Wanderlust

“He said to... I was on my hands and knees."

He whistled. "He came at you from behind for your first time. That's harsh. I don't think I would've even done it that way. Did you come like that, with your face hugging the sheets?"

I shook my head quickly.

It had hurt so bad. He'd stabbed deep inside, and I hadn't known how to control the depth at all, had been too afraid and cowed to fight back. I hadn't been able to, with his hands on my hips, holding me steady for his thrusts. The floral fabric of the comforter turned damp beneath my cheeks as I cried in pain, but he told me to quiet down.

The first always hurts, he’d whispered.

That was in the past. The horrible memory wasn't relevant to me anymore. Except this man pulled me down to the fraying floral bedspread. The towel remained in a limp heap where I had sat, leaving my body completely exposed. I shut my eyes tightly, but I could see the scene as clearly as if we were in broad daylight. My body awkwardly splayed across the bed, tense and vulnerable. He still fully clothed, wearing jeans and a blue button-down.

I felt my hands pulled above my head.

"I wouldn't treat you that way," he said. "The first time is something special."

The sleek sound of leather whipped through the air. I cringed, anticipating the blow.

He soothed me with a stroke of my thigh, as if I were an animal. Gentle hands wrapped the smooth leather around my wrists and secured them to the headboard with an ease that scared me.

"You can get out of that," he said, nodding toward my tethered hands. "If something were to happen, you could wriggle and yank them out. It's safe."

Safe? Was that really a consideration here? This whole thing was unsafe. That was too mild a word. It was devastating.

A tear slipped down my cheek. "Why?"

His face darkened. "We aren't back to that again, are we?"

"Please," I babbled. "I won't tell anyone. Just don't hurt me, please."

He pulled a knife from his pocket. My eyes widened and I squirmed. Instead of using it on me, he cut a strip of the damp towel and slanted it over my mouth, tying it behind my head.

At my pleading look, he shook his head sadly. "We had an agreement. You can't just change your mind. There's a word for girls who do that."

A low, mournful sound left my throat.

"Is that really what you want, girl? To make me angry? To leave me with this?" He gestured jerkily to his crotch, at the bulge in the denim.

I shook my head—no, no. I didn’t want him to be angry.

"That's right. It will be okay. You let boyfriend number one touch your tits. You let non-boyfriend number two fuck your cunt. Now you're going to let the dangerous stranger you met on a road trip tie you up and fuck you. It's a fantasy, sunshine. Just a dream."

Though it seemed very real when he stood and took off his clothes. I couldn't see very clearly in the dark, just angled shadows and sleek lines. A light dusting of hair on dusky skin. My vision was blurry, but I felt his presence, touched by the hawk-like gaze on my body and battered by his arousal pulsing in the air.

I couldn't move my hands. I couldn't talk. So I tried not to think either. I wanted to become a purely physical being, one who could feel and be felt but didn't have to analyze any of it. Why had I ever agreed to this? How much of this was my fault and how much his? But if I were just a body, then it didn't matter. If I were just a warm tumble of limbs and curves tacked against the bed, an unholy amenity in this godforsaken motel, then it couldn't be my fault. I could just let it happen.

He touched his palm to the inside of my thigh, and I let it fall open. The idea of refusal was ludicrous now, with all of my power taken from me, all willingly forfeited in a game I'd been destined to lose. But he didn't enter me with that dark, thick erection that jutted from between his legs. He leaned down and breathed in deep. A soft tingle ran up my core. He lapped at me with a tenderness that hurt worse than violence. The first time a man had ever done this to me, and it was against my will. But how could this be against my will, when I wanted it so very badly? It felt so good, so right, like huddling up to a campfire on a winter's night.

I panted into the towel cutting across my mouth. My breasts heaved obscenely, the small twin mounds obscuring the sight of him below, leaving only a half-circle of dark hair between my thighs. He pushed a finger inside me, the intrusion so stark that I grunted.

"Ah fuck," he said. "I meant to make you come this way, but you're so tight. I need to be inside you."

He reached for his pants and grabbed a small packet—a condom, something I felt thankful for at least. I was aroused from the illicitness of the situation and from his tongue on my cunt, but not so far gone that I lost my sense of self. I wanted to get out of this safely. That had to be my goal.

When he leaned back over me, his cock sheathed and breathing labored, I cringed back.

"No, pretty girl." He rained kisses over my forehead, on my nose. "You want this, don't you? You want this cock inside you. You’re all the same."

I bit down on the towel, unable to answer. I was almost thankful for the gag in that moment, because what could I say? I may have gone along with this, but I hadn't really wanted it. This wasn't something I had chosen.