“That’s right,” he praised. “Touch my cock. Stroke it for me, baby. Make it good and hard so I can fuck you with it.”
It was so wrong, but I let it happen. So dirty, and it washed over me. If I went into a sort of trance, he couldn’t really hurt me. It even felt good. Wasn’t that better than pain? Than fear? My mother had lived in fear, and she was safe—but she was still afraid. I was the opposite of safe here, but I didn’t have to be afraid. Maybe that was the ultimate freedom.
I tightened my fingers around his length and tugged. His cock. That was the word he used. Tentatively, I slipped my hand down and then up again.
He groaned. “More. Again.”
I stroked him until his hips bucked into my hands, and I found a sort of power there. In bringing him pleasure, I empowered myself. I could wield it in the withholding of pleasure, hesitating before the next stroke to hear him beg. A small rebellion, like syrup for my pancakes.
“Get on the bed.” His voice came out gutturally.
I lay down on my back, my legs slightly parted. Together enough to hide me from sight, but the small space between them was a message—I wouldn’t say no to him. But he didn’t climb between them, not yet. He knelt astride my body, a knee on either side, his cock resting thickly in the valley between my breasts.
He rolled my nipples between his fingers, setting off sparks that I felt down to my core. Harder, he pinched. I whimpered in response, but that made him tighten further. Only when my hips bucked up of their own accord did he release me. He pushed my breasts together, wrapping the pliant flesh around his cock.
With slow glides, he thrust between them. It should have done nothing for me. They were just breasts, and he wasn’t even stimulating them really. He was just using them for his own pleasure. But the sight of the dark head of his cock excited me as it peeked from between my pale skin.
The feel of the dampness in the crevice as his tip leaked his seed. The sound of his pants above me, growing harsher, more ragged. Heat gathered in my sex, and with nothing to assuage it, my legs fell open, begging without words, without thought.
He noticed, glancing back with his cock still trapped between my breasts. “Goddamn,” he breathed. “You are too perfect. I can’t let you go.”
It almost broke the spell, that reference to how I’d come to be here in the back of this truck. Almost, but I held onto the trance, to the cloud of arousal that made this all okay.
“Please,” I whispered. “Help me.”
“Yeah. Oh yeah.”
He sounded incredulous, and why shouldn’t he? How many captives would have been willing participants in this? How many captives had he had? But I had learned early on to make the best of my situation, to flourish even under hothouse lights, within glass walls.
“You’re so good, pet,” he said, climbing down my body. My legs were already open to him, already damp. He bent his head, pressing a kiss to the top of my mound. “This is your treat.”
With unaccountable tenderness, he licked me, first around the soft lips, and that was shocking enough, but then he slipped his tongue into the damp crevice and swirled higher to the tight bundle of nerves. My legs shook where he had hooked them over his shoulders. I cried out, but he didn’t relent, didn’t let up until another blinding light overtook me, this one painful too, but also wonderful. There was no air in that place, no thought or fear in the pleasure, only his tongue and my skin and the shudders that racked my body.
He turned me over so that my face and breasts and belly pressed against the musty mattress. I waited for him to enter me from behind, as he had done last night. Instead, I felt him rustle behind me, heard the quiet snick of plastic. Coolness shocked the heated skin of my bottom as his fingers rubbed a sort of gel. But not where I thought it would go. He was putting it there, on a hole I never imagined could be violated.
I let out a soft cry of protest.
A light slap hit my thigh. “Quiet now. Just relax and it will be fine.”
But I couldn’t. I tensed against the invasion. It felt like stretching, like burning, and I knew it would only get worse. “Please.”
He bent his mouth to my knee, speaking softly. “Am I shocking you?”
“I didn’t know—”
“Well, now you do, sunshine. And you know what else? I think you’re more adventurous than you let on. You’ve been sheltered, that much is clear. Well, you’re going to expand your horizons with me.”
I sobbed against the coarse blanket, feeling pinned but also freed. There was nothing I could do in this position, no way to get free.
“You need a good cry,” he said thoughtfully. “Yes, I think so.”
I wished he were more certain. I liked his aggression better than his twisted consideration. I wanted him to hurt me, not help me.