WARNING: this story contains themes of non-consent.
The teacup clinked against the saucer as he set it down on Mrs Davrill’s oak end table. He pursed his lips and dabbed them with the corner of his napkin, smiling amicably at his hostess.
Night after night, Rose had lain in her bed and thought of this man, trying desperately to translate his quiet, polite mannerisms to something carnal, attempting to see him in this strange, unknown light. But always she failed. Now, on her sixteenth birthday, as she sat with her hands folded as neatly as the black over his white collar, her dress spotless, the task was no easier.
Then, of course, there was his appearance. “Weather worn” was how her Mother had described him. To Rose he was simply old. The brown of his hair was fast giving over to grey, and the lines on his face were no longer slight. In any young girl’s estimation this was an old man.
Rose felt the truth of her situation pounding in her ears, knowing she had little time left in which to wear white in earnest. She smoothed her skirt over her knees, and regretted it as Reverend Williams’ attention was drawn to her legs, bare between her white ankle socks and the hem of her skirt.
Rose’s Mother lifted the teapot, offering to refill the Reverend’s cup, but he held his hand up. “No, no more for me, thank you Mrs Davrill.”
As he declined, Rose felt her pulse beat a little faster. She waited, holding her breath close, for him to stand and usher her upstairs, but he didn’t move. Instead he cast her a suggestive smile and she felt her body recoil at his attention. Her Mother sat smiling quietly, clearly content with how things were progressing. Rose turned to her Father for comfort and could immediately see by the look in his eyes that he was, perhaps, even more unhappy than she. He shifted in his seat and refused to meet her eyes.
Rose remembered this when it had been Tabitha’s turn, two years earlier. Her older sister had been the picture of self-control, and Rose had decided she would follow in her footsteps and remain outwardly calm, no matter what happened beneath the surface. For all her midnight pep-talks, the fact that every girl in the country had to go through this strange initiation was small comfort when confronted with the tradition itself.
For all her Mother’s smiling, nothing could lift the tense silence from the room, but Reverend Williams seemed perfectly at ease. Well, thoughg Rose, I suppose he would be; he’s been in this situation plenty of times before. She breathed deeply, reminding herself that Tabitha had sat exactly where she sat now, her best friend Grace too, and they had come out of their bedrooms just as whole as they had gone in.
Reverend Williams looked from Mrs Davrill to Rose and back again, apparently comparing them. Eventually he settled on Rose’s Mother, and Rose felt her breathing calm a little, until he spoke.
“I think we’re ready, don’t you?”
Mrs Davrill beamed at him, and nodded, turning to her daughter. “Rose, darling, show Reverend Williams to your bedroom.”
Rose cast one last glance at her Father, but found him gazing definitely out of the window. Smoothing her skirt one more time, she stood slowly, trying to hide the trembling in her legs. Moving to the door, she lightly turned the handle and led Reverend Williams down the hall and upstairs. On the staircase she was almost painfully aware that the angle afforded him an intimate view of the backs of her thighs. She tried not to blush over this, knowing it was only a glimpse compared to what would be required of her.
Stepping inside her bedroom, she walked to the window and started fidgeting with the curtain, immediately uncertain of herself. Looking down at her hands she heard but didn’t see him close her bedroom door.
He came into the room properly and seemed to wait for her to speak. It was soon clear she wouldn’t initiate anything.
Pressing her lips together, Rose looked up at him. Her eyes led from her hands across her desk and the floor, up his legs, across his body, to his eyes. As a result she saw the prominent hardness below his belt before she met his gaze, and felt her body shiver.
“Rose. Come closer.”
With all her strength she held his gaze as she walked to him. He placed one, papery finger beneath her chin and looked into her eyes. “Don’t be afraid.”
His words held no comfort. He was clinical in his approach, and she could not enjoy his touch, no matter how practiced it was. She simply stared back at him and hoped this wouldn’t last too long.
“Take your clothes off and sit on the edge of the bed.”
Taking half a step back she let her hands move automatically, knowing that no amount of delaying would stop this from happening. She decided she would rather it happened smoothly, with no difficulty. Reaching down for the hem she pulled her dress off over her head, and kicked off her shoes, before reaching for the clasp of her bra. Slipping out of it, and then lowering her knickers, she moved to remove her socks, but he stopped her, touching her shoulder with one hand.
She looked up, startled, and met his newly heady, lustful gaze. “Leave them on. To please an old man.”
Somehow this disturbed her more deeply than any other fact she was now living. But she did as he asked, and moved to sit down on the bed. She felt how exposed her milky flesh was, her body peppered with beauty marks, her pink nipples hard in the cold of the room, her cunt shaved bare as was customary. She tried not to hide herself, and she tried not to be too provocative with her pose, simply keeping her legs together, as she usually would.
Reverend Williams removed his shoes and came to the bed. He traced her jawline with his fingertip and let his hand move to the back of her neck, tenderly, before his grip tightened and he leaned down to whisper in her ear.
“You make me very hard, little girl. I’m going to enjoy taking your virginity.”
• • • • •
If you liked this, you may wish to read As Is Custom: a Second Household.