Wanton Weekends - Viola (Patreon)

“Heart-shaped lips on mine, so sweet

Divine, divine

Paint-covered hands on my waist

Be mine, be mine

Could you see me that way, babe

Don't waste my time

Sweet and pink and punk, wanna make you

Mine, mine, mi –”

Viola sighed, her hands dropping from her guitar. “Dammit,” she muttered as she placed the instrument aside. "Trash, trash, and more trash."

Collapsing onto her bed, the young woman folded her hands over her heart, trying to will her feelings into words – into lyrics. She simply couldn’t understand why she was having so much trouble with this song. She’d never felt so stymied before. So.. frustrated. But, she supposed she’d never attempted to write anything so personal, either.

The thoughts and feelings that formed her previous songs were always at a distance from her heart. Things she’d read about, or seen on the television. She’d analyze a piece of media, like a book, or a movie. She’d discern how to set it to music, distilling the feeling down to its purest form. Then she’d construct a piece, combining words and music into something greater than the sum of its parts. It was a clinical way to approach art, true. But it had worked, garnering her a modest fan-base online.

But, this song was different.

This song felt less like something she was creating, and more like something she was struggling to free from herself. Like a thorn embedded in her palm, resistant to extraction, and growing more painful as she dug deep to free it.

Rolling onto her tummy, Viola buried her face in her threadbare blanket and loosed a frustrated groan. "Why is this so haaaard,” she whined, her hands gripping handfuls of her sandy blonde hair, tugging at it in exasperation.

Her cheek resting against the bed, the young woman’s mind turned to the object of her desire. Instantly, her face began to burn hot, and a light, fluttery feeling filled her belly. Chewing anxiously on her fingernail, chipped from many hours strumming on metal strings, Viola closed her eyes and tried to picture – her.

Pushing her free hand inside her pajama bottoms, Viola whimpered as her fingertips found the small, swollen bud of her clit. Adjusting her legs, she lifted her ass in the air, struggling to find the perfect angle. When at last she had, the young woman brought her free hand to her mouth, and began sucking on her index and middle fingers. If one were to ask her, she couldn’t explain why this was how she preferred to please herself. It simply was. She liked the feeling of being teased at both ends. Swirling her tongue around her dainty digits, as her others teased that hot, wet spot between her legs.

Closing her eyes tightly, Viola groaned into her blankets, her hips bouncing in the air, her body shuddering. She closed her eyes and thought of her. It wasn’t Viola’s fingers in her mouth. It was hers. It wasn’t Viola’s fingers between her legs. It was hers. Hers. Hers. Hers.

“Ah!” Viola cried out, her hips bucking against her mattress, her fingers speeding up as they worked her clit in quick, firm up-and-down motions. Removing her fingers from her mouth, she kept her hand occupied by wrapping her saliva-slick digits around her own throat, and squeezing – hard. She couldn’t recall when she’d first begun doing this, choking herself. But, it had become a part of her ritual, and she rarely deviated from it.

Burying her face in the blankets, Viola gasped and panted, her hips bouncing up and down, her fingers slick with the wetness of her arousal. Squeezing her throat harder, the young woman’s head began to swim, and she knew she was close. So close. She felt like she was on fire, with an unbearable heat spreading from between her legs, threatening to consume her entire body.

Whimpering softly, she squirmed out of her pajamas, now damp with her sweat – and other secretions. Rolling onto her back, Viola squeezed her throat harder, cursing the fact she didn’t have stronger hands. Her orgasm imminent, the girl panted, coughing softly as she spread her lower lips, and entered herself with her delicate fingers. Though she didn’t dare push them deep, she still enjoyed ending her sessions like this, with her fingers gently plunging between her swollen lower lips.

Closing her eyes tightly, Viola thought of her. Imagined her dark skin, slick and shiny with sweat. Imagined her pink curls, which Viola so longed to bury her face in. Imagined her hands on Viola’s throat. Her tongue against Viola’s clit. Her..

“Ah! Ah! Please.. Please..” she whimpered.

She felt her imaginary lover lean in close, her breath hot against Viola's ear. “Come for me.. Come for me, honey,” she whispered.

Gasping for breath, Viola’s body jerked hard, her pussy spasming around her fingers. Clamping her hand over her mouth, the young woman cried out in release, a crackle of electricity rolling through her. As her pleasure receded, she felt her imaginary lover depart, leaving her until she had need of her again.

Finally opening her eyes, Viola sighed dreamily as she rubbed her reddened throat, a tiny smile on her lips. Withdrawing her fingers from herself, Viola brought the slick digits to her mouth, giving them an experimental lick.

She thought of her imaginary lover. What she’d taste like down there. She tried to imagine it, having no basis for comparison other than herself. But, Viola ached to know her. Her taste. Her scent. Her hands, her mouth, her tongue, her pussy, her –”

Knock, knock, knock!

Bolting upright, Viola hastily wiped her lips and hurried back into her pajamas.

“Viola! Honey, would you get the door?” came her mother’s voice, delicate as the sound of crinkling tissue paper.

“Y-yes! I’m going!” she responded, flinging open her bedroom door and making for the living room. "Don't get up, I'll get it!"

Trotting quickly to the front door, Viola smoothed out her clothes, and cracked the door open. Finding her landlord there, the young woman forced a smile even as her heart sank into her stomach.

“Oh, h-hello, Meester Fowler,” the young woman said, doing her best to remain genial.

“Viola, my favorite tenant! How’s it going baby?” the ruddy-faced Mr. Fowler asked.

Suddenly grateful for the chain on the door, Viola smiled good-naturedly at the sallow man. “Okay,” she replied. “How, um.. How I help you, sir?”

Hooking his fingers inside his belt loops, his hands sitting beneath his prodigious belly, Mr. Fowler sighed. His breath stank of cigarettes, and his yellowed teeth confirmed the bad habit.

“I think you know, don’tcha baby? Rent’s overdue. Two months now, an’ it’ll be three soon. Three months, and I’ll have’ta evict you,” the landlord said. “You an’ yer mom.”

Though he was clearly trying to act sympathetic, Mr. Fowler couldn’t help but wear a smile, his bloodshot, piggish eyes sizing Viola up. Wishing she’d put on a robe before answering the door, Viola nodded.

“Y-yes, sir.. I.. We trying, Mama can no work, and – and there um, problem with her last check. They no send it, and.. And they say they do, but..” she began.

Waving a short-fingered hand in the air, Mr. Fowler shook his head. “Oof, yeah. Tough break, kid. But hey, you got a job, ain’tcha?” he asked, his lank, greasy hair falling over his face as he inclined his head towards her.

“Yes,” Viola said. “But.. Is only um, twenty hours per week.. While I in school. I am, um try to find second job with my.. Um, how you say. With what I do in week..”

“With yer schedule,” he deduced.

“Yes! Schedule. Thank you,”Viola replied.

Licking his lips, Mr. Fowler looked the young woman up and down, his eyes hungry. Viola felt the flesh rise on the back of her neck, her heart quickening. She’d never felt more like a rabbit, standing before a wolf.

"How old're you?" he asked. "Can you dance?”

“Oh, um.. Eight and, ah.. Ten. Eight.." Viola stammered as she struggled to remember how numbers worked in English.

"Eighteen?" he finished.

"Yes! Sorry. And um.. No. I no dance, sir..” the young woman replied, confusion writ across her face.

“Well hey, anyone can learn, huh?” he offered, his bloodshot little eyes moving over her body. “I mean, you ain’t got much meat on ya, but you start eatin’ right, I bet you’d fill out nice..”

“Sir, I.. I not understand, I think. My.. My English. What–” Viola began.

“See, I got this buddy. Owns a club? He always needs girls to dance. Good money, too. An’ you need a job, so I just figured..” the sweaty man said, letting his words hand in the air.

Swallowing hard, Viola shook her head. “Not.. Not good fit for me, I think. Sir. I.. I get rent money soon,” she said. “I.. I need to go take care of Mama. Sorry for, um.. Trouble. Meester Fowler, sir.”

Moving to close the door, Viola felt resistance as the big man placed his hand against it, rendering it instantly stationary. Frowning at the young woman, the landlord narrowed his eyes, his friendly demeanor evaporating.

“Come on, it’s a good deal. I’d even come see you. At work, y’know? That way you wouldn’t be alone with all them creeps,” Mr. Fowler said. “Don’t that sound nice?”

Her eyes darting to the chain on the door, Viola suddenly realized exactly how thin and fragile the metal links really were. One good kick and the whole thing would probably tear free from the wall. She swallowed hard, forcing her panic down.

“I.. Need to go, sir. Please,” Viola whispered, trying to control the fear in her voice.

Forcing a friendly smile back onto his face, the landlord nodded amiably. “Look, if you’re shy.. Maybe you just dance for me, huh? One little dance, and I’ll just forget that three month rule, huh? Don’t that sound nice? Give you a few extra weeks to get the money together. I could even knock some money off, depending on what kinda dance you wanna give me.”

Looking away from the paunchy man, the young woman gave a tiny nod. It was clear this pig had no intention of taking no for an answer.

“I.. Think about it, sir. Thank you. For.. For offer,” Viola mumbled, her slight body beginning to tremble.

“Oh. Well, great!” the landlord said with a smile, stepping back from the door. “That’s all I wanted, for you to consider it.”

“Yes sir,” Viola replied.

“I’m a real nice guy. Just try’na look out for you and your mom, y’know?” Fowler continued.

“Yes sir,” the young woman replied.

Jerking his thumb towards the stairwell, the heavyset man grinned lewdly at Viola. “Well, I’m just upstairs. 308. Whenever you’re ready babe,” he said with a smile, his deep set eyes practically being swallowed by his pock-marked cheeks. Turning on his heel, the big man strode towards the stairs, calling back over his shoulder, “But don’t take too long, huh? Tick tock! I’d hate to kick you an’ Mama out. Street’s no place for a girl like you.”

Closing the door, Viola quickly locked it, the deadbolt snapping into the strike plate with a metallic click. From down the hall, Viola could hear the sound of her mother stirring.

“Viola? Who was it honey?” she called out, her voice weak.

As she moved towards the lumpy couch that occupied the living room, Viola cleared her throat.

“No one, Mama. Go back to bed, it’s okay,” the young woman called back.

“Okay.. Love you.”

“Love you too, Mama.”

Tears rolled down her hot, reddened cheeks as Viola sank onto the couch. She fought to stifle a sob, desperate not to disturb her ailing mother. Grabbing a flat cushion, the young woman pressed her face into it and began to cry in earnest.

It wasn’t that her brutish landlord had made such an indelicate pass at her. He’d been leering at her since she and her mother had moved into their decaying apartment. Mr. Fowler’s attention was something she’d long since grown accustomed to.

No.. It was that she was actually considering his offer.

With her mother too sick to work, and Viola only able to find part-time employment, the young woman was seeing her options begin to narrow. If the choice came down to entertaining Fowler for an evening, or being cast out onto the street with her sick mother.. The very thought of being with that man roiled her stomach. But, if it was that or homelessness.. Well, Viola couldn’t be sure which she’d choose, when the moment came.

Bzzt, bzzt, bzzt.

Her phone vibrating to life in her pocket, Viola hastily cleared her throat, wiping her tears away.

“Hello?” she said, holding the device against her ear.

“Viola? Heyyyyy, babe! What’s up?” came the reply.

Viola blew out a weary sigh. This was the last thing she needed. The last person she cared to hear from.

“Hello, Tessa,” Viola sighed, hugging the tear-stained cushion to her chest.

“Hey girl, I have a teensy, weensy, silly little problem,” Tessa ‘the Contessa’ Montclare began, utilizing the ‘baby’ voice she always employed when she wanted something. “See, I’m supposed to hit the beach today, and Daddy rented jet skis for me and all my friends. Doesn’t that sound cool?!”

Viola looked around her apartment. The peeling paint and cracked drywall. The outlets that hadn’t worked since they’d moved in. The drafty windows that kept the place hot in the summer, and cold in the winter. If the termites ever stopped holding hands, the whole place might just collapse.

“Yes,” Viola replied. “Cool. I.. No understand, Tessa. Is you ask me to come, or..”

“What?! No! Jeez girl. Rude much? But look, I totally forgot I was supposed to work today! Can you pleeeeeeease cover my shift? I’ll owe you, bestie!” the brazen girl cooed into Viola’s ear.

Viola glowered as she considered the request. She’d never liked Tessa. She found her materialistic, two-faced, and just plain.. mean. They’d shared a few classes over the years, and Viola had both witnessed and been on the receiving end of Tessa’s merciless bullying. So, to be referred to as the spoiled brat’s ‘bestie’ rankled Viola to no small degree. She’d sooner befriend a viper.

“Viola? Babe? What do you say?”

On the other hand.. Viola could use the hours, and the money. A thought briefly flitted across her consciousness – standing on Mr. Fowler’s kitchen table, dressed in lingerie and high heels. Dancing as for him as he unzipped his pants and – Viola shook her head.

“Bestiiieeee? Did we get disconnected or what? God, this is probably because you’ve got that shitty poor person phone..”

Mulling it over, Viola considered the situation. She’d take the shift, obviously. She could hardly refuse any amount of money at this point. But, for Tessa to contact her and ask for a favor meant she was truly desperate. Which meant she might be open to negotiation.

“I.. I am very busy today, Tessa. I cannot,” Viola said, trying to sound firm.

Sighing irritably into the phone, Tessa’s sweet facade crumbled even quicker than Mr. Fowler’s. “Seriously?” Tessa asked. “What could you have to do today? It’s not like you have any friends.”

“Goodbye, Tessa,” Viola muttered into the phone.

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait!” the pugnacious girl shouted through the receiver, forcing Viola to take it away from her ear. “Look, um.. How about I give you a hundred bucks to cover my shift? Daddy already spent the money on the jetskis, I’m sure he won’t mind another hundred.”

Viola chewed her lip. She knew Tessa didn’t work at The Posh Pit for the money. It was just something to do. Something to keep her out of her ‘Daddy’s’ hair, and teach her some responsibility. Not that it seemed to be working..

“Two-hundred,” Viola countered. “And I do it.”

“Viola, fuck! Come on, don’t be a bitch!” Tessa screeched.

“I hang up now, Tessa..” Viola replied, her voice icy.

“Ugh! Fine! I’ll PaySend you the money. Just be there at 2,” the Contessa huffed petulantly.

Without so much as a goodbye, Tessa ended the call. Making a face at her phone, Viola shook her head.

“Bitch,” she muttered.

But, her mood quickly shifted when her phone buzzed again, this time alerting her to a deposit in her PaySend account. Two-hundred, as agreed. Perhaps Tessa wasn’t all bad. Springing up from the couch, Viola rushed to her tiny room, a smile on her face.

“Mama! I have to go to work!” she cried out, hastily digging her blouse out from the hamper.

***

Viola watched the minutes slowly tick away, closing time rapidly approaching. While she really wished she hadn’t had to accept Tessa’s offer, it hadn’t been a bad shift. Business had been steady, but manageable. There were certainly worse places to work than the little clothing boutique. And with her two-hundred dollar bonus, it was more than worth it. Perhaps that money would be enough to buy her and her mother a few more weeks.

As she idly folded shirts at the front counter, Viola found her mind wandering once again.. To music, lyrics, and pretty girls with curly pink hair. Biting her lip Viola shook her head, trying to dismiss the lovesick thoughts occupying her mind.

“Ah, you dummy..” she mumbled to herself. “It’ll never happen.”

Hearing the door to The Posh Pit slide open, Viola raised her eyes, trying to blink her exhaustion away. Seeing a tall, dark-haired man enter the store, the girl momentarily found herself at a loss for words. Her English always came harder when she was tired. Flashing him a smile, Viola figured it was almost as good as, “Hello, how are you?”

Returning to her work, Viola’s eyes occasionally flicked to the dark-haired stranger as he made his way through the store. It was clear he was lost. Viola suspected he was like most single men who wandered into the store. He was looking to buy something for a girlfriend, a sister.. Maybe a daughter? He didn’t look quite that old, but maybe.. Checking the time, Viola frowned.

She needed to get home soon – her mother had a bad habit of neglecting her medication, unless Viola was there to remind her. The sooner this new shopper found what he was looking for, the sooner the girl could go home. Folding one last t-shirt, Viola placed it beneath the counter.

Approaching the man from behind, Viola cleared her throat, and adopted her friendliest voice.

“I help you?” she asked.