Krissy was no longer sobbing. That terrifying man had told her to shut up, so she had. She couldn’t quite stop whimpering, though. She was lying face down on the floor in the back of the car, and he had his foot on the back of her neck. He wasn’t applying any pressure, but she knew that he could, and would, any time that he felt like it. The carpeting felt rough against her breasts, belly and thighs, but that was a minor irritation. The other man had pulled her elbows so close together that her neck, arms and shoulders were beginning to ache. She felt like throwing up, but she hadn’t had time to eat anything all evening so her stomach churned acid and empty. Every so often, whenever the car hit a bump, she could taste bile in the back of her throat. If she hadn’t used the powder room back in that empty house, she was sure that she would have soiled herself by now. And the ride went on and on, in silence broken only by the muted tiger purring of the car’s engine, the sound of its tires on the road, and her own hopeless whimpers.
She’d thought she knew what to expect. She’d heard stories, and had at least thought about what she would do if one of those stories ever happened to her. But it was very clear now that what had happened to her…what was still happening to her…didn’t sound like any story she had ever heard. She didn’t like thinking about that: It could mean that no one had ever come back to tell such a story.
She felt the car turn, then accelerate smoothly, powerfully. The man took his foot off of the back of her neck and bent over to take Krissy by her shoulders. He lifted her as if she weighed no more than a kitten and sat her down on his lap.
“How are you?” he asked.
“It hurts,” Krissy answered. “Sir.” It was probably a good idea to call him ‘sir’. He certainly seemed to like it.
“Yes, I imagine that it does,” he nodded. Up close like this, he seemed even more threatening. On the surface, he seemed very much like many of the men she’d targeted over the past few years: Middle aged, going a little gray at his temples, good-looking, probably very well-off…until she got to his eyes. She shuddered and turned her head away. His eyes were intense. They took in everything at a glance, piercing every outward appearance. They were a predator’s eyes, a hunter’s eyes. Had she come across him under any other circumstances, those eyes would have warned her against thinking of targeting him. Indeed, she would have gone to great lengths for him to not even notice her.
He put one arm around her shoulders, keeping her upright. “It usually does hurt,” he said as his free hand came up to cup and squeeze her breast. “But doesn’t it make these lovely tits stand out? You’re a very lucky girl,” he went on. “These are beautifully formed and quite delectable.” He shifted his hand to her other breast. “Other women would kill for a pair like these. I’m afraid that gravity is not going to be your friend, though. Now, imagine how appealing they’d look with your elbows touching. That would make them really stick out, wouldn’t it? Men would drool over them.” He ran the backs of his fingers across her nipples. She shuddered.
“But you prefer other women, I’m told,” he sighed. “Is that true?”
“Yes, sir,” Krissy gulped.
“So something like this repels you?” His hand came down gently on her thigh. Then he began to slowly slide his fingers between her legs. Krissy heaved weakly, tasting bile again.
“Yes, sir,” she sobbed. She wanted to beg him not to do that, but it would be pointless. He was going to do what he was going to do.
“It seems a shame,” he said, his voice softening. “Your skin is so warm and soft.” His fingers slid and squeezed, as if they were so many lascivious tongues that found her flesh delicious. She heaved again, out of fear and revulsion. The acids from her empty stomach burned her throat. His fingers, still between her legs, moved slowly upwards.
“Have you ever had a man, Krissy?” he asked. “I mean apart from that fat lout tonight? But I imagine you had no choice then. Answer me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And did you enjoy it?”
Krissy hesitated.
“Come, now. It’s not that difficult a question. Was your first time with a man or a woman?”
“A man, sir.”
“And did you enjoy it?”
“Yes, sir.” Indeed she had, but she really hadn’t known much then, and she certainly hadn’t known how much sweeter, how much better, it could be with other women. Once she had realized that, men had become more and more distasteful to her over time. Now she was here, naked, alone and painfully bound, in the hands of a man, close enough to smell the lingering remnants of his aftershave. Once more, she tasted bile.
“Well, perhaps you’ll come to enjoy it again,” he chuckled. “You might as well. You won’t have any say in the matter.”