No Consequence

As Samantha lay in her bed, her mind whirred with a wide array of thoughts and emotions, including panic, disgust, fear, anger, and betrayal. These feelings controlled her completely as she ran through the events that had just happened, her body aching and feeling nauseous from the violation that had just occurred. She started as soon as she heard the toilet flush and instinctively pulled the duvet up above her small breasts to cover her nudity and provide herself with protection.

As the object of her disgust entered the room, she was unable to even look directly at him as he returned from the bathroom. Laying down next to her in the bed, he didn't even look at her, instead starting to fiddle with a game on his phone.

It took time as she lay next to him, frothing with anger, but eventually she managed to find the courage and energy to speak.

"How... how could you?"

Laying next to her, playing on his phone, oblivious to Samantha's inner turmoil, Francis looked over briefly, distracted by the images flashing upon his screen.

"What'd you say?"

"How could you do that?" Samantha found the courage to keep going. "I asked you to stop, and you just..." Despite her discomfort, she couldn't bring herself to say the words, as that would make what had just happened real.

"Do what?" Francis barely paid any attention to what was being said as he focused on the screen directly before him.

She couldn't even bear to look at the person next to her. "You... carried on having sex with me, even when I asked you to stop."

"Oh, yeah, I suppose I did," he shrugged, his concentration remaining on the screen before him. "I was in mid-flow; I didn't really feel like I could stop."

Samantha stared at this man--no, this boy--lying next to her, unable to truly believe what he'd just said. At eighteen, Francis was Samantha's first boyfriend, and this was supposed to have been a magical time when she gave up her virginity to him. They'd both recently declared their love for each other over a romantic picnic in the park, with Francis coming up with the idea and organising it, setting up a blanket, and even having a rose in a heart-covered mug for her. He'd forgotten to take the price off the rose, and the mug also had a sticker showing he'd got it from a charity shop, but that wasn't the point. He'd made an effort. Well, she'd had to buy the food, but he'd tried, and as they were both students, it wasn't like either of them had a lot of money, so Samantha had been happy to pay her share.

"But I said stop!" Her eyes began to fill with tears. "What if I'd been in pain?"

He didn't even look at her. "Were you?"

Samantha was in disbelief at this callous lack of empathy. "No I wasn't but..."

Francis interrupted her. "There we go, so we're alright then."

"No we're not alright!" Seething, Samantha had to bite her tongue. "It doesn't matter why I asked you to stop, it's the fact I asked in the first place!"

"If you didn't want to have sex, you should have said something before you led me on." Francis frowned as the character died on his game.

"But I did want to have sex, up until I didn't! Am I not allowed to change my mind? Do I not have a choice?" It was like speaking to a child. What was it about this he wasn't getting?

Finally looking at her, the expression on Francis' face was one of disbelief. "What, so it's alright if you've had yours, but I don't get to have mine? Real nice."

Samantha couldn't hold back a snort of laughter. Have I had mine? Did I fuck? You're obviously not as good as you think you are."

"Why don't you fuck off, you absolute cunt?" Leaving Samantha shocked and afraid at this complete change in personality, Francis got up and began to look for his clothes. "If you're going to have buyer's remorse, I think it's best if I go."

Sammy said nothing, unable to believe that he'd called her a cunt; until now he'd been so romantic, so lovely. Now, with what he'd done, she couldn't believe he was somehow leaving on his terms.

"You raped me," she managed, with a quiver in her voice, and I think it's best if you never come back."

He shot her a look of contempt. "You're used goods now, love, so don't go thinking you're better than anyone else."

Samantha lay in bed until he left her room and couldn't bring herself to move until she heard the sound of her front door slamming shut behind him. 'A child, she thought. 'He acts exactly like a goddamn child. Except...'

She gently moved a hand under the sheets and felt herself, sore to the touch. She had a sense of relief at least that they'd used a condom, but she couldn't imagine that she'd ever feel good about herself again.

Chapter 2

Finishing up telling his story, Francis took a gulp of his cider and sat in the pub surrounded by his closest friends. "So, in the few days since we broke up, she's gone around telling everyone that she didn't want to do it, despite the fact that she initiated it." His friends shook their heads at how someone could be so petty.

"What a complete bitch!" Scott opined as Francis drained the last of his cider. Seeing this, George took drink orders and went up to the bar to get the next round. Two drinks in, Scott and Martin had paid for their rounds, leaving only George and Francis to get theirs.

"She's already told her parents about it, and they're talking about getting the police involved."

Scott scoffed. Yeah, right, they should bloody do them for wasting police time!"

Rolling his eyes, Martin offered a more balanced viewpoint. "Even if the allegation isn't true, you can understand why they'd want to protect their daughter. It certainly doesn't help if you were her first boyfriend."

"First and last, the frigid bitch!" Scott snorted.

Rolling his eyes, Martin continued. "If she's never done anything like this before, it could just be a visceral reaction to being dumped. She'd never had such an emotional response before, so she's decided to take aim at the physical side where you're weakest."

"Nothing wrong with my physical side. I take some pride in it!" Francis boasted as George returned carrying a tray of drinks. Two ciders, an IPA and a stout, were divvied up into their regular pattern formed over a six-month period since they all hit their eighteenth birthdays, upon which they'd begun to regularly visit the English Rose, chosen as it was the briefest walk for all. Well, apart from the horseshoes, they weren't that fucking desperate.

Well, keep drinking like this, and you, along with the rest of us, are no doubt going to find our 'physical sides' ending up with beer bellies. Well, cider in your case, eh, Francis? Cheers everyone." All glasses clinked, to the annoyance of the more elderly regular population of the 'Rose, as it was affectionately known, who'd come in for what had previously been a quiet drink. Completely oblivious to the other customers, Scott continued, You'd best get a move on and get your dick wet before your pot belly appears, then George, otherwise no one will ever want you!"

Martin and George blushed while Francis guffawed and Scott giggled at his little 'joke'. Martin was a strict Catholic and had his eye on joining the clergy, so he had little appetite for discussions about anything below the waistline, not that his petite, feminine frame interested many. George, settling into his slowly maturing body, was courting a girl he'd met at college, and although they'd been dating for around four months, Scott and Francis regularly made fun that he'd not yet lost his virginity, although Scott had only had sex once with a prostitute. George always felt that his pretending to be an old hand was a bit forced so as to keep up with Francis, whom Scott had idolised throughout their school years, but with a stick-thin wiry body could never physically match the bigger, more muscular lad.

Francis, however, had decided that since he'd never found a use for his virginity, he may as well lose it as fast as possible, and since that fateful day behind the school bike shed, he had never once considered stopping. There was some surprise when he announced that he and Samantha had started seeing each other exclusively, the amount of women that he'd taken home, usually after one of these nights out at the Rose. There was a lot less surprise when it ended acrimoniously.

"Have you tried talking to her about the allegations?" George and Martin were often the more sensible of the quartet, most likely to try to calm down the others when tempers rose or to apologise when Scott and Francis ended up upsetting the other regulars, an occurrence George considered far too regular, but who was he to tell Scott and Francis to calm down? They were his friends, and this was who they were.

Shrugging, Francis took a swig of cider. "I've sent a message over Facebook, but it might not surprise you that she's blocked me. My uncle, the lawyer, has also advised me not to say anything in case I inflame the situation."

"I know your uncle's a lawyer dumbass, what with him being my dad!" George rolled his eyes at his cousin's phrasing. They'd been a friend group since eleven years old, and while he and Francis had basically grown up together, he knew that phrasing things to compliment himself was just a way for Francis to try and flex 'his' family connections. If he was so proud of his 'lawyer uncle, maybe he should focus a bit harder in college to make something of himself.

Yeah, well," Francis shrugged, "I'm hoping it'll all just boil over when she realises making accusations like that gets you here." I was looking on the internet, and apparently less than one percent of rape charges even make it to court, so it's not like she'll even get anywhere."

Francis, Scott, and Martin smiled at this, but George felt a bit troubled.

"I mean, I know that's good for you, mate, if for some reason it does go that far, but that's still a bit shite though, isn't it? One freaking percent? Christ."

"It's probably mostly people making false accusations like Shaggy Sammy, eh Francis?" Scott giggled.

"Fucking hell, mate," George looked at Scott with despair, "that's a bit goddamn harsh. It's a bit of a stretch to suggest that most of the poor victims of rape are just jealous bitches." To his relief, Scott looked chastened.

"Your right mate, it's probably only a few, but as they say, it only takes one bad apple to ruin a punnet."

"I just wish, in my case, Samantha hadn't bothered." Francis shook his head despondently. "If I'd known she was going to get like this, I'd have stuck to shagging the talent on offer here. Talking of..." With that, Francis downed the rest of his drink, saying, "I think I see a chance to have a bit of comfort tonight."

Turning around, the rest of them spotted Haley. In her thirties, she was well known for being quite accommodating to any young lad who needed some attention, and Francis made regular use of her talents when no one else was offering.

"For fucks sake, Francis, have a bit of respect for women, will you?" Martin never pushed his religion down anyone's throat, but sometimes he got annoyed by Francis' behaviour.

"Also, you prig, it's your turn!" George added to the softening by seeing Francis start to prickle.

"Mate," Francis laughed, ignoring Martin's comment, "if she wants my body that badly, who am I to deny her?"

George prodded Francis in the stomach. "You haven't spoken a word to her all night, and she's barely glanced in your direction, so you're hardly too good to deny. Also, again, it's your turn."

Grabbing his coat, Francis darted off in Haley's direction. "Sorry fellas, no time! I'll get two next time!"

As he went off to get his dick wet, Martin and George rolled their eyes.

"How many weeks does this make it now?" George asked Martin as he got his phone out.

"Six, six weeks in a row, he's shirked his round."

Scott did his best to defend his friend. "He's currently under a lot of stress, and the rape accusations are pretty shit."

Martin continued running through the spreadsheet he'd made. "And he only bought one round in between these six weeks and his previous four weeks of shirking."

"So he's bought one round in eleven weeks?" George e six weeks and

Sighing, Scott conceded. "Alright, he's a dick when it comes to buying the drinks, but currently he's struggling."

"If he didn't try and stick his dick in everything, maybe this wouldn't have been a problem." Martin may have been a Catholic, but that didn't make him a pushover.

Sighing, George returned to his beer. "I don't know about you, but I'm hoping that I will soon."

Scott pounced on a subject that wasn't defending Francis. "Problems in Paradise?"

"Not at all," George countered, "Louise's great. We get on like anything, and she's just absolutely stunning." At this, he pictured the buxom ginger woman who was Louise, curvy at top and bottom, with a wonderfully kind face. "But I'm worried I'm going to fuck things up because I desperately want to shag her, and I don't want to be too pushy."

"Well," Scott said in a condescending tone, "in my experience," Martin and George shared glances, "if she's not up for it soon into the relationship, then there's not much of a relationship in the first place."

Yes, Scott," George replied calmly, "but we're not all paying by the hour."

As Martin let out a massive laugh, Scott went bright red. Their evening continued for one more drink, split equally three ways now that they were without their errant friend and cousin, who at that exact moment found himself walking up the stairs of a nearby flat, the tight leather trousers of Haley offering a lovely view as he anticipated his evening's plans.

As she unlocked the door and they walked into her flat, Haley practically jumped on Francis, kissing and pawing at him while simultaneously dragging him into her bedroom.

'This,' he thought, is what all women should be like.'

Pushing him down onto her bed, Haley lifted her top to reveal a large but drooping pair of breasts and a sagging stomach. Her areolas were small, her nipples a deep, dark pink. Francis, however, didn't even bother to strip properly; he just dropped his trousers and pants, revealing a rock-hard four-inch waist, which seconds later Haley had almost inhaled. Bobbing and sucking and wanking as needed, Francis lay there groaning in pleasure. Why did people consider this experience a problem when it led to sensations like this?

Within a minute, he could feel his balls start to tighten.

"If you don't let me fuck you soon, I'm going to cum." He gasped.

Haley's eyes sparkled, slowing her activities but not completely stopping him."I don't think I've got any condoms left, so unless you've got any on you, you can use your tongue to make up for it." Her eyes were playful, her tone charming and alluring, but Francis felt fucked off that he wouldn't get to shag her.

"I can't be fucked with the work," he stated bluntly, "just keep sucking, and I'll head off after."

Without a pause, Haley returned to what she'd been doing, bobbing, sucking, and wanking as necessary, but as Francis lay on the bed, she rolled her eyes. She knew she enjoyed sex, and she knew she was considered a bit of a tramp, but she still thought he was an absolute cunt, so she timed his orgasm to be as she'd removed her mouth, so he shot his load all over himself instead of the confines of her warm, welcoming, and skilful mouth.

"Ooops," she apologised, "you should have warned me you were close."

"Don't worry about that," he mumbled, "just get me some tissues, will you?"

Minutes later, he walked out of the flat and started stumbling home. To his disbelief, having spent only a minute in the bathroom cleaning himself up, he was amazed to see her stripped off and already fucking herself with a gigantic fucking dildo, working it in and out of her hairy snatch, as if to prove she could do a better job herself. He'd not been invited to join in.

'Stupid slag,' thought Francis as he staggered along the pavement, 'she could have kept going. Bloody bitch. Happy to fuck a piece of fucking plastic but not a proper stud, the whore.' In his frustration, he kicked out at a rock that happened to be in his path, and, to his disbelief, it ended up smashing the window in a house opposite. 'Shit.' With that, he ran off before anyone could notice, darting down the nearest alleyway. 'Fucking rock shouldn't have been there...'

Chapter Three:

Six Years Later

Francis stared at the screen of his computer, trying to convince himself that this was better than the sweet embrace of death.

"Of course, sir," he responded increasingly calmly into his headset, "and how exactly would you like us to deliver your order? We provide standard, express, and next-day delivery options.Standard is free as you have spent more than one hundred and fifty pounds, while express is guaranteed within forty-eight hours, and... you're happy to go with standard. That's fine by me, sir, if you're not in any rush... Well, sir, if you need it by tomorrow, I suggest the day after delivery, which is the only delivery guaranteed to be delivered on a weekend. I recognise you don't want to pay anymore, but these are the options... It's so standard, but you're going to be upset if it doesn't turn up tomorrow. Of course, sir, I look forwards to hearing from you on Monday when your order hasn't been delivered, and probably the day after too. Of course, sir, you enjoy your day." He ended the call. "Asshole." He turned to address the rest of his small office. "Did you hear that? That fucker at Grants won't pay for twenty-four-hour delivery, but fucking expects it anyway! What an absolute bellend."

"You're pretty brave when the phone lines are off, aren't you, Francis?" Garry, his co-worker and adjacent colleague, had made his dislike for Francis known. "But an absolute fuckspittle while you're on the phone."

"What?" Francis threw back, "I'm not allowed to moan about a dickhead client after I've remained professional throughout the call."

"You're not professional when you want to be, though, are you?" Dean Francis' manager opined "The way you talk to that bird at Rowletts and your mate at Oldbury's, I've talked to you about your language countless times with not only those two examples, but a few of your mates."

"So because I act professionally, suddenly that's a problem?" Francis sniffed. "Hypocrisy, that's all it is; you're fucking jealous that I get along so well with some of our clients."

Both looked at each other before bursting out laughing; Dean and Garry were in stitches. "Mate, we all get along with some of our clients; you're not fucking special. You just act like a fucking lickspittle to any of the fuckers who won't put up with your bullshit."

His cheeks burning red, Francis finished putting the order in the system before turning his computer off. "Well, last I checked, I finish at five p.m., so I don't have to take your fucking rudeness any more."

"And it means we don't have to deal with your bullshit." Dean countered as he closed his own computer. "But you have a great weekend, and I look forwards to dealing with your attitude again Monday."

With that, Dean walked off into the owner's office, which as office manager he did every Friday to update him on the week's progress, but Francis merely considered it a chance for them to have a bitch about him and moan that he wasn't fucking perfect, even though he had no doubt his sales equalled theirs, at least. Not that he had any proof of this with no commision earned on sales, but he'd sold a slicer the other day for eight hundred pounds, so he must be doing pretty well.

As he walked away from the industrial estate where the business was situated, his phone began to ring. Seeing who it was, he sighed deeply. Not a-fucking-gain. But still, he answered.

"Yes dear? Of course, dear. I'll get more diapers. And apples. Fancy a couple of cans? No, of course not; you're feeding; sorry, I forgot. Yeah, I won't be long. Okay, see you soon." He turned off the call, cursing his life, stuck in a dead end job, stuck with a wife he'd not planned to have, the same of which could be said for his three kids, the youngest of whom was still breast-feeding, and Haley hated it if he drank while she wasn't able to.