Baby Dominatrix

We moved from Naperville to an upscale, snooty town in Connecticut. Tasha was one of my best friends (I don’t know if that was a decision I made, however) Her family was the richest I had ever met or even heard about. They had a huge house, with a huge pool, and a huge pile of problems. The mom was a psycho, she looked a little like Tammy Faye Baker but with long blond hair and a huge nose, she had a vendetta against any motherfucker who step foot in her house with they’re dirty shoe’s on. The dad was a tall pastor with a taste for girls on the brink of puberty (I think). The sons were forgettable, which is probably a scary thing; forgettable in the way that they seem harmless but may kill you with a butcher knife. And then there is Tasha, what a sweetheart she was, raping and attempting murder on innocent children. Actually in all fairness, she had no chance in that family to turn out normal.

Tasha liked to touch me inappropriately. I didn’t stop her, mostly because I was scared to death of her and I was a little curious. She reminded me of a dominatrix demanding me to sex her up any way she wanted with no regard to whether I was comfortable with this behavior. When a sleepover was planned, I knew we wouldn’t just be jumping up and down on the bed, and doing arts and crafts, this was time for sex. One of the other reasons I was afraid of her was because she physically abused me. She would push me down the stairs, kick me in the stomach while I was on the ground, and pull my hair so hard I’m surprised I still have hair. When we were swimming in her pool one day, she thought it would be fun to “pretend” drown me. She pushed my head under the water and held me there as I was flailing my arms and fighting for air. I remember her finally letting me up for air. As I coughed all the water up, she grabbed my arm to take me to her room to have more sex.

She had a very specific smell. It was more pungent in the private parts. She smelled like a fruit that at one point smelled sweet, but turned rotten. Like an old strawberry. Or like a plate of fruit masked with a fart cloud. I smell rotten strawberry in the air sometimes, and it really scares me. I look in the front, back and sides of me to make sure that Tasha isn’t standing somewhere waiting for me in the darkness stroking an edible whip.