Wanderlust (6 page)

Shutting my eyes against the dark, I
whispered, "I forgive you."

His body stuttered, halted suddenly in
a harsh and rigid climax. He jerked my head back and mashed his
lips against mine, sucking and biting at me with a violence that
triggered my own orgasm. I came with long inner pulls of his
twitching cock and a quiet cry that tumbled onto his
tongue.

As our bodies softened and cooled in
the aftermath, he stared at me, almost bewildered.

A slow blink brought awareness and a
glimmer of wonder. His mouth curved in a sleek, satisfied
smile.

He bent his head and licked my bottom
lip. "I liked that very much."

For reasons I couldn't analyze, his
words made my sex clench around his softened cock.

He chuckled and rolled to the
side.

With leisurely movements, he untied
me. I rubbed my wrists for a moment, unsure about what to do. I
could make a run for it. There would never be a better chance than
right now. But it felt overly dramatic. I had my things on the
bathroom counter and a fifty dollar deposit at the front desk. It
hadn't hurt. It was only casual sex. In fact, it was the best sex
I'd ever had. The only consensual sex, if I could call it
that.

Leaning over, I pulled the condom off,
using my hand to keep it from spilling. He jerked in my hand then
grunted.

"What are you doing?" he
muttered.

I cocked my head. "Cleaning you. Isn't
that...? I thought... "

He sent me a lazy grin. "Let me guess.
Boyfriend number two."

“
He wasn’t my
boyfriend.”

"Well he sounds like one hell of a
bastard, but it seems I owe him one." He gestured to himself. "Get
to it then."

I turned back to my task, licking up
the salty juices from his softening cock, his balls, working my
tongue down into the taint as I had been taught to. It had tasted
copper with my blood then. It was the way between a man and a
woman, he'd said, and I had never questioned the practice until
now. Still, it seemed to satisfy this man too. He let out a small
sigh as I ran my tongue from the tip of his cock to the
base.

When I had cleaned him, he pushed my
head gently down against his stomach. His abs were hard and
lightly-furred—an unconventional pillow. Exhausted from the fear
and the struggle, sated from climax, I slipped into a dark
sleep.

I dreamed of my mother. Her face was
distorted and twisted.

She sneered at me. "Not so proud now,
are you?"

"I didn't want to do it," I sobbed.
"He made me."

"You left just so you could fuck guys
like him."

"No, no." I pleaded for her to
understand, for her to absolve me. "I didn't know."

"With that face and that body?" she
scoffed. "You knew what would happen, and you wanted
it."

"Why didn't you stop me?"

"I did, girl. I told you not to
go...not to go..."

I woke up with a cock in my mouth. I
gasped, struggling to breathe. It took me a few minutes and several
thrusts to get oriented. My hands were tied behind my back, arching
my body up as I lay on top of them. He straddled my neck, thrusting
mercilessly into my mouth. He didn't seem to notice that I was
awake now, or care that I had been asleep before. He simply used
me, and something subversive sent warmth to…to my cunt. That was
what he called it. But there was nothing but cool air between my
legs as he sawed his cock against my tongue.

I tried to use my tongue, to find the
rhythm, but it was erratic, only in his head. I could do nothing
but open to him, to take him repeatedly until he grunted and filled
my mouth with foamy cum. A drop spilled out of the corner of my
mouth and trailed down my skin. There were no tears left, only
this.

He sighed as he slipped out. Sleepily,
almost as if he were still sleeping, he scooted down my body until
his head rested on the cushion of my breasts. They were soft and
plump, but they couldn't have made a comfortable pillow. Still, he
fell asleep almost instantly, his breathing evening out into a
peace I could only envy.

Blinking up at the water-stained
ceiling, I wondered if I could pretend this night had never
happened.

I must have drifted off to sleep,
because when I woke, my arms were in agony. He used me many times
that night. He dragged me onto his cock, forcing me to ride him
while my arms were still bound behind me. He controlled the speed
of my thrusts with twists and slaps to my breasts. The next time he
licked at my cunt, sucked and bit until I came with a screaming
abandon I'd never felt or even imagined.

The next time he dragged me by my hair
to the bathroom where the bright light stung my sleep-dimmed eyes.
He scrubbed my body with the harsh soap, as if to remove every
trace of him. Then he took me back to the bed, spread me open, and
sprayed ropes of cum across my breasts, ruining all his
work.

There was an inconsistency there, as
if he were fighting himself just to fuck me. I started to fear that
he would kill me after all. Maybe it would get to be too much.
Maybe we were stuck in an infinite loop of lust and hatred, and the
only way to end it would be to kill me. Which would I prefer—to
spend an eternity in purgatory or take a gamble with hell? But
these were only the meandering thoughts of an exhausted mind,
because this would end soon. Already morning light whispered
through the curtains. Our sex had turned sluggish and sloppy,
though he seemed reluctant to end it.

I knelt, my face and shoulders pressed
into the coverlet as he pushed into me from behind. When he came,
his groan sounded like an animal in agony, a cry for help. He
jerked back his cock, and I knew it was as sensitive and raw as my
own tender flesh. It didn't make sense why he pushed himself to the
pain, but we weren't operating on the laws of logic here, not
inside the looking glass. There was only our primal senses, a sort
of ironic inevitability, like an animal who fights to the death
just to prove that he's dominant.

I dozed on the bed, too broken to
move, as I heard him get up and rummage around the room. The sink
in the bathroom went on briefly. There was the sound of water
nearby, and then he was raising my head, tilting it up. The curve
of a cup touched my lips. Cool water slid down my parched throat,
following by a bitter aftertaste and powder residue.

I made a face and tried to pull
away.

"Shh," he said, nudging the cup
against my lips. "Drink up."

My limbs were too heavy to push him
and already the liquid ran down my neck. I opened my mouth and
drank. Relief filled me.

"That's a good girl." He leaned down,
whispering into my ear. "I'm sorry about this. I really am. You’re
too good."

He'd really done it, I realized as my
consciousness faded. He'd killed me, and now we could both be
free.

CHAPTER FIVE

The Niagara Falls State
Park is the oldest state park in the United States.

I woke up in a rumbling, rattling
darkness. My body was jolted around. I heard the hollow bang of
metal, but some sort of thin padding protected me from the worst of
the blows. Every time I tried to move, pain seared through my
brain. As blood returned to my fingers and toes, agony followed. So
I focused on staying as still as possible, eyes shut tightly
against the possibility that was becoming more and more
certain.

The back of a truck. I was
in
his
truck.

He hadn’t killed me. He’d been
apologizing for kidnapping me. It wasn’t hard to figure out what I
would be used for. This was a nightmare, exactly the kind of thing
my mother warned me about. I would take all of the precautions she
wanted while secretly rolling my eyes because that kind of thing
only happened to girls on TV. Not to me. Oh God, not to
me.

Whether from remnants of the drug or
just fear, I felt exhausted, and I allowed the steady motion of the
truck to lull me into a thoughtless place. Nothing so comforting as
sleep, but free of the nightmares my mind drew for me. Last night
had only been the beginning. There was more.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, I took
inventory of my body. My hands were tied behind my back, cuffed at
the wrists by something soft but intractable. My feet were
similarly bound, though I couldn’t see them at all. I was lying on
something mildly soft, maybe a padding or a thick
blanket.

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.