Rosie rubbed her right calf with the toe of her left foot. The thick grey socks were scratchy and in the silent room sounded ragged on her skin. She squeezed her hands, feeling her fingernails dig into her palms, and releasing to play with the hem of her oversized night shirt. She shuffled. From one foot to the other, and bit her lip nervously.
He dragged the covers back and she saw a flash of dark pubic hair below his waist.
“Take those knickers off and get in here girl.”
She trembled and her hands moved, of their own accord, pushing her pink underwear down her thighs, her calves, until she stepped out of them, towards the bed, and slipped between the duvet and mattress. The sheets were rough – washed too many times, and too hot. They felt starchy, catching on each tiny flawed piece of skin: her discomfort physicalized.
“Spread your legs. I want to touch your pussy.”
Against her better judgement, Rosie parted her legs, pulling her night shirt up, and opening the wet heat up to his large, deft fingers. She could tell from the awkward way he twisted his body that his other hand was wrapped around his thick, imperfect cock. She wanted to recoil but felt her heart pulse and beat in her cunt as he fingered her and groaned.
“Such a good little girl…”