He has me over a barrel, Jean thought wryly. Then she berated herself for laughing. Humor, she told herself, is not a normal reaction in this kind of situation. Feeling sexually aroused while you're being kidnapped -- that isn't normal either. A normal person would be scared to death. Jean wondered briefly when it was she had stopped being normal. She knew it was mostly Paul's doing. From the time she met her "boy-toy" as she called him, he'd been pushing her limits. Now she had no idea where those limits lay.
Jean listened as the truck roared down the highway. Inside the truck, small drafts of air moved in puffs against her body. They slid past her skin with the feel of fine silk, leaving her pussy feeling cool and damp in their wake. Jean had tried to be fearful, but hadn't quite managed. Having failed that, she had tried to relax, but couldn't manage that either. Ultimately, she gave up on all her attempts at self-control and gave herself over to the vagaries of the wind and to a fate beyond her control. Jean's captor sat in the cab of the truck congratulating himself on how well things were going. He thought back on earlier in the day. He had watched from down the street as Jean returned to her car. She'd removed the note he'd left taped to her steering wheel. She read the note, turned to look around, and then glanced at the note once more. "There's a tape recorder under your seat," the note told her. "Play it."
He'd watched as she sat in her car listening to his tape. He'd followed her movements as he played out the script in his mind. She had opened the glove box and removed the envelope he left there. She looked at the pictures of her with her lover, then looked around to see if someone were watching. The recording explained the price she would have to pay if she hoped to save her marriage ... and her lover's marriage as well. It was a blackmail message of course, but he'd worked hard to make it reassuring. He didn't want her money. He did not want to harm her. All he wanted was to have access to her body, for one day and one day only, to use as he saw fit. So long as she followed his instructions completely and made no attempt to see his face while he was with her, no harm would come to her. She could go on with her affair, and would hear from him no more.
In the rear of the box truck, Jean now was his possession. She was laying face down, bent over the side of a barrel. Two pieces of rope had been used to join her wrists to her ankles. The ropes had been threaded through a piece of wood as they passed under the barrel. The purpose of the wood was to keep the ropes, and therefore Jean's legs, widely spaced. Wooden blocks were set in place to keep the barrel from rolling. Jean couldn't see them, however. As instructed, she had climbed into the back of the truck, seen the barrel and the mask that awaited her, and had pulled the mask down over her head. Now she was tied to the barrel, mask still in place, and feeling more vulnerable than she had ever felt in her life.
Jean hadn't tried to escape. She had quickly found out it was pointless. She would just have to take the man at his word, she'd decided. If she gave herself to him for just one day, she thought, it might be a small price to pay to keep her and Paul's love affair secret.
Her captor had to be someone she knew, Jean was sure. Why else would he have taken the trouble to electronically alter his voice - both on the tape and when he'd tied her to the barrel? She'd run through a list of names in her head -- former lovers; people she'd worked with. Her ex-boyfriend Joe was a possibility, she thought, but she couldn't be sure. It could be any one of dozens of people, she finally realized.
For a moment, Jean imagined herself being strangled or stabbed where she lay. Inside the mask, tears welled up in her eyes. Once again she wished that Paul could be with her. With Paul she had always felt safe. Even that time when Paul tied her up and let two strangers fuck her, she'd felt safe and secure knowing that Paul was there to protect her. Paul had kissed her lips and stroked her face; the men had fucked her; and she had loved every minute of it.
Paul had taught Jean how to trust again. He devised outrageous, scary adventures for her, and was always there to see that she made it through safely. But now, knowing that Paul wasn't with her, she found it hard to keep terror at bay.
The slowing of the truck brought Jean's thoughts back to the present. She lifted her head, listening intently as the truck slowed to a stop, then backed up and stopped again. In moments she heard the cab door open and shut; heard the truck's back door rolling upwards. Its sheet-metal boomed like thunder overhead.
The man approached and spoke to her softly. His voice, still electronically altered, echoed in the enclosed space with otherworldly tones. But his words were reassuring. She had done well, he told her. He would not harm her or let her be harmed. He began gently stroking her back. Though it startled her at first, the man's touch had a calming effect on Jean. She sensed in his touch a caring that was quite different from the bid for power a violent person would have shown.
Still stroking her back, the man quietly voiced his intentions. He was very matter-of-fact about it. He would fuck her. Other men would fuck her. Her body would be used until she was worn out. The men would use protection when they fucked her, he said reassuringly. He would be there at all times to see that she wasn't harmed. If anyone asked her, she was to tell the men that she loved being tied up and fucked. In fact, she would beg them to fuck her if need be. When they were done, he would return her safely to her car. After that, her secret would stay safe forever.
His touch left her body and a long silence followed. The truck was so quiet that Jean thought he might have left her. She turned her head, straining her ears for a sound. The man spoke close to her ear, making her jump. "You look beautiful, you know," he told her. "Your skin almost glows." He began running his fingers lightly down her back. "Your ass is so inviting," he said as his finger's glided over her buttocks. They continued down her legs. When his fingers reached her ankles, they started back up. He was slow in his movements and did not speak again. It was as if he were using all his concentration to learn the curves of her body, the weight of her breasts -- by touch alone. His fingers traced every inch of her skin, making each nerve ending tingle. Goose bumps trailed his touch like static through the sky. Jean found herself fighting an urge to moan. She felt a fullness creep towards her breasts and vagina. Finally, soft as a whisper, his fingers trailed past her ass once again. They came to rest gently on the hair of her pussy. "Today is the day your haystack gets burned," he said softly into her ear. Then the man was gone. She heard his footsteps recede towards the back of the truck and felt the truck floor rise as he stepped from the tailgate. The door was pulled shut, and Jean felt the silence enclose her once more.
The man's touch had Jean conflicted and confused. She tried not to think about the tingle of her skin, the arousal of her body. She discovered a tension in her back and was ashamed to realize that she'd been lifting her ass while her captor had touched her. She tried hard to relax. Time crept by. She strained to listen to the outside world. She heard the sounds of trucks starting and stopping, their engines turning off or starting up. After a time, she realized that her truck must be parked in a truck-stop of some sort.
It seemed like forever, but at some point Jean could hear voices approaching. The words were indistinct, but the voices were clearly moving towards her. She heard the tailgate roll up and then she could hear the voices distinctly:
"Oh sweet Jesus!" "Would you look at that!" "That's sweet!" "Oh my God!"
Jean listened as a chorus of comments came at her from behind. She felt her face flush with embarrassment as a surge of emotion swept through her. She knew very well the sight she presented; legs spread wide and cunt facing rear. As the men piled into the truck, she felt the truck sag under their weight. She had no time to dwell on her emotions.
Almost immediately, hands began touching her body. Ass, back, legs, cunt, tits -- no part of her, it seemed, was left untouched. A finger slid quickly inside her. A nipple was pulled; the other was sucked. A moment later, a cock pushed into her cunt.
The onslaught came as a shock. Jean arched her back to its limits and let out a strangled cry. Her cunt felt dramatically stretched, but her wetness there surprised her. After only a few strokes, she could hear her cunt beginning to squish. The man fucking her made no attempt at finesse. From the moment he was in her, he pounded her cunt with all the force he could muster. His cock felt thick and hot inside Jean. Her legs began to tremble.
Teeth bit down on Jean's nipple. The bite was not hard, but to Jean it felt like a power line had been touched to her tit. She groaned, straining against her bonds as she felt her cunt spasm. She teetered on the verge of an orgasm, straining for foothold at the edge of a cliff. Her tits and cunt pushed upwards, as though a shift in their weight might keep her from falling. It didn't.
Jean tumbled into the abyss, or perhaps the abyss rose to meet her. Either way she was lost to this world. She came so hard, she could feel her head throb. When she finally was able to think again, she could feel trails of fluid drip down her inner thighs. She thought she might have cum so hard that she pissed herself. The pounding of the cock didn't stop. For some reason, Jean felt a sense of pride when the man slowed, groaned, and his cock seemed to swell within her. His cock withdrew and, without pause, another cock moved in to take its place.
Jean's ass lifted slightly. Otherwise she could do nothing but lay there. She noted that this second cock felt long and thin. It pushed into her so deeply she could feel the ache in her womb. It used her cunt until it too withdrew. Then a third cock moved in.
The third cock felt stubby and thick. Its thrusts were a blur -- a rhythmic pounding in Jean's mind and her cunt. A finger played with her clit. It started her moving, once again, towards the edge of the cliff. When she came this time, it didn't feel like a fall into an abyss. Instead, Jean felt a brief, blinding moment when her mind went white; then she had the sensation that her cunt was sucking on the cock within her. She enjoyed the sensation for a moment. Then felt her head lifted as a cock pushed into her mouth.
