Page 97 of The Naughty List

I try to nod.

“You know whatIthink? I think you’re asking for this. I think you’re a dirty bitch asking for cock. Now, I’m gonna tell you again. Stay the fuck still, and stay the fuck quiet. Do you get me?”

I suck in a breath through my nose as his free hand lifts up my skirt, and I do nod this time.

“You fucking sure?” he asks.

I nod again. My adrenaline is spiking like fucking crazy, and I’m trembling so bad he must be able to feel it against his chest, but I know what I’m doing here, in this pitch-black hellhole with a man out to kidnap me.

I gulp in air when he takes his gloved hand from my mouth and spins me around to face him. The lamppost is a rigid beast against my back, but nothing near as intimidating as the beast before me. He’s got to be at least 6ft 5, and is built like a tank. His hoodie is black, with the hood pulled up, and he has a mask which covers everything bar his eyes and mouth. Eyes that are piercing and dripping with malice. I could scream, but I don’t. I’m mute as he takes my arms and slams my wrists together.

“You’re coming with me, slut.”

He pulls some rope from inside his hoodie, and ties my wrists like a pro, knotted tight. Then he shunts me along the path ahead of him, his hand gripping the back of my neck.

“Keep fucking walking.”

I nod, but don’t say a word. My feet are heavy again, not flighty, so I have to force them with every step. Wearegoing to an ominous destination now, not running away from one. I push back against him as I see a battered white truck off to the left through some trees, but it makes no odds to him. He practically throws me up a verge, and I skid down the other side before he catches me and shoves me onwards.

The double doors at the back of the truck swing open wide when he unlocks them, and the darkness inside is too much for me. I try to flee on instinct with bound hands, ready to let out a scream, but he’s quick enough to catch me in the act, silencing me with another slam of his gloved hand over my open mouth.

He doesn’t say anything, just picks me up like I weigh nothing and shoves me into the truck where I stumble in the darkness, falling to my knees on the hard metal floor.

The doors slam shut and I’m genuinely shitting myself, heart pounding like crazy.

I tell myself it’s all an act as the driver’s door opens and he climbs in – a brief moment when the interior light lights him up. He’s wearing a ski mask, his eyes and mouth visible. He glances back at me and smirks before slamming the door shut and the light goes out.

He switches on the engine, and I manage to raise myself enough to hook my arms over the passenger headrest.

“Where are you taking me?” I manage to ask.

“Shut the fuck up,” he says, putting his foot down on the accelerator.

I bounce around as he drives, hanging from the back of the seat, like I’m strung up for the abattoir, but it’s ok. Through the terror I’m beginning to get intrigued, transfixed by watching the streets flashing past us on the way.

“What are you going to do to me?” I ask him.

“Told you to shut the fuck up,” he says, easing off the accelerator as a police car passes us by.

I do shut up, my heart in my mouth, imagining what might happen if the cops decide to turn back and investigate what a battered old truck is doing out at this time in the morning. How the hell would he explain the bound girl in the back.Just having fun, officer, nothing to see here.

But the cop car disappears from sight and my heart is back to pounding.

“I’m going to treat you like the slutty whore you really are,” he says.

I guess he’s right – I am a slut, and a whore, truth be told.

“I’m going to take your cunt and ass,” he says, “and punish those big tits like they’ve never been punished before. And you can beg me to stop all you like, it won’t make any difference. You’re mine now, until I’m done with you.”

Until I’m done with you.

I picture him strangling me to death, snuffing me out once he’sdone with me. The emotions are weird, conflicting. I’m scared shitless but it’s turning me on. He won’t really hurt me, I remind myself. Just an act.

He smacks a gloved hand off the steering wheel and I start. “Fuck!” he barks and I don’t know what the hell he’s cursing at. “My cock is fucking raging,” he says. “I’m going to plough you so bad you’ll be begging me to stop.” He laughs a crazed laugh. “Or begging for more. One of the two.”

Jesus Christ.

The bumps in the road start as we hit a side track. My wrists hurt as I bounce, and I curse and whimper, but it doesn’t stop him, he keeps on driving.

---