He lay on her. His ready.
“You ready?” He asked her with a heavy sigh. A sigh that indicated how he wanted it. Not her. How he wanted to cum; not pay attention to her details. She mumbled. It wasn’t a yes, it wasn’t a no. But it seemed like a yes to him. So he entered her. And she felt the pain of his foreignness and more so the pain of how she hadn’t yet trusted him. He tore. More of her than into her. She cried. More on the inside than the out. She wanted to scream but instead when he looked at her before he closed his eyes, all she could do was give a short brief smile and look away.
It was done. She sat on his bed trying to recollect what she had done. What she had agreed to. He walked to the bathroom to flush what needed to get flushed. He peed. She stifled a cry. She’d cry later in the privacy of her room after ensuring, three times, that her door was locked and getting a pillow that would make sure that her scream would not be heard. The scream that came as a shock to her. She was expecting a river of tears. But that’s what her heart dished out to her as she asked herself, “Where’s the satisfaction that I was promised?”