Flash Fiction / Writing

Lilac by L.A. Murphy

I fasten the clasp on my lilac dress. He loves this dress. It hugs my tight body, hangs nicely off my breasts. I look at my reflection and admire my own legs. They’re strong, tanned and sexy as hell. I twirl, as I always do, and watch as the lilac dances around me. He loves this dress.

The bell buzzes and I quickly glance to the list. No.5. I’m ready for him…I think. One last check, perfect!

I open the door and there he stands, tall but fat, belly hanging over his trousers, chins covering his throat. He wears an old fashioned bowler hat which I always find odd. He looks me over and I wait for it, the same sentence he says to me every week.

“You look radiant.”

I smile, adopting my flirtatious face. I run my hand up his belly and grip his tie, pulling him into the room. The door clicks shut and I hold his face in my hands. His hands slide to my waist and he smiles, inhaling me. He doesn’t waste time, I can already feel the bulge in his trouser pressing against my leg. I’m somewhat impressed that a guy his size can still get it up. He pulls the clasp open and the dress feels loose. He holds my shoulders and just takes me in. He loves how it looks when it falls off me.

He flicks the straps off my shoulders and it drops, a waterfall of silk caresses me and he goes red with excitement. This is where he likes me to undress him. I do it slowly until he’s stood bare. He has no shame, his type never do. I feel dirty.

I lie on the bed and he enters me. As he thrusts away I play the excited housewife, his preferred style. My eyes fall to the dress, lilac, so beautiful he always says. He wheezes and my eyes fixate on the dress. To me, it’s putrid, vile, damaged and rotting. A constant reminder of this life. I’d loved it at first. It was the first expensive dress a man had ever bought me. It reminded me of peace and nature. Now it was perverted. An object for a man’s eyes and nothing more. I hate that dress. I hear him start to breathe heavy.I can never tell if it’s because he’s so fat or if he’s almost done. It turns out to be the latter. His thrusts quicken and he lets out a deep guttural moan, followed by the most romantic words a girl can hear.

“I’m gonna come!”

I feel a mixture of relief and uncleanliness as his body slumps on mine. Fortunately, this one knows the rules and after a few minutes he dresses, careful to place my dress on the chair in my room.

He likes me to stay naked as he’s leaving. His hand on the door, he turns to me.

“Goodbye, my flower.”

After he leaves, I clean myself up and check the list. I have twenty minutes to get ready for No.17. I go to the cupboard and select a dress, a short maroon number with a plunging neckline. 17 likes me saucy and horny. I start to pull my hair up but the lilac dress is on the chair, pulling my focus. I want to kick it under the bed but dry cleaning comes out of my cut. I carefully pick it up and place it back into the cupboard amidst the spectrum of colours that is my little personality collection.

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