Unspoken Pleasure by Erotica

Just One Drink; 11

Saturday seemed to just evaporate. One minute Violet was spending the morning intermittently napping between lazy bouts of masturbation to the worst parts of the nightmare that had become her life. The next minute she was stepping out of a long scalding shower where she tried and failed to feel clean again, and it was suddenly three in the afternoon. That left her scrambling to get ready if she didn't want to make James wait. Something told her that the last thing she wanted to do was give that man an excuse to punish her again. So Violet wolfed down a quick lunch and then decided what to wear. She considered just putting on sweatpants and a tee-shirt, but he might see that as her being unwilling, and make her come back home naked or worse.

So instead Violet decided to go all out, wearing a black lace panty and bra set underneath a 20s inspired purple flapper dress with a string of faux pearls looped several times around her neck. She finished it off with some wide fishnet tights and a pair of low heels suitable for dancing, or maybe even running if worst came to worst since she had no idea what to expect. She liked this dress because it made her look like a flapper, and gave her an excellent excuse to hide her lack of cleavage. But when she had finished doing some subtle lipstick, some not so subtle eyeliner, and a stepped back to look at the whole picture in the mirror instead of each of the individual details she remembered why she didn't like this outfit: it was one of the few things she owned that could make her look actually kind of pretty. When she wore it, guys checked her out everywhere she went, making her extremely self conscious.

Being a wallflower was normally her thing. It was safe, comfortable, and easy. For some reason when she looked at herself in the mirror tonight though, she didn't feel the overwhelming need to change to something less conspicuous. She was sure her psychology book or the rape survivors website she'd been reading earlier would have talked about coping mechanisms or the need to take back control, but Violet thought it was probably just a desire to appease her abuser so he would go easy on her. She doubted it would work, but she couldn't think of anything else that would.

To take her mind off that lingering feeling of vulnerability, she rushed around, taking care of a few last minute things, when she heard a knock at her door. A quick glance at the clock showed she'd lost track of time, and that James was here. She hurried over to the door, opened it, and there he was. He was undeniably handsome for a monster, with short dark hair, a crooked smile, and two days of scruff that somehow suited him. It was offset by a nice collared shirt and slacks he was wearing. A casual observer wouldn't be able to tell he was anything but a normal guy - not unless they really studied those cold, dark eyes. He stood there a moment and then he did something unexpected. With a small flourish, produced a single long stem red rose behind his back.

flower for a flower." Violet blushed, realizing that in that moment she couldn't

on the counter and put the flower in it, he stepped behind her, pinning her to the counter. "What the fuck?" she protested, trying to turn around, but she couldn't. His body was pressed entirely against her with his left hand on

kissing the nape of her

worse, but after only a moment, he

young couple. But they weren't, she reminded herself as she caught their reflection in a shop's window. No matter

that they just made small talk

what had been a long stretch of utterly innocuous conversation, he turned to her and casually asked, "So what was your

the

the meal, slut, the video. Which part do you watch the most?" It was an awful question to ask at all, let alone in public, but he asked it as if he was discussing