"I'm dead inside," she says to me.

"How dead?" I ask, one eyebrow slightly perked.

She shrugs.

"Do you care?" I ask her.

"What?"

"Do you give a fuck?"

She scoffs, and rolls her eyes slightly.

I move closer to her, close enough that we touch. "So you don't care at all?" I ask her again.

She looks at me with confusion. Her social conditioning says that girls can't touch, and she just told me that she doesn't care.

I reach down under her skirt and touch her sex gently, caressing her with one finger. Her breath pitches. I didn't ask for consent; she didn't give it. She opens her legs wider.

I reach into her undergarments and cup her sex. She's dry, and warm. Gently, i slip a finger in between her lips, and her breathing deepens. Softly enough to not abrade, i touch her, until she starts to become wet, wet enough that i can stroke harder, wet enough that i can slip two fingers inside her, wet enough that i can bury my hand in her up to the knuckles, and her eyes roll into the back of her head; she doesn't care, not about this; it feels good.

I take my time, rolling my hand into her, gripping with pressure enough, reaching that spot just above and in front. She moans, and sighs, i keep going. She rocks her hips into me, i don't stop. All she feels is pleasure.

We continue, slowly building, . I listen to her mind and her mind tells me what to do. Touch here; feel there. This way, that way. By the time she starts fucking my hand i let her take the lead, and she's rocking back and forth, gasping, gasping. She builds to the height of orgasm and i let her. She comes, and comes, and comes, she moans, her body shakes.

When she has come back down, she cries. She curls up in a ball and weeps, and i hold her.

We hold each other.

des