Blossoms of the Dark

XXII Selene: Satisfy

Trigger Warnings:

- rape

- forced prostitution

- forced foreplay

- very crude language

- physical abuse: repeated pinching, squeezing, bleeding, bruising

- nonconsensual kissing

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He grants me permission to leave his office. As I do, my thoughts are spiraling. I don't want to do this. I don't know who this rapist is or how difficult he will be with me. But I don't have a choice either. At this point, I know that if I want something I will have to pay for it.

My breath rate increases as I make my way to the bedroom. I try to calm myself. This will be like all the other times. You're used to it now, right? The violation, the pain, the intrusion. Nothing new. Nothing new. Nothing new. You can handle it. You've become an expert at this.

I scoff at myself. Of all things, I am an expert in being a prostitute. How sickening!

I see the robe lying on the bed. It is a baby blue color and is made of satin. That doesn't matter much.

Undressing my uniform, gloves, choker, and bandages, I wear the robe. As instructed, I do not wear anything under the robe. I stare at myself in the body-length mirror and pull the sleeves down my shoulders. This should satisfy him.

I leave the bedroom and step toward the guest room. My anxiety rises again but I suppress it immediately. I can't deal with emotions right now. Not in front of a stranger.

His back is facing me when I enter, but he turns immediately at the sound. He is a man nearing his forties but of decent build. His light hair is smoothed back with gel and there is no mustache or beard on his face. I've seen him before on TV. He's a Pro-Hero, but I can't recall his name. But that doesn't matter either. He leers at me.

Maintaining a face devoid of expression, I ask, "How would you like to have me, sir?"

He looks at my face. "Get on the bed."

I do as he says. I am about to lie on my back but he stops me. Instead, he stands by where I am sitting and tells me to open my mouth.

So this is how he wishes to start, understanding his intentions.

He unzips his trousers and pulls his boxers down. Standing in front of me naked from the waist down, he commands me, "Suck it."

I can't help but shudder and he sees it. Taking pleasure from my revulsion, he pulls my head back by my hair and shoves his length down my throat.

I choke but he doesn't care. He continues to shove his length up and down, making lewd comments.

"Damn your mouth looks so good around my dick. My ex-girlfriend didn't look bad either when she sucked me off, but the view of you sucking it is on an entirely new level."

He continues thrusting and releases his orgasm into my mouth. He pulls out, and I cough hoping to spit it all out.

Then, he pushes me back to the bed and unties my robe. He takes in my heavily scarred body and the word carved on my sternum. He trails his finger along the outline of the word. He removes the robe entirely from my body and begins kneading my breasts and thighs while I stare at the ceiling, waiting for the torture to end. He suckles at my neck, leaving bruises of various sizes.

When I don't react to his actions he stops suckling and looks at my face. "You're not enjoying this, doll."

I move my eyes from the ceiling to his face and unfeelingly reply, "My duty is to pleasure you. Whether or not I am enjoying the process should be of no concern."

"Is that so? Then you won't mind me doing this."

He slams his mouth onto mine. His mouth is devouring my mouth instead of kissing it. He forcefully parts my lips to shove his tongue into my throat.

"I want to taste my cum from your mouth," he growls.

After he's seemed to have had his fill of violating me, he sits up and removes his remaining clothing. Then, laying on top of my lifeless figure, he plunges himself into me. He goes back to kneading and suckling. Pinching and bruising. He thrusts again and again as I look back to the ceiling. I don't react as much as I did before during these sessions, but I refuse to cry in front of this insane sadist. Is it possible to get used to torture like this? After the slur "SLUT" was carved into my chest and the insults "BITCH" and "WHORE" on each of my arms, I spent the next one and a half months enduring more and more rapes. As if my tormentors wanted to validate those words. Every day I would be used at least 6 times. That was twice as much from before.

He finishes himself and removes himself from my body.

As he dresses he says casually, "Those words carved onto you aren't wrong. You really are a slut. But a talented one. You've had years of practice. I'll come again for more."

So this is the only thing I deserve to be complimented for. My trauma, I internally scoff at him.

Thirty minutes after he leaves the room, and I'm sure the manor as well, I get up from the bed.

I have to focus on getting ready for the welcome party. I need to hide the bruises. I need to wipe the blood. I need to find a suitable dress.

I have to focus on getting ready for the welcome party.

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