She looked at me with stunned realization until I let loose again, catching her right between the thighs.
Finally we were ready. I dropped her to the passenger seat, her legs under her, looking to all the world like a handicapped, lower-legless girl. Then the coat went over her shoulders, covering her near nakedness and sticking to the gobs of cum. The seatbelt held her in tight, and I lashed her neck to the headrestone with one clear plastic pull-tie.
I sat in the driver's seat, drinking in her helpless beauty. Almost tenderly I held a lock of her mane.
"What lovely hair," I said, then pulled it to obscure most of her taped face. She made a despairing, despoiled sound, but the noise of the motor throbbing to life drowned it out.
I drove southeast, on backroads and unlit parkways, always using the exact change lanes at the tolls. I drove until she lost consciousness. Then I drove on the lighted thruways until we reached the correct exit. Then it was back on the rural roads again, deep into the slums, with the glow of the city getting brighter in the background.
She woke up when the engine stopped. She stared soundlessly into the face of an old black woman. The woman, name of Ida, was leaning against the passenger side of the car, which was wedged in an alleyway between two decrepit brick buildings.
I got out, checking the street at either end and the cracked, dirty, covered windows on either side.
"This her?" Ida asked. I didn't bother answering. What was I going to say: "No, this is another bound and gagged cum-coated sexbomb!"
"Down here," the wizened old woman said, unlocking and pushing open a door in the building directly beside the passenger door. I didn't bother responding to that, either. I merely walked around, opened the SUV door, snapped off the neck strap, unbuckled the seatbelt, and dragged the girl from the bucket seat to the room beyond with one easy motion.
I closed the door behind us and Ida switched on the single, yellow, 60 watt, overhead light. I dropped Erin on the dirty, ragged, thin mattress on the floor.
She blinked in amazement, having been dropped into a 1950's crime scene. The room had only one other door, which was criss-crossed with nailed-in boards.
The floor was cracked, dirty concrete. There was a stained sink and backless toilet in the corner. Besides the mattress there was a rotten old wooden card table and three heavy wooden chairs. Oh, and rope. Lots of rope and dirty rags.
The old woman was almost out the other door when I finally said something. "The car?" She turned and gave me an empty toothed smile that was pure pride.
"They won't even find an ash from the tray," she cackled. Then she was gone and the door closed as soundly as a crypt. Only after I sat down and sighed did I turn to look into Erin's big, dark blue eyes.
"You're not supposed to be here," I said. "I was supposed to drive straight through. But you're here because I wanted you here, and it's not like you've got a choice. Now I'm going to keep you here and fuck you ... because I can...."
She started to cry quietly and even beg exhaustedly, but within seconds the coat and bustier were off, her elbows and legs were untied, and my body was crushing her.
If anyone was watching, they wouldn't see much. Just a guy on an amazingly beautiful, amazingly built young woman, grunting and thrusting between her slack legs, his arms curled under her shoulders, jerking her onto him every other few seconds as she tried to say stop and no and don't and please.
But mostly she just sobbed. Until I came in her again.
Then, if anyone was watching they would have seen her ankles retied to her thighs, her tied wrists tied to her slim waist -- holding her hands above her hips -- sitting on my haunches, impaled on my hard-on, being jiggled up and down by her tits and hips. Maybe one tear dropped onto my chest, but mostly she just sat there, trying not to writhe in agony, occasionally crying out through her gag if I pinched or twisted or bit too hard.
Then it seemed to be over. I pushed her onto her side, where she wept, sighed, then lost consciousness. Maybe it was sleep. Maybe it wasn't.
When Erin awoke, she was alone. Even more incredibly, she was untied and ungagged.
Most surprising of all, she was dressed; in an incredibly old, tarnished white shirt, tight black skirt, seamed stockings and three inch stiletto high heel pumps.
She blinked. She shook her head. She even wondered if she had lost her mind or died, traveling back to the 50's in her addled brain. But she couldn't question it or she might go mad.
Instead she unsteadily got to her feet, testing her weakened limbs. Her hair so thick and deep red, her eyes so blue, her face still so lovely, and her body in that outfit...?
She stood in the room like a goddess in hell. She managed to keep from collapsing or screaming in hysteria, and made her way to the alley door.
It was still locked tight. She almost shrieked in frustration then, but managed to contain it. She may have even thought that sneaking out silently was her best chance of escape, if she wasn't hallucinating.
She made her way to the other door.
She glanced down at the shoes once, probably trying to decide whether to keep them on, or wondering why they fit so snugly and so well. In any case, she kept them on.
This door wasn't locked. She opened it cautiously and peered out into a long, dark, dank hallway.
TO BE CONTINUED