A weak soul

I kept struggling even when my molester carried me like a sack of potatoes in his broad shoulder, with my head and both arms were hanging upside-down behind his back while my thighs were wrapped in one of his arms to his chest. He walked us to my room. I was weak, but I did not know how I kept my phone securely gripped in my right hand. I was silently praying for any help. I am not a religious person, but I was calling on to all gods I have come to have known in my short existence in this world. I called upon Buddha, Allah, Jesus, the angels, and anyone who could hear my silent plea for help and rescue.

"Leave me alone...!" I was beyond angered, but my voice was too weak to scare my abuser.

"Just enjoy yourself," the man laughed sinisterly. "Don't be a hypocrite and deny that you don't like me sucking on this throbbing fat and beautiful treasure for a cock that you have here," he added as he kneeled on the side of my bed, pulling my hips towards him. My butt was almost by