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He would simply invite himself into her room unannounced.

Gripping her forcefully against his sheltered body, she could feel every bone, folding itself into her every crevice and nook. Hands, unwanted and violating, tracing their way down from her shoulders, forming stone mausoleums taking root between her breasts and legs.

He was glaring at her, she could feel those accusing eyes burning her scalp.

Why do you make me commit such disgusting sins, you filthy pig?

This is all your fault, you little whore with your slutty body and deliciously tearful eyes.

No, she would be determined to look down. If she kept her eyes on the ground, on his bare, hairy little feet, then he would not force himself upon her, then in the morning cry out feeble protestations of

But she wanted it, she wanted it! The way she looked into my eyes, you should have seen it! The fat cunt wanted me!

She was too afraid, so she merely stood there, solitary, letting him touch her. Hoping he would get the message through her shivers and stutters.

The sound of television penetrated the thin walls of the flat. She could cry for help, but after all, she didn’t wish to cause a fuss.

And so she waited.

He left.

Climbing into the shower, forming a huddled mass on the floor, she wondered why she simply didn’t say no in the first place.

 

Copyright © 2017 Rebecca Sherratt

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