Violet was eighteen, and had just joined a new foster family. Her parents had died when she was eight years old, and ever since she had moved around more than her fair share. Being an orphan, she had become a wild child, and didn't appreciate authority. Her already dark hair was dyed black. Her body adorned with piercings and tatoos accumulated whenever she found a shop that wanted cash more than her proof of age.
Unpacking, she considered her new home. Like most foster care the room was shared, with three beds crammed into a small space and hardly any room for belongings. She was counting the days until her eighteenth birthday, the day she could finally be on her own, in her own place. Still, her bed seemed comfortable enough, and her new foster mother didn't seem at unease with her outfit, which was a first. It turns out that over the years Miss Landry's eyesight had deteriorated so much she was lucky to tell the foster kids apart, which was fine by Violet.
Her previous foster parents reprimanded her nearly every day for her appearance. She didn't care for color. All her clothes were black, black, and black. The simple truth of the matter is that she found colors childish. As a little girl she would intentionally ruin the bubblegum and blue sky outfits her foster parents tried to put her in. In recent years she had taken to painting her nails black as well. Violet expressed herself through texture and shape. She was fascinated with stitching, and disappointed at how little detail modern clothing contained. Often she'd shop thrift stores to find hand-made items. After finding pieces that took obvious time and effort to make, she would dye them black leaving only the texture.
As a teen it was no longer the black she was reprimanded for. She envied the way boys noticed her prissy and childish female classmates. She didn't want to look like them, but something deep inside of her wanted to be admired. Abandoned by her parents, they had at least left her a parting gift in her striking good looks. As her body developed, she tightened up and paired back her clothing. Violet didn't know it, but the shocking contrast of black against her pale skin, and the way her short low-cut shirts and flowing skirts showed off her figure, made her the sexiest thing walking high school halls. What she did know, was that wherever she went she could feel eyes on her, and she liked it.
Before sending her up the stairs, Miss Landry had told her there were a few boys staying in a room down the hall, so she wasn't surprised to hear a bit of a ruckus coming from that direction. However, as she finished her unpacking, she distinctly heard a girl's voice in distress. When she reached the boys' room, she could see a big teenage boy had another foster girl corned in a threatening way.The look on her face said she really didn't want to be there, and the way she looked away said she wanted even less to be seen like this. Violet began to close the distance between them, "hate to interrupt your moment, but I'm the new girl, and I'm dying for a cigarette." Violet had never smoked.
"Beat it. Can't you see June and I are having a private moment?" Despite the fearful look on June's face, Violet was incredibly calm. He was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, through which it was obvious he worked out regularly. June was tiny next to him, and stood no chance of resisting advances or abuse, whichever he decided to dish out.
"Moment? Someone should teach you something about swooning the ladies, June there looks like she's about to cry. June, you wouldn't happen to have a cigarette would you?" The boy's body language showed his agitation at the interruption, his shoulder curled around, his back to Violet. June didn't dare try to answer. His attention was still focused entirely on her while Violet continued prodding, "too bad, is there a corner store nearby I could walk to?"
He finally shifted his attention, "girl, I don't know who you think you are, but around here I'm in charge. Miss Landry doesn't come up here, because she knows I'll beat her ass too if she crosses me." Finally facing Violet, his attack on June was briefly interrupted. They were a few feet apart, and she could see him look her over. He was surprised at how sexy she was.
The fabric of her skirt was thin, revealing the exact curve of her hip as it settled. His eyes traced her body, first glancing at the couple inches of skin showing at her waistline, and then following her blouse as it outlined the shape of her breasts. The cut assured a small amount of cleavage was visible, and she knew the way the tightness stretched the fabric around the buttons would garner attention. His anger was already beginning to turn to desire, "now scurry along before I decide you're on the menu tonight."
Violet ignored his threats will the full intent of aggravating him, "does that mean there is no corner store nearby?" He reached and shoved her back, staring at her with a menacing look that she had to avoid laughing at. She had been in some rough situations in her life, and this teenage punk was no threat to anyone, let alone Violet. She had a dark secret, because of which she was pleased to have run into this bully on only her first night in her new home.
She looked over at June, who he was holding against the wall, and saw she was now even more fearful of the situation. Her eyes seemed to say, get out, while you still can. Violet had no intention of going anywhere. She stepped forward and shoved the boy back, hard. "Nice to meet you too." His eyes steamed and his arm tensed, ready to swing at someone. She taunted, "are you going to hit that poor girl, right in front of me? I don't think she'll appreciate that at all."
Angered from her prodding, he released his grasp on June and laid his hand across Violet's face with a loud smack, though her head hardly moved. She relished in the sensation. It always made her feel so alive when the blood rushed to her skin. It ended all too soon, hardly any pain at all. "If you want to hit someone, you should hit me." His hand answered by moving across her face again with a loud smack, this time tossing her head to the side momentarily. "I like a good roughing up, anytime you're ready big man." He wound up and his third hit connected harder, sending her stumbling towards the bed for a moment. Violet recovered quickly, "how exciting, my first day here and I already found a playmate." June had already made use of her exit and was headed for the door. "June dear, can you run to the store and pick me up some cigarettes?" Even if June heard her, it was unlikely she had registered the request.
"You are a crazy one arn't you. Let's get something straight. I get what I want around here." His grip was already wrapped around her wrist, as he held her in place. "Since you scared away my date, it's your turn to give me the attention I deserve." His words couldn't hide the way he was looking at her. Violet was simultaneously taller, thinner, bustier, and sexier than June. She knew he wanted her badly. "You can cooperate and enjoy it, or I can make it rough, I like it either way."
Despite his hold on her, Violet did her best to stand up right into his face. She could see he was a good four or five inches taller when she taunted him back, "ohh, can a little boy like you get rough? I'd like to see that." She saw anger continuing to build but she was too close for him to easily strike. He forced her back to sit on the bed, and wound his hand up, smacking hard across her face. She let out a little cooing sound, and he smacked her again. She whipped her eyes back to stare right at him in a show of defiance. She was just beginning to enjoy his little love taps.
"Does it make you feel big and strong to hit little girls? Hit me again, smack, and again, smack, and again. Is that all you've got?" She had hardly completed her taunting when his hand came across her face again, closed fist this time. She felt the bright sudden strike, the sharp feeling. It was a refreshing punctuation out of her normal state of numbness. She tasted a hint of blood in her mouth as her body fell towards the bed. She relished the wave of sensation rippling through her body, euphoria setting in. He was staring down at her, with a moment of regret, wondering if he'd gone too far. He hadn't ever punched a girl with a closed fist. This crazy bitch taunted him into it.
Still, he had no plans to back down. "Are you ready to cooperate now? Or do you need another lesson?" After a moment of silence, she peeled herself off the bed and set her eyes into a powerful stare at him. Her tongue licked across her lips, tasting a tinge of blood that had escaped. The violence was her drug, it always had been. She was incredibly aroused. In her affected state, somehow even this dumb impetuous teenager started to seem a tiny bit desirable to her. He would have to do.
"Ohh, you're going to get what you want, but first let's get something straight." As she pushed herself up off the bed, a look of shock registered on his face. She knew why. He was noticing that she looked much bigger all of a sudden. She looked bigger because she was bigger. She had never understood or tried to explain, she only knew what was. She knew that violence, her drug, the sense of euphoria, not only charged her with emotion and feeling, but it charged her body with waves of strength and growth.
She continued to stand until she was looking nearly eye to eye with him. She could feel the power surging through her as she grabbed his wrist in a painful vice. "I get what I want around here. For starters, if you ever lay a hand on another girl in this house, I'll turn you into a pulp." His other hand attempted to hit her in objection, but she easily caught it midswing. "Me, on the other hand, you can smack anytime you like. Though I have to warn you," she leaned her lips close to his face, "I like it."
She used her grip to turn him, switching their places before releasing both hands and reaching for his pants. "Let's see if you have the equipment to follow through on those little threats of yours." In a flash she opened his pants, dropped them to the floor, and had her hands around his member. His face was a confused mixture of emotions. Shocked, turned-on, humbled, confused. She had no intention of waiting for him to clear his thoughts. She pushed him back onto the bed.
He looked up at her in a new light as she reached up under her skirt, peeling away her underwear. The sliver of skin at her waist was now several inches of exposed midriff. Where moments ago her blouse had revealed a sliver of cleavage, the top of her breasts were now straining at the buttons and puffing out the opening. Her sleeves looked a bit awkwardly tight on her arms as she climbed on top of him.
Taking them was seldom about pleasure for Violet. It could never compare to the flush of her skin caused by violent contact. It was more about domination and release. Like the cooldown after winning a marathon. She already had what she needed, this was simply a formality of process. She pumped herself up and down on him for what seemed like only a minute or so before she felt him convulse and climax. She wasn't finished, and kept her rhythmic motion going. She bit into her finger to speed along her release, gently at first, and then more firmly. The stitching on her sleeve tore just a little as she felt release and a wave of calmness come over her.
A moment later she stood from him, collecting her panties from the floor, a look of shock still on his face. "I'm Violet by the way, and that was just what I needed." She strutted away from the room, her senses clearing, considering where June might have gone...