Sharon was cold, colder than she’d ever been. Her watch was on her wrist below her sweater. She would have liked to check the time, to see how long it had been, but she didn’t want to raise the sleeve on her arm even an inch and risk losing any of the warmth that might be captured there.
Her car had just stopped. She had no clue why. From the beginning she had decided it was best to wait in the car and hope for help. It was after midnight on a two lane country road in Minnesota, just west of Minneapolis. The snow was banked high beside the passenger side of the car. There was no way to open either of the doors on that side. The temperature was way below zero and the wind was blowing. And there she sat in her nurse’s uniform with only a sweater over it. No coat, no hat, no sense, she told herself.
Her cell phone was in her purse, the battery dead. Chuck, her husband, was going to be really pissed. How can you be so stupid, so careless, she could imagine him saying. She dreaded seeing him but hoped, wished more nearly, that he would soon realize she was late coming home from work, too late for any good reason, and begin to look for her. That was her only chance, she realized. Chuck had to come for her. She had to wait.
Sharon didn’t want to die. She had been a nurse for almost ten years, working in ER for most of that time. She had seen unnumbered car wrecks, shootings, stabbings, suicides, and even those who had died of exposure. She knew death and didn’t fear it, but she definitely didn’t want to die. It was so goddamn frustrating, she told herself, to have spent her life doing things, acting, making things happen, and now not be able to do a damned thing to save herself but sit and hope someone would help her, save her. If she believed in a god she would have prayed but she gave that up years ago. Watching babies die painful deaths from wounds inflicted by their god-given parents had taken prayer away from her. To hell, she had told herself, with any god that let that happen.
The snow blew across the road in sheets of blue. The full moon was radiant in a stark threatening blue-cold sort of light. She wondered how long Chuck might take to miss her. She hoped beyond hope that he had not fallen asleep watching the Timberwolves game. He could sleep in his recliner until morning and she would die. It was somehow ironic, she told herself, Chuck might be asleep and she might go to sleep as well, but if she did, she would die, and he would only just wake up and go to the bathroom. He would miss her then, she realized, when he went to the bedroom and she wasn’t in the bed alone as he found her most every night.
The bright lights from the vehicle behind her startled her. She realized that she had begun to doze off. The vehicle appeared to be a truck, probably a four wheel drive. It sat high in the road, its lights on bright shining into her car. She knew it wasn’t Chuck, his Explorer had a different grill. This truck looked like a Chevy. No matter to her, it was someone and no one meant death.
The truck and its passenger or passengers, whoever they were, just sat there. No one got out. She was prepared to be patient but the waiting was killing her almost as much as the cold. Finally the driver’s side door open and a large man got out. In her mirror she could see that he was wearing a heavy parka with the hood up. The moon’s blue light would not show his face as he began to walk slowly to her car.
The window was frozen so she opened the door just a crack. “Damn,” she almost shouted, “I am so glad to see you.”
“I’ll be right back,” was all he said and pushed her door shut.
He went back to the truck and pulled something from inside. She could tell it was a coat or a blanket. He came back to her car and opened her door. He handed a large camouflaged parka through the door and said, “Put this on and zip is up good,” before shutting the door again.
She did as he said and waited. He looked in the window and for the first time she saw he was wearing a dark blue ski mask. He opened the door and merely said, “Come on.”
She grabbed her purse and scrambled out of her car, heading toward the warm truck. She was safe, she told herself.
The man watched her open the passenger side door on his truck and get in before he walked to the driver’s door. He got in without saying anything and backed the truck up to pull past her dark abandoned car. Sharon began to chatter about all that had happened to her, how long she had waited, how cold she had been, how frightened she was, how much she appreciated his help, how thankful she was that he came along. He said nothing as she talked on. He just continued to stare at the road from inside the ski mask.
The cab of the truck grew silent. Sharon didn’t mind. She concentrated on the warmth coming back to her feet and hands.
“There’s a thermos of coffee under your seat,” he said in a low steady voice.
He had startled her, rousing her out of the beginning of sleep. “No, thank you,” was all she said. Her head felt so heavy, the warmth of the parka and the truck so good. In minutes she had fallen asleep.
She woke slowly and had to press herself to remember where she was. Her eyes felt heavy and her first thought was how grateful she was to be alive. The truck cab was empty, the driver gone. She pulled herself up, trying to right herself only to find she was bound by plastic ties wrapped tight around her wrists and ankles. What the hell, she thought, what the goddamn hell is this? The bindings were tight and restricted how much she could move but she turned to sit up and look out of the truck. She and the truck were in some kind of garage. The door was closed, a bare light bulb burning over a workbench along the wall. Oh, shit, what is this, was all she could keep saying to herself.
She sat in the truck for what seemed to be hours. She alternated between being frightened, being angry, being furious, being sure she was going to die at the hands of some kind of serial killer.
An overhead light came on in the garage and a door opened. The man stepped into the garage. He was wearing jeans, a heavy gray military sweater, and the same dark blue ski mask. He walked straight to the side of the truck and opened her door. She decided to say nothing. She stared at him, wondering, hoping that not angering him was the smart thing to do. He reached into the cab and lifted her in his arms like she was nothing. She had always considered herself a strong woman, 5’5” around 135 lbs, but she saw quickly she was no match for him.
He carried her straight to and through the door into a large sparsely furnished room. He sat her down on the rug in front of a couch and chair. A woodstove burned warmly off to the side. A simple kitchen was behind the chair. This must be some kind of hunting lodge or cabin, she told herself.
He sat down in the chair beside the rug and looked at her. She could see his eyes beneath the mask. They were dark, almost black, and very intense.
“How bad do you want to go home?” he asked in his low firm voice.
“Very bad,” she said firmly and simply.
“You want to go home bad enough that you will do as I say for a spell?” he asked.
She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t grasp what she was being asked.
“Do as I say, don’t cause any trouble, and you get to go home. You have my word,” he said evenly.
“And if I don’t?” she asked with some nurse-trained confidence.
“Then you will do what I say anyway, but never go home. A simple deal, Sharon,” he said with a hint of a smile in his voice.
She started to blurt out and ask him how he knew her name but then she remembered her purse. He knew who she was and where she lived. Her spirits sank immediately and he saw it, sensed the resignation.
He rose from the chair and pulled a hunting knife from its sheath tucked in his jeans behind his back. He showed her the blade before stepping to where she sat on the floor.
He squatted beside her and cut the binding plastic straps with one cut each for her wrists and ankles. He stepped back from her and said, “Stand up.”
She struggled to her feet finding the feeling slow to come back to her hands and feet.
“Now, take off your clothes, all of them,” he said, still standing in front of her.
Her head hung down in resignation and fear. The large camo parka was still zipped up the front making her feel small in its enormity.
“Get started, Sharon,” his voice was low, threatening, “Or I’ll have to help. And I promise you won’t like that. Not at all.”
Her hands came up thoughtlessly to the zipper and began to pull it down, down to the bottom until the parka was open. It fell from her shoulders and arms. It took only a shake to have it fall from her hands. Her auburn hair, pulled up on her head, was damp from her sleep, rebellious ringlets hung down around her face and neck. Her shoes were white Nike crosstrainers tied loosely, they were easy to push off with her toes. She began unbuttoning the white nurse’s blouse, her fingers trembled despite her best efforts to be steady and calm. The blouse was finally open and she began to pull it off each shoulder. She was self-conscious about him seeing her in her bra. It was one of Chuck’s favorites, holding her breasts in a way that always caught her husband’s eye. She found the elastic waste band of her white pants and hooked her thumbs inside before beginning to ease them down her legs. She bent forward to push them down thinking she might her hide her nakedness from him for a moment, then realizing he had a perfect view of her breasts and cleavage, she quickly finished and stood straight again.
She only paused for a moment, she thought, but regardless he said, “Go on, finished. The socks too.”
She pushed the white socks off her feet one at a time with her toes. I can do this, she told herself, I can do this and make it be over. She reached behind her back and unclasped the bra. She consciously decided to make no pretense of hiding herself, fuck him, she told herself. The bra feel off her shoulders and to the floor. She fixed her eyes on his and pushed her beige panties down her legs. They dropped to her feet and she stepped out of them.
She stood before him naked, completely naked. She held her eyes on his and watched him slowly look her over completely. She imagined what he saw, the curve of her shoulders, the fullness of her breasts, the nipples growing taut and hard in the air, her flat stomach, the roundness of her hips, the dark patch of hair she kept trimmed for her husband, the firmness of her thighs.
He said nothing to her before he reached in his back pocket and pulled out silver handcuffs. He tossed them to her unexpectedly. She caught them in a reflexive motion.
“Put them on,” he said unceremoniously. “Loop the handle over your wrist and click it shut. I want to hear the click. Do each wrist. Do it now.”
And she did. She did what he said.
“Get down on your knees,” he continued.
She had a moment of fear. He saw it and said, “Sharon, I am not going to hurt you. You have my word. Get down.”
She did as he said. Her hands were in handcuffs and she was now on the rug kneeling.
He reached behind his chair and pulled out a length of climbing rope. On its end was a carabiner. He stepped forward and clicked the carabiner over the handcuff chain. She was now secured to the length of rope. Next he knelt in front of her and pulled two balls of gauze and an Ace bandage from his hip pocket.
“Close your eyes,” he said with a hint of gentleness.
She did and immediately felt him place a ball of gauze over each eye. Then she felt the Ace bandage being wound around her head covering her eyes in wrap upon wrap. There was absolutely no way she could see.
She sensed him moving to stand in front of her. She felt the tug of the rope pull her hands.
“Get down on your stomach on the rug, Sharon,” he said. As she moved to do as he said she heard him begin to talk. “I’m going to tie the rope to the leg of the sofa. You will lie here on the rug and wait for me. I’ll be back. Do not try to resist or move around. You are to wait for me without moving. Do you understand?”
She shook her head, yes. She couldn’t hear him moving. And he didn’t speak. Her senses were totally alert. She felt the warmth from the stove on her side, the roughness of the rug on her belly and breasts, the slight chill of the room’s air on her ass and between her legs.
And she waited, for what she had no idea. But she would survive, she would live.
It seemed like forever before it began. The touch on her leg made her jump with surprise even though she had been expecting it, dreading it, maybe wanting it. It felt like his hands moving over her lower leg. His hands were warm, large and strong. A faint scent of spearmint drifted up to her. Oil, she thought, he’s using some kind of oil. His hands worked steadily on her legs, working now on the back of her upper legs, massaging in cross patterns on her hamstring.
His voice startled her when he said, “Sharon, please listen to me.” He began to talk to her, his voice soothing, surprising her with its even tone and gentleness. “You are here with me. It is only us here, just you and me. Although I know you are frightened, afraid of me maybe, I assure you I will not hurt you.” His hands were moving faster, harder over her other leg now with the same movement and confidence.
Sharon found herself considering emotions she didn’t expect or want. What he was doing to her felt good. She fought the feelings, rebelled against them, screamed in her mind to fight the pleasure he was giving her body.
She felt him release her and it shocked her. Where was he, what was he doing? An answer came when she felt his weight on her lower back and her naked ass. He was straddling her now and she could feel his nakedness. His balls and cock were nestled on her ass, his big hands now held her shoulders, working on them relentlessly. The smell of spearmint was sharper, the oil on his hands working into the skin of her shoulders and neck.
Sharon felt herself moan and she was embarrassed by it. She cannot allow herself to enjoy this, she thought. His hands moved down her torso, so strong, so large. She felt his legs move down her hips to her thighs. His cock left the crack of her ass alone and positioned itself between her slightly spread legs. Damn, she thought, her lower back had never felt this good. Then he was lower, working on her ass now, his hands holding the cheeks of her ass, spreading them, working hard on them. Sharon could feel the lips of her pussy separating and closing as he worked on her ass. It suddenly occurred to her that he must be looking at her pussy, watching it separate and close, swelling, getting wet despite her desire to ignore the pleasure.
His voice startled her again. “Okay, Sharon,” he began, “It’s time, time for you to make a decision. I have you here with me and no one knows where you are. I only want to please you, give you something you may never have had or ever have again. But I will leave it to you to decide. From this moment on I will release you whenever you say, take you wherever you want to go. Or you can stay here with me for a few hours. You can enjoy for a brief time and then go back to your life like nothing has ever happened. I won’t press you or push. Just tell me when you want me to stop.”
He stopped talking and almost immediately Sharon felt his face between her legs. His face was smooth and warm, his tongue delicate as it found her pussy. She knew she was wet and it troubled her. Then his tongue flicked over her clit and she stopped caring about embarrassment or integrity or right and wrong. His tongue pushed suddenly inside her and she gasped.
She made her decision then.
Sharon moved her legs wider apart to give him more room. She couldn’t see, the blindfold holding her in darkness. But she could feel. She could feel her pussy swelling, its lips thick and wet. She could feel his tongue alternating between hard and soft, insistent and teasing, there and gone. Then his tongue found her ass and she knew she was going to cum. And she didn’t care. She was lost in the sensation of the moment, wanting to have it, have the chance to grasp something never presented her. His tongue teased her asshole, his finger pushed suddenly into her pussy, and she came hard, pushing herself back against him as much as her restraints would allow.
She felt him move to her pussy and begin to lap the warm juice she was releasing. Goddamn, she was saying to herself, why?
And then she didn’t care. She just wanted him again, wanted to take the moment to wherever it would go.
Her pussy stopped its spasms and began to grow sensitive. As if by magic, he knew and move away from her rising above her, she could picture. “Turn over, Sharon,” he said, “Please.” And she did, turning over by her own choice.
He moved up alongside her. She suddenly could smell him, the scent of soap and a cologne she knew but couldn’t name. Then she felt it, his cock against her lips. He was offering himself to her and she took it. Her tongue came out to greet him, invite him, but he didn’t accept immediately. His fingers worked into her hair and held her head, his other hand, she pictured, held his cock and moved it across her lips and tongue. Pre-cum oozed from his slit and she caught it and drank it greedily.
She was pleased to hear his moan and even more pleased when the head of his cock slipped into her mouth. It was large, larger than any cock she had ever had in her mouth, thick and round and hot. She worked to run her tongue under the head, to find the vein she loved to feel, as she felt his hard, callused hand on her breasts. He pinched her nipples and squeezed her breasts as his cock pushed deeper into her mouth, beginning to fuck her mouth, to fuck her face. And she wanted it, wanted it with every fiber of her being.
It struck her as punishment when he suddenly withdrew his cock from her mouth.
“Why,” she heard herself asking, “Please, anything, I need, won’t you, don’t make me beg, please.”
She felt him position himself between her legs. She eagerly raised her legs, inviting him, offering herself, wanting.
The tip of his cock moved up and down the length of her pussy and she moaned, wanting it, knowing now it was going to happen. In one stroke he slid inside her completely. He held her thighs in his hands, holding them wide and apart as he began to fuck her. She didn’t know who he was, she didn’t care, she simply was in need and the need was being addressed.
He began to fuck her faster, harder, his balls slapping against her ass. She was nothing in that moment other than a lover, a woman completely devoted to the moment of being fucked and fucking back against someone she wanted.
And then something happened for which she had no explanation or understanding, another cock touched her lips, offered itself to her mouth. She didn’t know or understand but she took it eagerly, sucking it into her mouth.
Two cocks possessed her, took her, and she reveled in it all. She didn’t know how or who, and she didn’t care, she just wanted the moment, to experience the moment completely.
The cock in her pussy surprised her when it spasmed and jerked releasing its load of cum inside her. Surprising herself she responded with an orgasm that shook her, making her whole body contract. The cock in her mouth was lost to her, popping out of her mouth. She felt its owner moving the cock across her face, her lips, her neck, her nipples, all at once it seemed.
The cock in her pussy withdrew and was gone in the darkness of her blindfold. She assumed he would come back but he disappeared and was forgotten for the moment when the cock near her face came back to her mouth. She sucked it in greedily and worked her tongue hard around its head.