As I put my phone back into my pocket, I heard an engine rev behind me. I looked back
to see the Harley returning with its attractive owner racing down the road. I smiled in
his direction, and brought up the fingers of my free hand in a weak wave, but he drove on
by without a sign, intent on the road before him.
I put down my bag, flexed my sore fingers, watching them turn from white to red as the
blood rushed into them. I picked the bag back up half-heartedly in my other hand, and
continued plodding along. The sign at the overpass for I-15 announced that the hotel was
another 1.8 miles down the way – or up, I should say, since the road grew steeper by the
inch. It wasn’t right. On television, the desert looked flat.
I dropped my bag at the overpass. It was heavy and I was winded and dehydrated, not to
mention hot and hungry. The traffic on the highway was sparse, but existent. I
considered hitching a ride. I remembered horror stories from my childhood about people
who hitchhiked, but how many of them were just that – stories? As long as I was careful,
I would be OK. I was a woman of the new millennium, with a college education and a sharp
mind. Besides, I’d also heard stories of people dying in the desert, and those didn’t
sound very pleasant either.
I’d just made up my mind to follow the entrance ramp onto the highway when a giant,
fancy RV drove up behind me, looking more like a modern bus than a motorhome. It was grey
with black waves, and kicked up large dust clouds as it smoothly coasted onto the shoulder
of the road. It stopped about ten feet behind me and there, behind the windshield, was
the man from the Harley, his eyes gleaming with knowledge and pleasure. Sure enough, the
RV towed the shining bike behind it.
The man hopped out of his rig and strode over to me casually. He still wore his boots
and blue jeans, but had removed his jacket, revealing a tight white t-shirt beneath. His
helmet was gone as well. The hair on the top of his head was a few inches long and
distinctly silver, not grey. And his eyes were green! His face was world-worn, but not
weary, and when he grinned, he exposed a hint of a dimple on his left cheek.
Then his face broke into a broad smile, softening his square jaw. When I said he was
handsome earlier, I was wrong. The man was downright hot. I don’t know how he did it,
but he exuded the sex and raw power of a man half his age. He was older than my father,
and yet I wanted him to fuck me then and there. Instead, I giggled awkwardly as I greeted
him.
"Hi there," I half-whispered.
"Hey," he nodded as he approached, putting out his hand. "The name’s
Fox."
"I’m Tess." We shook, his rough hand encompassing mine.
"You need a lift?"
"You know?" surprising myself more than him, "I think I do."
"Where to?" Fox stood only about two feet away from me with his hands on his
hips in a wide stance.
"The … uh … Motel 8 down the street?" I sounded ridiculous, even to myself.
He raised one eyebrow and furrowed the other, in a measured look of disbelief. Fox was
six inches taller than me, and his glower made me feel even smaller. My heart beat
quickly as I spoke, "Or, um, Washington, D.C., if you’re going that way."
Fox jerked his head towards the passenger’s seat in the RV. "Well, I’m on my way
to Tennessee myself. Why don’t you hop in, Miss Tess, and we’ll see whether it’s the
Motel 8 or towards the nation’s capitol we head to."
He loaded my bag, opened the passenger’s side door, and even held out his hand to help
me step up into the vehicle. The air inside was cool.
"You’re quite the gentleman," I remarked.
Fox laughed out loud. "Well, see about that sweetie, won’t we now?"
"Well, you’re one up on my ex." I launched into the tale of my miserable
journey west, as comfortable as if Fox were Claire. I told him about Derrick’s awful
fascination with Roy Rogers rest stops, and about the fight over whether the graham
crackers we bought in West Virginia were stale when we opened them in Oklahoma.
"Did he hurt you?" Fox interrupted.
"Not at all. He barely touched me.” The next words tumbled out of my mouth
before I was aware of them. “I wish he had hurt me.” The words surprised me, but they
were true. “I mean, not, like killed me or anything, but, you know, I wouldn’t have
minded if he’d roughed me up a bit. I mean, at least it would have been …
interesting."
Fox looked over at me. "Surely you don’t mean that."
My mouth stood open before I spoke. This time, I knew what I was saying. "Yes,
yes, I do. In fact, I’ve been curious about, um, sadomasochism for a while now. Ever
since I was little."
I recognized how ridiculous this was – perhaps even monumentally stupid – telling a
stranger about my deepest sexual fantasies. But Fox’s presence was calming, and I could
tell he wanted to hear more, even as his eyes returned to the road.
"I’ve dreamed of being bound and beaten, teased and tortured, used and
abused." After days pent up with Derrick, it felt amazing to say whatever I wanted.
"I want someone to tie my wrists to my ankles, fuck me for hours, and leave me to
dry."
Fox snorted.
"Oh my god! Did I just say that?"
"You sure did, Miss Tess."
I could feel my cheeks heating up. Fox had pulled that out of me. I don’t know how,
but he had me telling him things I’d never told anyone, things I wasn’t sure I’d told
myself. My heart didn’t know whether to beat faster with excitement or fear, so it did
both, pounding twice as hard.
After a slight turn right in the road, the Motel 8 sign came into view, just behind a
billboard for Vegas. I hissed at the mention of Sin City, the dreaded destination for my
miserable trip west.
The RV pulled onto the road’s shoulder, in front of the motel. Fox took his time
setting the vehicle into park, adjusting his seat belt, and finally turning off the
engine.
"Well, here we are, Miss Tess. What’ll it be? Are you getting out?"
The light from the Super 8 sign turned my skin a sickly yellow. "Well, I don’t
have any money for gas…"
Fox laughed aloud. "I didn’t think you did, sweet thing. Here’s how it
works." His grin gave a hint that he had done before, but his eyes bore into me as
if I were the only being in the world besides him. He interrupted his own thought to ask,
"Were you serious about that kinky stuff you said before?"
Everything I had ever learned told me to say no. It said I should get out of the RV
right then and check into the Motel 8. But I really didn’t want to. I didn’t want to
leave Fox now. I wanted to see where he was going with this.
"I guess so.”
"Good. That will be useful. I will drive you home on the condition that you do
everything I say. But I warn you, it won’t all be ropes and whips. You will cook for me
and clean for me, and best of all, entertain me. Until we get to the East Coast, I will
own you. And when we arrive, should you wish, I will drive you not only to Tennessee, but
right up to your door in D.C. What do you say, Miss Tess?"
I thought about Claire and Ron. They probably didn’t have the money. Tomorrow
morning, I’d be out the cost of a hotel room and I’d still be stuck 100 miles outside of
Vegas. The decision was clear. After all, I had gone west for adventure, right?
"Are you going to r...ape me?"
Fox stopped, rubbing his hand on his stubbly chin.
"No," he answered deliberately.
"Can I change my mind later?"
Fox chuckled. He continually knew something I didn’t. "You may leave at any time
you wish." There was something wrong with that statement; it was too easy. There
would be a catch. "I can’t promise you Vegas, but I’ll surely give you a run for
your money. Or," Fox nodded towards the cement motel with the flickering vacancy
sign, "You could stay there. Your choice, Miss Tess."
I looked Fox over once more. He was older than my father, perhaps, but certainly
younger than my grandfather. Outlines of muscles framed his white t-shirt, and his
forearms were tanned and well-defined. He wore a tiny diamond stud earring in his left
ear, adding one more twinkle to the shine of his face. And if I breathed in deeply
enough, I could smell the traces of a musky perfume mixed with the scent of a day’s sweat.
I wanted to stay.
"I’d love to, Fox."
"From now on, you will call me Sir." His tone was matter-of-fact, without a
hint of reprimand, but if I forgot in the future, I suspected he would not be as
indifferent.
"Yes, Sir. I would love to accompany you."
"Good," Fox’s body relaxed. "I was hoping you would stay. You really
are a sexy little thing, aren't you? You sure you’re legal?"
"Yes, Sir, I graduated from college three weeks ago."
"And what are you doing now that you’ve graduated, Miss Tess?"
"I have no idea."
Fox laughed again, a chuckle that rose in a slow crescendo into a loud laugh before
fading back into isolated snickers, each one hitting into the pit of my stomach, and
lower, into the heart of my clit. It seemed he was going to take advantage of me in every
way he could short of raping me, and I couldn’t have been more aroused. My cunt pulsed as
he drove in silence into a sunset quickly fading to dusk.
Fox navigated his way onto I-15 East and around an ancient pick-up truck in the right
lane. The engine jumped into high gear without much of a fuss and soon we were the only
vehicle in sight. The occasional car or truck passed in the other direction, but for vast
stretches, it was us and the desert. It was nearly dark before Fox spoke again.
"Hungry?" he asked.
"Famished."
"Don’t exaggerate, girlie. There are some energy bars in the glove compartment.
Give me a Berry Blast. Unwrap one end, but leave the rest in the foil."
My stomach growled as I opened the glove compartment, nearly a dozen shining bars of
protein and nourishment. Derrick had stopped for lunch before 11 a.m., "to beat the
rush". I tugged on the lip of the wrapper, and the scent of berries in the air was
sickeningly sweet and alluring. Resisting my urge to stuff the whole bar in my mouth, I
handed it over.
I waited for his word to take one for myself, but he was too invested in eating his own
to notice me. At least that’s what I thought until I caught him glance over my way. The
malicious joy in his eyes was unmistakable. He knew I was hungry, and what’s more, he
enjoyed it.
What he didn’t know – or perhaps he did – was how wet it was making me, to wait for his
command like a trained dog. Fox had finished his energy bar and crumpled the wrapper into
his pocket before I realized that maybe I was not waiting after all. It might be that he
had no intention of feeding me at the moment, and was just asking about my hunger out of
curiosity. Reluctantly, I closed the glove compartment.
"Good girl," said Fox, once the door clicked into place. "Assume
nothing. You may have an energy bar. You may even choose the flavor."
"Thank you, Sir." I savored the chewy Almond and Cranberry Parade, dry as it
was, filled with moments of sweetness and thin, smooth slices of nut. It was surprisingly
filling.
Having eaten a bit, Fox relaxed and opened conversation. "Have you ever been to
Tennessee?"
I shook my head. "I’ve been to Virginia a few times, out to the mountains."
My family had rented a cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains, back when I was 9. "I
loved all the green."
"If you ain’t seen Tennessee, you ain’t seen green!" Fox waxed on about his
cabin in the woods, surrounded by hills of the most luscious, verdant foliage he’d ever
encountered, and with grass so bright and pure even Crayola couldn’t imitate it.
"It sounds lovely."
Fox asked about D.C., and I told him about the residential neighborhood where I’d grown
up, filled with row after endless row of box houses arranged along numbered streets that
stretched out from the center of the city into the neighboring states. I told him about
my voyages up the Northeast Corridor for college to exotic Baltimore, where I lived in
earshot of the Amtrak station and fell asleep most nights wishing I were going somewhere,
anywhere. Fox listened with interest and asked more about my life: boring. My education:
also boring. And my love life? Minimal, at best.
"Well, you’re certainly going somewhere now. Take off your shirt."
"Excuse me?" I heard his words again in my head and processed his command,
but not until I had already asked.
"Take off your shirt." His words were as casual as his directions for
opening his Berry Blast bar, and just as clear.
"But what if someone…" I felt the RV jerk to an abrupt stop on the shoulder
of the road. Fox pounded the brakes so hard that his wheels screeched to a stop. I was
still fumbling with my tank top when I heard the unmistakable slice of steel being
unsheathed. Fox briefly displayed a short knife with a glimmering blade and an ornate,
pewter base.
I froze when he held the broad side of the blade along my neck. The hair on the nape
of my neck stood on end, and a shiver spread down my shoulders. I twitched involuntarily,
and hoped I wouldn’t again, for fear I would nick myself.
"I will tell you one more time." Fox’s voice hadn’t changed in tone, but the
cold blade stressed his conviction. "Take off your shirt. I do not like to have to
threaten."
He removed the knife from my throat. I hastily removed my tank top. The night air was
cold on my skin and my breasts filled with goose bumps. Fox pulled my shirt from my hand,
rolled open his window, and tossed it out. He put away his knife, pulled back onto the
highway and breathed to himself for a few minutes before speaking again. When he did
speak, his words were calm and steady, as if nothing had happen. Fox was a terrifying
unknown.
"There is a black bag behind my seat. Bring it up here." I found the
leather duffle bag easily, and with some effort, heaved it into the front seat without
knocking my ride and tormentor in the head.
"In the small zipper on the side is a pair of cuffs. Pull them out."
The cuffs were thick leather, and each was fitted with a heavy chrome o-ring and
carabineer clip. The cuffs felt solid and weighty in my hands, and my fingers rubbed
along the inside to find soft, padded silk. I oohed aloud, stroking the fabric.
"They are very nice, aren’t they? Treat them well. One on each wrist please, and
you may put the bag away for now."
Fox watched the dark road as he spoke, but when I stretched over to put his bag back
behind his seat, his fingers gave my nipple a tweak. It hurt, but not terribly, and it
served to have me squirming in my seat for more while I awaited further directions. My
wrists felt strange when I moved them, top-heavy from the metal fittings, and they rattled
noisily with each shift.
"Hook yourself up to the headrest behind you." The carabineers were easy to
attach to the metal rods holding the headrest to the passenger’s seat. Slack in the
chains allowed me to move my arms to find a comfortable position, but they were still
raised high, exposing the sensitive flesh from the tip of my armpit down to my tit, and
forcing my breasts up and out.
Fox took a glance over. "You look good, all splayed out for me." He
snickered, and my cold nipples grew even harder, until they were painfully tight.
"Don’t you forget. You are mine until we hit the East Coast, and I like to secure my
cargo tightly."
I whimpered, surprising myself, if not Fox, at the pleasure I took in my own
humiliation.
"Good girl." He patted my head and brushed his rough fingers along my soft
skin. Then he loaded a Johnny Cash CD into the stereo, turned up the volume, and drove in
silence, without giving me another look or, it seemed, another thought. I would still be
there at the end of his journey, and for now, there were more important things to pay
attention to.
I felt small and submissive – possessed but protected, and hornier than I had been in
ages. I twitched in my seat, clenching my cunt muscles fiercely, until I heard the chair
itself squeaking. I stopped in embarrassment.
I watched the road and the endless mile markers until an exhausting day overtook me and
I fell asleep, wearing only my jeans and my sneakers – still full of sand – my hands bound
above me, in a stranger’s RV. I suppose you could say that I was bound to travel.
CHAPTER II: EVENING PLEASURES
My eyes shot open in pain, Fox’s devious face in mine. He had my nipples tight between
his forefingers and thumbs, twisting them savagely.
"Oh good, you’re awake," he remarked, gave a few final pinches, and tousled
my bobbed auburn hair. He took it by the handful and tugged my head back and forth a few
times in a display of ownership.
My arms, still bound to the headrest above me, were sore, but not as bad off as I
thought they might be.
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