Flower in the Dark

A weird kind of embarrassment fills me, at having to ask him for these things, but I need them. I don’t have the freedom to go myself, and I can’t do without them. I somehow doubt, as much as he might blanch at the thought of making such a purchase, that he would let me go myself. He’s not an idiot. We both know that I would run if I could, even though unbeknownst to him, a part of me feels bound to him now.

Now that I can move again, I sit up. My vision blurs and nausea spreads through me, so I dash to the bathroom to empty my stomach, glad that I had left the door open.

I groan and lay down when I am done, with my cheek pressed against the cool tiles on the floor. I can just pick out the faint sound of the bedroom door closing before exhaustion overtakes me, and darkness follows.

46

Z

I leave her throwing up in the bathroom, not wishing to witness that particular sight. I wrench the blade out of the wall as I leave the room and throw it down on the bed in mine, locking the door securely behind me.

I have no wish to be seen buying what she needs, any such purchase would leave a trail that could lead back to me if anyone has reported her missing. I have been keeping a watch on local papers, and nothing seems to have been noticed as of yet, but that’s no reason to get sloppy.

I hop into my car, destination in mind, and it's not the damn supermarket. After driving for about an hour, I pull up outside Violet's darkened house. The small garden is starting to show signs of the lack of maintenance, but otherwise it's still as tidy as before. Checking to make sure no-one is around, which is unlikely considering it's not even dawn yet, I make my way carefully into the house.

I disconnected the power when I was here last, so there is no lighting at all. I grab a small flashlight from my pocket and make my way to her bathroom, where I rummage through the cupboards and find extra bottles of her hair and body products. I grab the floral travel bag sitting on the bottom shelf and put it all inside, along with all of the feminine stuff I can see in the small cupboard.

Once I have filled the bag, I go to her room and lay down on her bed, inhaling the lingering scent of Violet on the pillow.

I’m not sure what came over me back at the house with Violet, but I know I won’t let it happen again.

I know she caught a glimpse of the darkness that hides inside my mind. Her fear was tangible in those few seconds that it was unleashed, and a sick part of me loved the scent of her fear, the way she quaked beneath my body, pinned and unable to move.

My body tightens at the memories of the times I’ve had her beneath me, piercing her with my cock, and the way she moans as I drive into her wet little cunt.

"My dirty flower," I mutter, as I close my eyes and breathe in deeply. The scent of her surrounds me, filtering through the haze of lust and enhancing it, making it more intense until it is consuming my every thought.

“I have to,” I groan, releasing my thick cock from the confines of my jeans.

It stands hot and heavy, the tip glistening with a bead of arousal, just for her. I smooth my palm over the tip and grip the shaft firmly before I start pumping it, faster and harder to the thought of Violet writhing and squirming beneath me.

The pleasure is swift and blinding, and I come with a shout, “Violet!”

My release spurts over my hand, and I lay there panting, trying to catch my breath. There is cum all over my hand, making a hot and sticky mess, which I clean off on her pillow, smiling perversely as I grab that to bring with me.

Guilt is a distant emotion that hovers on the edges of my mind but never comes close: not even knowing what I am doing, what I have done, and will do to my little flower.

I arrive back at the house shortly after the sun starts to rise, and I go directly to her room. She isn't in her bed, and I catch sight of her passed out on the bathroom floor. I place the pillow on the bed and the toiletries bag on the bathroom counter. I quickly wipe her sweaty face and move her back into the room, placing her gently on the bed, her head on the now dry pillow that I covered with my seed. I smirk knowing that the first scent she will wake to is me, and I close the door quietly behind me.

47

Violet

I slowly open my eyes to see the room bathed in dim sunlight. I have no idea what time it is, but it is probably early. I groan, my stomach clenching and nausea bathing my skin in a sheen of sweat. That is no doubt what woke me up. My eyes pinch shut; I don’t want to move right now. Something is different though, and it takes a moment to realize that there is a new pillow on the bed. I smile, recognizing the swirling blue pattern on it. It’s mine. I push my face into it, breathing deeply and hoping to smell the familiar fabric softener that I buy. The faint scent is still there, but it’s not quite right.

I sit up and frown at the pillow, then press my nose against it, inhaling slowly. The smell is familiar, but I can't place it. I put it down to being stale from sitting for a while unused, so I flip it over to the cool side and lay down again, closing my eyes and sighing. I miss my home; it might be small and fairly plain, but it is mine. I don't miss the ever-present loneliness that I felt there, so while I may be trapped here in this house, at least I'm not alone. Z is not the best company by any means, and even though he sometimes acts like a complete psychopath, at least he is a living presence in my lonely existence.

I'm only lying there for a few more moments when my stomach cramps and I can feel bile trying to move up my throat. Damn it.

I swing myself slowly off the bed and get to my feet, dashing for the bathroom. I barely make it in time before I empty the little that is in my stomach into the toilet, once again cuddling the cold porcelain to my feverish skin. I retch some more, the bitter taste in my mouth turning my already churning stomach even more.

Ugh, disgusting, I grimace, poking my tongue out.

Reaching up, I pull the cord for the light which flickers on, the bulb throwing its meager light out. T

he pillow wasn’t the only thing he brought me last night, I note, smiling at the toiletries bag sitting on the counter.

It’s clear he didn’t go to the store to get my things. He simply went to my home, which makes sense when I think about it. It is less suspicious than him buying feminine products. A small part of me smiles at the thought of him being too embarrassed to buy the items, so he cheated and went to my house to see if I had them.