And I was naked. Of course I was naked and damp and aching down there where he had entered me. I didn’t even know what to call that place. My vagina. That seemed wrong, too clinical. A gasping, desperate laugh escaped me. I could barely put a name to it, but he’d been inside there. Inside my cunt.
My innocence suddenly seemed sinister, as if it were the true cause of my predicament. Maybe if I’d had more experience with men, I would have anticipated this. If I’d had regular sex, I would be able to handle this.
It seemed to go on forever, the whistle of wind, the rumble of wheels. Occasionally we would slow and turn, but then we’d find some even road again to barrel away for hours. Untraceable hours away from my car, from my new job, from my mother’s house. She wouldn’t even know I had gone missing. Suddenly that seemed like a relief. At least she wouldn’t know. It would only make her more afraid. It would only make her gloat.
I must have been dozing because the screech of brakes startled me. The long drive had calmed me into a sense of complacency, as if I could exist forever in the dark, but I knew it would end. I’d have to face him and whatever he would do to me.
The roar of metal rushing against metal assaulted my ears before white light blinded me. Before my eyes adjusted, he flipped me over. He untied my hands and my legs, sending a rush of pinpricks into my fingers and toes. A moan escaped me.
“It’s okay, sunshine,” he murmured, rubbing his hands over my arms briskly. “Just a few minutes and you’ll be right as rain.”
Gradually, the physical discomfort faded and I became aware of a new sensation: hunger. Ravenous hunger that sharpened into pain and the wonderful smell of cooling fast food. He smirked, handing over a bag. I had no dignity left. I ripped into the bag, scarfing down half the container of fries before I glanced up at him. He was watching me. There was no judgment on his face, only a kind of unnerving fascination that was somehow worse. I wasn’t even worthy of his pity but some curious creature, something lower. I bent my head and polished off my fries and burger and washed it all down with the soda he produced.
My body felt a little more solid now, but my emotional state frayed. He was even more handsome in the morning light, like someone I would have had a crush on but never would have had the guts to approach. It twisted me inside because as sick as it was, I wanted him to like me. I was still desperate for a friend. I started to cry.
He pulled me into his arms, curled on his lap. I held myself rigid for only a minute—small rebellions—before sinking into his warmth. He smelled of musk and spice, and I turned my face into him, letting my tears soak his shirt, clinging to him as if he could save me even while his arms held me captive.
I cried for having stayed with my mother too long, not knowing what a normal life would have been like. I cried for finally summoning the strength to leave, only to have all my worst fears prove true. Most of all, I cried because I felt relief to have been captured.
The outside world was terrifying, but here inside this large tin box on wheels, none of that could touch me. Only he could touch me. Even as I sobbed in his arms, I felt his erection harden beneath me. He made no move to use it on me, not yet, but I had no doubts that he would. That was my purpose here.
Eventually, I quieted, sniffling every so often. I may have even drowsed that way, still affected by whatever drug he had given me.
“It’s okay.” he said, his lips pressed against the crown of my head. “You’re so pretty when you cry.”
I felt myself blush even as my stomach turned over. But I couldn’t hate myself for the small pleasure I took. There were so few pleasures in life, and even less in the back of this truck, but I could accept his compliments. I could accept his pleasure too.
There were some men you didn’t say no to.
I wriggled my body experimentally. I told myself it was only to test my limits, but maybe there was a part of me that wanted to seduce him. It was sick, but I wanted him to touch me more, to hold me tighter. I wanted the intimacy from last night in the absence of any true connections in the whole wide world.
I didn’t know him at all, but he had touched the deepest part of me and in my own way, I had touched the deepest part of him too. There was a strange but addictive magic to sex. It tied a thin string from his soul to mine with every joining, and I wondered how many times it would take before we were inseparable. They were fanciful thoughts, but I felt that way—like dreaming, like lightness. He would bring me back down. He would ground me.
Scooting aside, I placed my hand on him, there. The denim was stiff against my palm, no give at all. I paused, glancing up at him.
Surprise was in his eyes, and lust too. “Go on, sunshine. You want to see what I look like? How I’m made? Take it out.”
Carefully, I unzipped his jeans and opened the flaps. He wore nothing underneath, and he fell heavily into my palm, thick and long. The skin was silky smooth against my palm. I closed my fingers around it, and it jumped.