easy

Truth be told, she couldn't even remember his name.



And as the backhand left Willow hitting the corner of marble countertop, hands splayed over the top to try (and fail) to catch herself, she found a small voice in the back of her otherwise frantic mind calmly telling her how stupid she was.



His gnarled fingers wrapped into her hair, expensively curled and styled and cut. He pulled, sharp, wrenching her neck back and drawing a startled, strained cry from her. "Please!"



"Shut up, whore."



Stupid. No name. Couldn't remember where or how or why his information had ended up in her phone. She shrieked, only for him to swivel her around, her back pressed against his chest. The hand that wasn't in her hair covered her mouth.



She could have bitten him.



And afterwards, she'd hate herself for deciding not to. Like it was a form of permission. A sign that somewhere, somehow, she'd really truly wanted this.



She felt his cock press against her, through flimsy layers of clothes, and why had she chosen this skirt? It had seemed so cute in the store, swishing around her mid thigh, but now she was painfully aware of how little protection it offered. He let go of her hair, his hand instead pressing against her stomach.



He pushed upon her body, pressing her further against him. Every inch of his body pressed against hers, overpowered her. Her breath felt too thin, her vision popping and blurring at the edges.



And just as abruptly, cold air filled her lungs, chilled and strained every bit of her insides, as his hand fell from her mouth. He peeled the front of her skirt up, tucked it up and slid the edge under the press of thumb against her stomach.



Willow's knees caved inward, as his free hand spidercrawled down her body. The chewed, uneven ridges of his fingernails scratched at her panties, caught in the lace as he plucked it forward. She tried to ride her hips forward with the same momentum, but still the fabric tented and parted from her, a moment where freezing air slipped intimately against her.



He released, let her underwear snap back against her. And he grasped her chin instead, jerked it to the side.



"Please," She whimpered. He leaned closer, the sour scent of his breath, curdled milk and beer, coiled around her head, hot and scalding. "Please, I didn't...I'm only seventeen, sir, please-"



"You're so self-absorbed," He cooed. His tongue flicked over her lips. Her mouth clamped up, a thin line, her lipstick smearing as he lapped at her mouth. "Do you really think I give a fuck how old you are?" The hand on her stomach slipped down, resting just against the elastic of her thong. She should have struggled, should have run. Her bones were filled with ice.



"A cunt,"



his fingers pulled at her panties again,



"is,"



the tips of his fingers began to ease into her underwear. Her stomach twisted, head attempting to shake, but he held her chin firm,



"a cunt. And yours, sweet, precious baby, yours is incredibly cheap."



With the final syllable, his hand rested directly over her pussy. Cupping it, possessive and casual, as though it had always belonged to him.



Her knees felt weak. Her brow dotted with sweat. But everything, save for her breath against her mouth, was so cold.



Willow's attempts to squeeze her legs closed were for not. His finger wriggled, a caterpiller burrowing into cocoon. He spread her cunt open with a casual indifference, and his finger battered into her dry pussy, curled against walls that remained barren and rough with lack of excitement. Her terror only succeeded in leaving the violation all the more painful.



His tongue could not seem to penetrate her in the same way. Even as she silently sobbed, her mouth remained glued, tight, locked away from the horrendous taste of his grayed teeth and twisting tongue. He snarled, releasing her chin only to slap her, sharp.



"Stupid cunt. Grab onto the counter. Face forward. I don't want to see your disgusting, sniveling face until it's sucking my cock. And trust me," He sneered, petting her face with the back of his hand before she obeyed and shakily looked forward. "There is going to be plenty of time for that."



Willow's fingernails chipped against the counter. Her back arched, eyes wide, streaming terrified rivulets of tears as she felt her panties slither down to her knees.



He pushed on the small of her back, kicking her feet (still tethered by the flaccid, thin fabric of her undergarments bound at her ankles) until her legs were spread enough for his pleasure.



She heard his mouth slurp and suck at his finger. And she yelped, mouth opening once more, as he forced his finger into her one last time. The feeling of his saliva was sticky, webbed within her pussy. Her tears left splatters that were almost beautiful against black marble.



She watched the reflection of her own eyes swim up at her as he took her hips in his palms. She bit her lip until it bled. The pain of her own teeth didn't compare to the way his cock tore through her, abruptly bottomed her out so harshly that she could do little more than gasp.



And yet afterwards, when he allowed her the small dignity of using his shower, her blood and his cum swirling around the drain as she cradled her knees to her chest, hair flat and soaked from the steady stream of water that drowned out the dry, panicked sobs racking through her, she couldn't help but know that it would have hurt that much less if only she hadn't made it all so easy.