Trucker's Curse

"That obvious, is it?" he asked sheepishly. "I...uh...usually shower every other day, but the showers at the truck stop weren't working, and besides it's not like I was expecting..."

"Don't explain. Your smell is just another reason not to like you," she said with a scowl.

She sat motionless and continued to stare out the windshield at the road ahead. She hadn't budged since he'd used The Curse. Then it struck him that she couldn't move - he'd directed her to sit still. That would get uncomfortable after a while.

"Don't do anything that would harm me directly or indirectly. Don't take any more Lanzapine. Don't attempt to leave the rig and don't call anyone. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. Move as you please, within those limits."

She turned her head to look at him, stretched her arms and legs, then spun her chair around to face the living space inside the cab. She rose and began idly poking through cupboards and compartments. It felt like an intrusion but he didn't feel he could tell her to stop after saying she could move around. After seemingly taking a complete inventory of his possessions, she returned to the passenger seat.

"Your family?" She held out a faded Polaroid. He didn't need to see it; he owned only one picture.

"Yeah."

"Do they know about you? About your power?"

"I left when I was fifteen. Ran away."

"Why?"

"To protect them."

There was a brief silence.

"From the arousal, you mean."

He didn't answer.

"Your mother, two sisters...I guess I always assumed immediate family would be immune," she said. He thought she might be goading him but there was no sign of it in her tone. She sounded inquisitive. Even...sympathetic?

"Nope. Not immune."

She stared at him a long time without speaking. He deliberately kept his eyes on the road, feeling a little teary. How could emotions linger so close to the surface? It had been thirty years for Christ's sake.

"I get it now. Why you call it The Curse," she said softly.

"I...was kind of hoping you'd know how to shut it off," he said, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

"I only know the one way."

"Ah."

Another long pause.

"So...you ran away from home to become a truck driver?" she said.

"Well, I was only fifteen. Couldn't even get a license at that age. But I knew I had to keep away from women so I thumbed my way to Belleville and worked on a farm for a couple of years, then moved to Oshawa and got paid under the table at an auto-parts factory. Not a woman in sight. As soon as I could I got my license and started over-the-road trucking. Kept me away from women. Out of trouble. And it paid well enough."

"Hold on...no women at all? For thirty years?" She sounded incredulous.

"No men, either."

She laughed at the quip, a sound so unexpected that he turned to see if he could catch a glimpse. She saw him looking and her smile faded, but the scowl didn't return.

"No fucking way. Zero women? In thirty years? With the kind of power you have? That's a lie...it has to be," she said.

"No lie," he said, feeling self-conscious. "And you don't need to keep talking about it. There have got to be guys who have never done it."

"Never done it?"

Jim felt his face flush and he thought better of answering. Instead he hit the 'AM' radio button on the console and tried to tune in the Toronto traffic. Still plenty of time to abandon the 401 if Toronto was gridlocked.

He could feel her eyes boring into the side of his face, but he focused on the road with an intensity that would have awed his old driving instructor.

Another hour passed quietly and they were on the fringe of the Greater Toronto Area.

Lisa grew progressively more restless; she twitched, changed positions, stretched and prowled around the enclosed cabin endlessly. It became so distracting that Jim finally asked her if she wouldn't mind staying in her seat. She managed to keep still for a few minutes, then turned to face him.

"Let me be your first."

"What?"

"Just...pull off the road," she said.

"What...you mean here? Are you out of your..." he began, then stopped when he glanced at her face. Her expression was one of urgent, naked need. Desire so strong it bordered on panic. A desperate compulsion masquerading as heavy arousal. The Curse, again.

"No! Look, just...take some deep breaths. Get a grip," he said.

She began deep breathing in response to his command.

"Jim...I'm on fire here. I have to have you in me. Please!" she breathed.

Her words sparked his long-torpid libido. He felt himself growing uncomfortably hard in his jeans.

"There's no place to pull off. Besides...no, just no. Not when you're like this. It's wrong. I don't want to force you to..."

"Please Jim?"

He tried to think of a solution that would relieve her suffering while satisfying his conscience.

"Hand me your Lanzapine, then sit down and handcuff your wrists behind the seat. Make sure the cuffs are secure and that you can't get your hands free," he said.

She rummaged through her backpack until she found the small pharmaceutical blister pack and handed it to him, then set about cuffing herself as ordered. Jim popped a tiny white pill out of its foil cell and noted that only two pills remained.

"Swallow this," he said, holding the pill up to her mouth. She complied, plucking the pill off his palm with her lips then licking his hand with a wanton moan.

Jim turned his attention back to the road as Lisa fidgeted and squirmed in her seat, squeezing her thighs together and uttering quiet groans and pleas. By the time he'd navigated the rig into Toronto and then veered north onto the 400, she was quiet and still once again. He was glad for the silence; her lusty cries had brought on a painfully-constricted erection that was now mercifully receding.

***

Half an hour passed in silence as the rig charged north, headed out of the big city.

"It's a terrible feeling, having no control of yourself - not even being able to control your own body," Lisa said quietly as she stared out the passenger-side window.

"I know how you feel, believe me. At least the Lanzapine did the trick."

"Yes, but it's just a stop-gap, and a hazardous one. The normal dosage for that pill is one per day. Taking one every few hours isn't smart."

Jim thought for a few moments.

"There's a new truck stop near Huntsville. I'll pull off there and we can go our separate ways."

"Jim...we're not done. There's only one way this can end." She sounded regretful.

"Why? I'm not like those other men."

"I know. Those men would have taken what I was offering in a heartbeat. They'd have reveled in their power, in my helplessness and humiliation. You didn't, and thank you. You seem like a good man. I really mean that."

"But?"

"But I still have to do what needs doing. I've experienced first-hand what can happen when that power goes unchecked."

"Luther?" he said.

Lisa was silent for a long time, still staring out the passenger window. When she finally spoke, it was in such a quiet voice that Jim had to strain to hear it over the engine of the rig.

"Fifteen years ago my older sister Kim and I were shopping at the mall. I had just turned eighteen. He walked up to us, cocky as can be. Threw one arm over my shoulders, slid the other one around Kim's waist, and just like that, he had us.

He took us to his estate in the country. Well, it wasn't his estate - it belonged to one of his girls. There were six of us there - all of us youthful and pretty. All of us slavishly obedient and half-mad with hunger for his worthless dick.

He kept us naked. Every day he assigned the jobs. There were six women but just four jobs, and if you didn't get picked you spent the day in the cellar sleeping on a cold stone floor, hugging another naked woman just to stay warm and suffering the agony of going without his cock. So every day we all begged desperately for a job. Literally begged. On our knees. He really enjoyed watching that, and told us so.

The 'kitchen bitch' did all the cooking and dishes. The 'house bitch' did all the housework. The 'bathroom bitch'...had to...was forced to..." she trailed off with a shudder, then took a long moment to compose herself.

"The best job was the 'bedroom bitch'. Not hard to guess what her job was." She paused for a mirthless chuckle.

"But I loved being the bedroom bitch, Jim. On those rare days I got chosen it was joy unlike anything you can believe. Like winning the lottery and falling in love and...I can't do it justice with words. Lying under Luther as he jabbed his skinny six inches into me was the closest I've ever come to heaven. He would command me to orgasm and I'd go off like a stick of dynamite. Over and over again. Ecstasy and release like you can't imagine. I never felt that good before or since. Even now, I dream of it when I'm asleep - that's how good it was. Every time. More than anything else about my three years there, those moments of rapture haunt me."

She lapsed into silence again. Jim tried to think of something consoling to say but couldn't find words to match the intensity of her trauma. Small wonder that she'd come to hate those with power like his own.

"Want to know how I got free?"

"Only...only if you want to tell me. If it's too painful..."

"He sold me. Dressed me in a flimsy smock, drove me to a parking lot in Mississauga. Another man met him there. Luther turned to me and said "do everything this man says, forever". So I got into the other man's car and that was that. It took a week for Luther's biochemicals to flush out of my system. A week for me to regain control of my faculties and sneak away from my new owner."

"Thank God it was just a week!"

Lisa turned her head to face him. Her cheeks were wet and her wide brown eyes reflected the horror of her experience.

"You have no idea how long a week can be. As incredible as the joy had been, the withdrawal was equally terrible. The physical pain was awful - the crushing migraine, the muscle cramps - but the emotional pain was worse. Being apart from Luther made me hate life. It left a hole inside me that I couldn't bear. The loss of him consumed me. All I could do was lie in a fetal position and dream of him and pray for death."

Jim didn't say anything, just shook his head.

"My new owner dry-fucked me a few times, probably tried to get his moneys' worth. I barely noticed. Nothing mattered but the absence of Luther. I don't even remember the other guy's name."

Jim turned back to the road and noticed his hands were clenched around the steering wheel like he was trying to choke it to death. He took a deep breath and relaxed his grip.

"And your sister?"

She shrugged helplessly. "No idea. Never found her. Still looking."

"I'm sorry, Lisa. I can't express how sorry," Jim said.

They covered another stretch of road in silence.

"I've never told that story to anyone," she said. "Easier just to bury it."

"So why tell me?"

"You're a good man. You deserve to know why you have to die."

***

Jim brought Taco Bell back to the rig. He was starving, and he imagined Lisa was too. He was right, in more ways than one.

"The drug is wearing off," she said as he unlocked her wrists and re-locked them in front of her so she could eat. He'd locked her gun in the glove compartment before he'd gone into the truck stop. It never hurt to be cautious.

"So we've only got a few hours before the arousal kicks in?"

"It's kicking in now."

"It's too soon! This morning there were a few hours between the Lanzapine wearing off and the arousal starting. We went all the way from Leamington to Toronto..."

"The arousal results from the biochemical building to a high dose in my body. Mind control occurs at small doses, but the arousal needs a higher dose. Now that the higher dose has built up, the mind control and the arousal happen together," she said.

"This drug isn't lasting long at all. Just three hours since your last pill. And you only have two pills left."

"Fuck! I don't want to take three pills in half a day - it's way too much. That stuff isn't candy," she said.

"Maybe get out and walk around? The fresh air..."

"Your biochemical is already in my bloodstream. Fresh air won't matter," she said in a resigned voice.

"We could go our separate ways. You said the stuff flushes out in a week."

"No! No, please...that would be the worst option. The withdrawal would be hell."

Lisa swore and spun the chair around to the living space, then stood and faced away from him. In one motion she pushed her jeans and panties down to her ankles, then dropped to her knees and bent over his bunk, still wearing her white sweater and the handcuffs.

He couldn't tear his eyes off the pale, fleshy cheeks and the swollen lips that peeked at him between her widespread thighs. He was hard almost instantly. Hunger swept over him, rapidly eroding his self-control.

"I need you inside me," she breathed. She dropped her head to rest between her forearms on the comforter.

"Lisa...not this way. It's wrong. I'd be no better than..."

"This is the option that hurts me the least. Please just...do this for me," she said, then arched her back and widened her stance. Her lips opened; pink flesh beckoned him.

"Do this for you?"

"Jim...I'm not only horny. This isn't just arousal. Not like an itch that I can just ignore. It's fire and...starvation. Like drowning and needing that next breath so badly. That's what this is. I need your dick like I need air. More than air. Please!"

"There must be some other option."

"Are you going to make me beg? I will, you know. I'll do anything you ask, Jim. Please?"

He took a deep breath, hoping to clear his head, but he inhaled her scent instead. He knew what it was; at some deep, primal level, he knew. Knew what it meant. He tried to think. Tried to look away from her naked and eagerly presented sex. Tried to come up with options. To think of some reason - any reason - not to do what his throbbing cock was demanding. What she was demanding.

He hadn't intended to drop his own jeans and underwear, but suddenly he found they were pooled around his ankles, on top of his shoes. His cock stood fully engorged, twitching, already dangerously close to an explosive release. His heart hammered as he sunk to his knees behind her.

She sighed when he rested his palms gently on the pale buttocks in front of him. Her flesh was smooth, soft. She moaned and pushed herself back into him. Her sounds...her scent. The warmth of her body. The pleasures of a woman. How had he denied himself this bliss for thirty years?

"Please...put it in..." she whined.

As if in a trance he slid his right hand lower, between her widespread thighs. He touched her sex; hot and wet, framed by coarse pubic hair. He let his fingertips glide back and forth through the slippery folds, amazed by how soft and frictionless her bare pussy felt. Her scent was strong, he inhaled it greedily.

"Oh yessss," she hissed, inching her knees further apart, pushing back against his fingers. He found her entrance and slowly slid the tip of his index finger inside, still shallow, exploring the tight confines of her channel. Lisa jerked her hips back, plunging his whole finger into her, then moaned plaintively.

"You're tight," he whispered.

"Cock...Jim...your cock..." She sounded desperate, almost panicky with need.

Could he do this? Even as he formed the question he was shuffling forward on his knees, pressing in close behind her, fully engorged cock straining towards her welcoming pussy. He gave a slight push, almost involuntary...

And then he was inside, slipping past her soaked, yielding entrance and deep into her. Hot, clinging, tight. She responded with a delighted gasp. He gave a low groan and his hands instinctively slid down to grip her hips.

He wanted to keep still and savor the sensations, to get a handle on them. Some part of him was still fighting for control, for sanity. But Lisa had other ideas and began rocking back and forth urgently. Ecstasy. A delicious, slippery massage up and down the length of his cock. It was too much, too fast. An unbearable tightness gripped his balls and the base of his shaft, then exploded outward in fast, orgasmic pulses as he thrust forward and buried himself deeply. For several long moments the pleasure was all-consuming and there was nothing else.

Slowly, the lust drained away from him and the world came rushing back. He was in his rig. In front of him, under him, Lisa was draped over the bed, limp and panting, a dopey, contented smile on her face.

Realization hit him like a kick in the gut. His self-control had failed. For thirty years he'd been strong, done the right thing and steadfastly resisted The Curse. But that strength hadn't been enough and he'd imposed himself on a woman who was helpless to resist. Used her without her proper consent.

Lisa had been right about him all along. The thought made him want to throw up.

Instead, he pulled out, stood and yanked up his pants. He tried to think of something to say that would excuse his lapse but nothing came to him. Without a word he lowered himself into his seat, hit the ignition and steered the rig back out onto Highway 11.

***

"We're not sure why sex temporarily counteracts the arousal," Lisa said to break the uncomfortable silence. "Again, something to do with hormones, perhaps. There's a lot about your condition that we just don't understand."

She'd cleaned up the best she could using the baby wipes and paper towels he kept in the rig and had taken her seat again. The handcuffs hadn't made it especially easy. He'd greeted her with more than half an hour of grim reticence that verged on childishness.

"We?"

"My team," she said.

"You created a team of assassins?"

"I'm the only one who pulls the trigger," she said. "The others do logistics, research, drop-offs and pick-ups. That sort of thing."

"Ah." He mentally brushed away the questions that surfaced. Not important. Not to him, anyway. Not for long.

He signaled and guided the rig off the highway and onto a rural road, ignoring Lisa's questions, and from there onto a pitted and uneven logging road.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, and the nervousness in her voice was apparent.

In response he stopped the rig, threw it into 'park' and turned off the ignition.

"You were right," he said, reaching past her to unlock the glove compartment. "Power corrupts." He caught her wrist and unlocked the cuffs.

"What do you..."

"I'm ready," he said. "Take the gun out and let's get this done." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He heard the glove compartment open, the scrape of the gun being removed, then a long pause.

"I asked you to do it, Jim. Needed you to do it. There were no better options," she said, a gentle protest.

"It played out as you predicted, and if we don't end it here, it will happen again. If you don't kill me, I'll become like Luther. This is the best way to protect you."

Another long pause.

"You're the furthest thing from Luther," she said firmly. "You couldn't sink that low on your worst day."

"You said yourself, this needs to happen. Why wait? This is as good a place as any."

"I'm sorry, Jim. You're a good man."

"In the end, I'm no better than the others you've killed," he said bitterly.

The silence stretched to a minute, then two.

Finally he opened his eyes and glanced to his right.

Lisa sat in her seat, staring at the gun in her lap. She raised her eyes to his and he could read the uncertainty there, the conflict.

"But you are better than the others. You gave up your family. You denied yourself for thirty years rather than take what your power offered you. And now...you're ready to die to protect me...even after I tried to kill you, and will try again."