The Inexplicable Reality - Timmy Turner Part 1

BY : Wendell Urth
Category: +1 through F > Fairly OddParents
Dragon prints: 1502
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: The Fairy OddParents and all associated characters belong to their respective creators and owners, not me. I receive no compensation whatsoever for this story

  1. Starting Over - Foster Children, Month

Disclaimer: The Fairy OddParents and all associated characters belong to their respective creators and owners, not me. I receive no compensation whatsoever for this story.

She was down on her knees, her blouse torn, nose and lip bleeding. Her red pony tail had come loose. Hands went around her throat and she could no longer breathe, vision fading, oxygen starvation. “So, this was death?” Her struggle was ending… then there was a series of sounds that she would have taken to the grave. A whoosh and a jingle of metal objects clashing together, like coins rattling and a terrible crunch. Something hard and moist shattered with a dull thud...

The sound of a falling body as the hands suddenly loosened and fell away.

She was grabbed by the arm and a familiar voice said “Come on, we gotta’ get out a’ here.” It was the Turner kid. “What was he doing here?”  She looked down for a moment. Blood and something wet and gray. Confusion gave way to clarity.

“I think he’s dead… you… you killed him?”

In Timmy’s hand hung a dirty sock tied off, filled with nickels and pennies, weighing a solid couple of pounds at least, she realized. Blood was dripping.

He snarled at her. “Get up! Before the cops get here!” He dragged around to the car door and pushed her in. The keys were still in the ignition, but her hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t start the car. He slapped her hand away and turned the key. The car lurched forward. He slammed his foot on the brake on top of hers. Shifted into neutral and turned to her.

He was seemed utterly calm, no emotion showed.

“Get ahold of yourself. Now! We don’t have time for this shit!”

“It’s OK, it’s OK. I’ll tell them it was self-defense. I can tell them… you were protecting me…”

“Shit, you gave him a blowjob and tried to rob him with a knife. Who’s going to believe you? How many times have you been arrested already? And I don’t want to spend the next five years in juvie waiting till I’m 18 so they can transfer me to an adult prison. You tell no one! No one.”

Her head was still spinning, but he was in charge. She began to drive as instructed, just at the speed limit. He had her stop on a dark street, he opened the door. She heard a stream of lose change fall into the street over a sewer grate. A few blocks further, the torn bloody sock went into another drain. They left the car with the keys on the seat after wiping down the parts of the car they had handled. With any luck it would be stolen or stripped before the cops found it.

He kept her knife, he’d figure out what to do with it later.

They walked home, careful to avoid well-lit streets. He could pass unnoticed, but she was a bloody mess and would be remembered. It took forever to walk the few miles. She was nearly out on her feet.

The house was dark, they snuck in and she half stumbled into the bathroom. He heard her vomit, hoped she made it to the toilet first. He returned a few minutes later with her robe and his and a plastic bag. It barely occurred to her that he had entered without knocking.

She was down to her panties and bra. He couldn’t help looking at her. His eyes could see her tits, pale nipples through the sheer fabric, the outline of her pubes, the spray of tangled hair around her tiny panties as she moved. She watched him watch her. Neither spoke for that endless moment.

He gathered up her clothes and told her to pass him her underwear. “Shoes too.” She looked puzzled.

“We need to burn all this stuff tomorrow and then dispose of the ashes.” He turned his back, though he was still watching her in the bathroom mirror. For a moment she covered her breasts with an arm, then shrugged and let him look.

“It’s just a few stains...”

“Yeah. Blood. Most of it his. Didn’t you see the way it gushed when I hit him?” He began stripping too.

She saw the many scars on his back. Most had healed over, but some were still livid. She’d heard about them, but didn’t realize how many there were.

After all she had been through, the sight of his naked back and ass sent thrills down her body. She felt an overwhelming need to touch those scars, to run her fingers down them. She wanted to kiss them. She wanted to know how they would feel on her tongue and lips. It was a roadmap of his pain that she yearned to explore.

It may have been a reaction to the violence they had shared. To the fear and panic, but she had never been turned on so much in her life.

They tiptoed out of the bathroom. Good thing he was on cleaning duty tomorrow. He’d do an extra good job on this bathroom. “Use lots of bleach… just in case!”

He turned to the stairs and his tiny second floor bedroom. A hand stopped him… he turned and was guided to her bedroom instead.

He fumbled for the lock on the door as she pulled him into her arms, the robes scattered. It was humid and dark in the room and their bodies were slick with sweat. Her arms were wrapped around him and as he kissed her open lips, his tongue tasted the iron sharp dried blood that lingered at the side of her mouth. He licked it.

She liked the feel of his small sturdy body pressing her into the mattress. There was surprising strength in his arms.

His lips slid down her sweat slick chin and throat, kissing, licking and biting gently his way down to a generous nipple that he tried to devour. Her felt her body arch under his as her hand found his cock. She rolled it against her moist puss, savoring the feel of his warm shaft pressed between the palm of her hand and labia. He rocked his hips instinctively, pleasure rising for them both.  Somehow his hand found its way between their sweaty bodies to rub her in the place it would feel best. Her clit was alive to his touch. Their bodies oozed with lust.

As he slipped into her hot, wet tunnel she moaned, hugged him closer… even closer than he thought was possible.

She whispered in his ear. “You killed him… killed him for me! Killed for me. Oh God, baby, fuck me, fuck me now!”

He didn’t want to think about killing a man. He hadn’t meant to kill him… had he? No, but even Vicky didn’t believe that and she was there! No, no one would believe him. He had felt bad… but right now he just wanted to fuck her, fuck this crazy bitch, so he concentrated on doing that. Maybe he could forget about what he had done… for a while.

Her hands explored his back as her nails traced the ridges of the abuse. Her nails were sharp and would leave marks against his scars. That was OK. She wanted that.

He shot his load deep inside her and felt her cum, felt her cum, felt her cum. Wave after wave. He kissed her hard… and fucked her hard. She liked that. She liked that very much.

And she fucked better than Tootie had… and better than the other girls.

Better than his bitch mother.

He couldn’t see the bruises on her throat in the darkness, but he knew they were there. He kissed her throat again.

She pulled him to the floor and wrestled him playfully to all fours. From behind she began to fondle his cum slick cock and balls. Her warm hand manipulated him. He surrendered himself to her touch. She milked him… then pressed her face to his ass… and began to feast. Driving her tongue deep into his smooth puckered asshole, deep into his bowels.

Timmy lost his fucking mind!

Then she buried a wet finger deep into his rectum, the sharp nail tickling his prostate.

He thought he might be dry, but he came like a burst firehose over the discarded robes and bed sheets. And still she milked him for more.

Eventually they slept… or passed out on the dirty floor of her tiny room. Later he barely escaped notice of the other girls and managed to get back to his room before the rest of the house was up.

Before he left her room at sunrise, she stopped him. Kissed the back of his neck. “We don’t have time…” he whispered.

“Shhhh,” she replied and saw the scratches she had left on his back, across the older scars. She licked the dried blood and he shivered in pleasure.

 

They thought they got away with it.

At breakfast, Vicky was her usual snarky, uncommunicative self. Showing contempt for the other girls, disdain for their foster parents, Nicky & Ernie who rarely spoke but smiled a lot

Tootie chattered away at a million miles an hour and said nothing worth listening to.

Trixie and Veronica spoke only to each other, verbal knives were out aimed at the rest of the house, their school and the rest of the world.

Timmy barely glanced at Vicky or any of the other girls or their foster parents. He was closed off, staring deep into his cereal bowl and no place else.

Typical morning.

They were sure they had gotten away with… everything.

But one other person in that house knew.

 

In another room sat a doll. Not the kind sold in stores. It was a primitive looking thing, wrapped in twine and wire and something like gray flesh that might still be alive. There was no face or head as such. A loop, a circle where the head should be, stringy hair tied at the top. In the hollow center something like a guttering blue flame glowed.



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