk all day and night. Our low quality in food soon became less food in general, and I began to suspect that we weren't going to be getting any toys this year.
On Christmas Eve, however, everything changed. I remember playing with GI Joe and my teddy bear with white ribbon around his neck, who I called Salazar, King of All Toys. My sister was playing with one of her headless Barbie dolls and coloring in an old coloring book. Though there were no presents under the tree, we were still as festive as ever. Our beat up old T.V. had the Grinch playing on it, snow was falling outside, and everything just felt right. Then our mother came home. It looked like she had been crying; One of her straps was hanging from her shoulder, and she was accompanied by three men.
"Play time is over! It's time to go to bed!"
It was only 7:00.
"If you stay up too late, Santa won't come this year!" she declared, and I became uncomfortably aware of the the way the three men were staring at my sister. My mother scooped up all of our toys, but I begged her to let me sleep with my teddy bear the King. She was unusually cruel that night, though, and snatched him from my grip. She slammed all of the toys in their case and seized me by the back of my shirt. "To your room, now!"
"What about Bailey? She should be coming to bed too!" I protested, glancing behind me. What I saw made my stomach drop. The three men had surrounded Bailey, one of them kneeling down beside her, brushing her hair from her face. Bailey looked terrified, and looked in my direction.
"Mom! Mom, let Bailey come with me, Mom!" I fought my way from my mother's grip and ran back to my sister. One of the men, who looked like he was a bodybuilder, was obviously frustrated and slugged me in the face. Two teeth fell from my mouth, and, stunned, I fell to the floor. I remember being in a daze as he dragged me by my collar to my room and threw me inside.
"Bailey..." I groaned, and I ran for my door. The man slammed it behind him, and I could hear him telling my mother, "Make sure he doesn't get out," from the other side. I yanked on the door but my mother had a firm grip of the knob on the other side. I pulled as hard as I could, but could not get out. I collapsed on the floor, panting. That was when the screaming started.
I awoke the next morning, Christmas Day, lying on my bedroom floor. My jaw was numb and I had dried blood on my face. I could smell it...strong, coppery, abundant. I sat up and stared at my bedroom door. The apartment was completely silent. I tiptoed forward, put my hand to the doorknob, and pulled it open slowly. The blood I had been smelling wasn't my own. One of the men was lying on top of our now broken table, his throat cut so deeply it was a wonder his head was still attached. The second man was on the couch, his intestines hanging from his belly; the third had both his knees dislocated and his head bashed in, my baseball bat lying next to him. My mother was lying next to my bedroom door, her wrists slit, a crazed look in her glassy eyes.
Bailey had been completely untouched; She was silent, and would only stare whenever the police questioned her. They were completely baffled. The apartment showed no signs of breaking and entering. They could not fathom how a little girl, eight years old, could possibly have fought off and managed to gruesomely kill three full grown men. My mother had died on her own accord; What she had seen that night had clearly driven her crazy. I wondered if Santa Claus was real after all; Maybe he had come and saved my little sister from a terrible fate? And then I noticed the toy case. Walking up to it, I could see that it was unlocked, and all of the toys were out of place. Salazar the King had red stains on his otherwise white ribbon. I looked up at him, put my hand on the glass, and said, "Thank you."
