The Fallen Salesgirl - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
You are reading The Fallen Salesgirl, Chapter 7: Chapter 7. Read more chapters of The Fallen Salesgirl.
Derek Anderson was relentless, his words like venom—slut, whore, worthless—spilling from his lips between rough, punishing hands. The worst part? My body betrayed me, reacting against my will, twisting humiliation deeper into my gut.
The bedroom was dark, the heavy curtains blotting out time. When Derek finally finished, exhaustion and terror coiled inside me.
My situation was desperate.
Richard Winston had taken my emergency contraception—Plan B—and now, nearly twenty-four hours had slipped by. If I didn't act soon, even those pills might not be enough. The thought of an unwanted pregnancy—of not even knowing who the father would be—made my stomach churn.
Outside the door, Richard's voice cut through my panic. "Had fun, buddy?"
Derek chuckled. "This bitch fights, but damn, she's wild. Nothing like breaking a fake prude."
Their laughter was thick with cruelty.
"Don't worry," Richard added, smug. "We've got all weekend. Come back tonight for round two."
My heart plummeted.
He wasn't letting me go.
By evening, Derek returned, energy undimmed. This time, I didn't fight—just glared. "I'll report you," I hissed.
"Dumb bitch," he spat, ripping off my panties and tossing them aside.
I clenched my teeth, enduring, whispering again, "I will report you..."
Derek just sneered. "Try it, slut. See how far you get."
They didn't stop.
The entire weekend blurred into a nightmare—maybe ten hours of broken sleep, the rest spent as their plaything. By Sunday night, I prayed Richard would finally release me.
He didn't.
Weak, barely fed, I drifted in and out of consciousness on the bed until the door creaked open. Richard strode in, holding my phone. "Olivia Sherwood's calling."
The screen showed an active call with our sales manager.
Olivia's voice crackled through. "Yvette, are you okay? Any progress?"
I swallowed. "I'm fine."
"Richard still hasn't mentioned payment!" she pressed. "Hurry up—it's almost month-end!"
Behind me, Richard's arms slid around my waist. Too weak to resist, I sagged against him.
"I'll… try harder," I murmured.
Richard yanked my dress strap down, his grip rough—not desire, just ownership. I gasped.
Olivia hesitated. "Yvette, are you—are you with Richard right now?"
Richard laughed into the phone. "She's feeling very good. I'll take extra good care of her."
Olivia stammered an apology and hung up.
Richard toyed with me a while longer before delivering a sharp slap to my backside.
By now, I knew the drill. I climbed atop him—at least this way, I had some control.
Richard smirked, lazy and satisfied, as I moved above him.
I didn't leave until Tuesday noon.
Eighty hours.
From Friday night to Tuesday afternoon, trapped in that house.
I tossed the Plan B pills in the trash.
Then I walked straight into the police station.
The bedroom was dark, the heavy curtains blotting out time. When Derek finally finished, exhaustion and terror coiled inside me.
My situation was desperate.
Richard Winston had taken my emergency contraception—Plan B—and now, nearly twenty-four hours had slipped by. If I didn't act soon, even those pills might not be enough. The thought of an unwanted pregnancy—of not even knowing who the father would be—made my stomach churn.
Outside the door, Richard's voice cut through my panic. "Had fun, buddy?"
Derek chuckled. "This bitch fights, but damn, she's wild. Nothing like breaking a fake prude."
Their laughter was thick with cruelty.
"Don't worry," Richard added, smug. "We've got all weekend. Come back tonight for round two."
My heart plummeted.
He wasn't letting me go.
By evening, Derek returned, energy undimmed. This time, I didn't fight—just glared. "I'll report you," I hissed.
"Dumb bitch," he spat, ripping off my panties and tossing them aside.
I clenched my teeth, enduring, whispering again, "I will report you..."
Derek just sneered. "Try it, slut. See how far you get."
They didn't stop.
The entire weekend blurred into a nightmare—maybe ten hours of broken sleep, the rest spent as their plaything. By Sunday night, I prayed Richard would finally release me.
He didn't.
Weak, barely fed, I drifted in and out of consciousness on the bed until the door creaked open. Richard strode in, holding my phone. "Olivia Sherwood's calling."
The screen showed an active call with our sales manager.
Olivia's voice crackled through. "Yvette, are you okay? Any progress?"
I swallowed. "I'm fine."
"Richard still hasn't mentioned payment!" she pressed. "Hurry up—it's almost month-end!"
Behind me, Richard's arms slid around my waist. Too weak to resist, I sagged against him.
"I'll… try harder," I murmured.
Richard yanked my dress strap down, his grip rough—not desire, just ownership. I gasped.
Olivia hesitated. "Yvette, are you—are you with Richard right now?"
Richard laughed into the phone. "She's feeling very good. I'll take extra good care of her."
Olivia stammered an apology and hung up.
Richard toyed with me a while longer before delivering a sharp slap to my backside.
By now, I knew the drill. I climbed atop him—at least this way, I had some control.
Richard smirked, lazy and satisfied, as I moved above him.
I didn't leave until Tuesday noon.
Eighty hours.
From Friday night to Tuesday afternoon, trapped in that house.
I tossed the Plan B pills in the trash.
Then I walked straight into the police station.
End of The Fallen Salesgirl Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to The Fallen Salesgirl book page.