maya,22- dumb sllut

Maya is twenty two, though she has the wide eyed, guileless innocence of a child. She is beautiful in the way a decorative vase is beautiful all soft curves, sun kissed skin, and hair that smells like synthetic strawberries. Her mind is a pleasant, sunny meadow where thoughts rarely wander beyond what she wants to eat next or how pretty her dress looks.

She lives with her girlfriend, Lily. They share a small, tidy apartment that smells of lemon polish and cheap lavender. They think they are in love. They think they are 'together.' To Maya, 'lesbian' is just a word she heard once that meant she liked holding Lily's hand and kissing her soft lips. She doesn't understand what it means for identity, for politics, or for orientation. She just knows that Lily is pretty and makes her feel warm inside.

They sit together on their couch, sharing a bowl of sugary cereal, giggling at a brightly colored cartoon playing on the screen. Their conversations are simple: "This is yummy," "Your hair is pretty," "I like the pink one."

A knock comes at the door.

Maya skips to it, her hips swaying with a natural, unthinking grace. When she opens it, she finds Mr. Henderson, their landlord. He is a broad shouldered man with graying temples and eyes that carry the casual entitlement of a man who owns everything in his sightline.

"Hello, Maya," he rumbles, his gaze immediately dropping to the way her tight sundress hugs her ass. "I came to check the pipes."

"Okay, Mr. Henderson!" Maya chirps, stepping aside. She doesn't think about privacy. She doesn't think about boundaries. Those are complicated concepts that require a brain she simply doesn't possess.

Henderson enters, but he doesn't head for the kitchen. He walks straight to Maya, trapping her against the wall with his bulk. "You're a real pretty thing, aren't you?" His hand comes up, rough and calloused, cupping her chin.

Maya blinks, her head tilting. "Am I?" She smiles brightly, genuinely pleased by the compliment. She doesn't feel fear; fear requires an understanding of threat.

"Yeah. Real pretty." Henderson's other hand slides down her body, squeezing her breast through the thin fabric. "And I bet you're real useful too."

Maya giggles, the sensation strange but pleasant. "I can clean!" she offers helpfully, her mind grasping for any way to be 'good.'

Henderson grins, a hungry, predatory expression. "Oh, you'll be useful alright." He begins to unbuckle his belt. "Why don't you show me how grateful you are to have such a nice landlord?"

Maya watches him, fascinated by the shiny metal buckle. She doesn't understand what he's doing, but she sees the way his eyes darken, and she knows instinctively that this is what men want. And if men want it, she should give it. That's what girls do.

"Okay," she says softly, her voice empty of anything but compliance. "I'll try to be good."

In the other room, Lily hears the sounds the creak of the floorboards, the low murmur of Henderson's voice, the wet slap of skin against skin. She looks up from her cartoon, her brow furrowing for half a second. Is something happening? she wonders. But the thought slips away as quickly as it came, replaced by the simple pleasure of the bright colors on the screen. She doesn't know she should be angry. She doesn't know she should be scared. She doesn't know she's being violated.

She just knows she's hungry for more cereal.

In the hallway, Maya is being pressed down onto the floor. Henderson's cock, thick and demanding, thrusts into her with zero regard for her comfort. Maya's eyes go wide, not with pain, but with a confused, overwhelming sensory overload. "Ohhh," she whines, her hips moving in a clumsy attempt to match his rhythm. "That's... that's funny."

She doesn't realize that she is being used. She doesn't realize that her 'relationship' with Lily means nothing in the face of this primal, masculine takeover. She is just a dumb girl, doing what she thinks she's supposed to do: be pretty, be helpful, and accept whatever the men decide to give her.