The road was a lot smoother after the fall of the chopper. Or rather, Snake and Delilah noticed the bumps far less. A primal energy, fueled by the destructive power of a high-caliber rifle, rose within him. Violence was not as cathartic as it had once been, but sex still worked just fine. There had been a point in his life when this wrathful energy boiled up, and he had no idea what to do with it. Now he had a great many outlets.
His most recent outlet, Delilah, squealed so delightfully under his weight. He pulled her hands, but their chain, up above her head and pinned them to the top of the mattress. His legs tangled in hers, but her hands were trapped in a no-man's-land far from his cock, and she was at a loss for what to do. She could not do what she was trained to do: pleasure him. So, she just lied there and took what he gave her.
This was a far less tender affair than before, a consequence of battle and its hardiness. He did not kiss her, he did not cup her face in his hands, and he certainly did not whisper kind words in her ear. He simply spread her legs and pulled out his cock, hardened by adrenaline and fury, and jumped in.
They say that men should go slowly with their women, to ensure that they enjoy it and are not hurt by such harsh penetration. Snake had forgotten these lessons and became a bull, digging himself into a rut against her pelvis. Each thrust only made him harder. He grit his teeth and pushed down on her, not caring whether she liked it or not.
She recalled her training, slipping into those old habits. She moaned with pleasure as he pounded inside of her, knowing that men needed to hear their partners whine in heat to feel good about themselves. "Oh yeah," she moaned, leaning back and squeezing her eyelids shut.
"You like that?" Snake asked between gritted teeth and a locked jaw, pumping away like a jack-hammer. He was shaking the truck more than the engine was. "Yeah, you like that." He took great pleasure in knowing that his animal rut made women feel good, and did not wait for her to respond to his question.
Waves of pleasure ran up her spine as he pushed deeper inside her. She writhed in place and wrapped her legs around his, completely unsure of what to do with herself. Her instincts and experience told her to wrap her arms around his back and pull him tighter, but he held them in place above her head. She pushed forward to try and kiss him, her soft, supple lips, dying for skin-to-skin contact. But he was so far above her. All she could do was stare up at him, examining the cuts of his chest and the square of his jaw, and gasping for breath.
"Tell me you love me," he ordered her.
She was puzzled for a moment, as none of her previous owners had demanded this, at least not in bed. But she was an obedient girl, and obliged him. "I love you, sir," she said, and for all she knew it may have been true.
He finished inside of her as she said those words, then rolled over onto his back. While he certainly didn't take very long, Delilah couldn't recall any one of her previous masters lasting so long. He didn't object when her hands wandered down and she planted a few fingers inside herself, finishing the job he had started.
Snake was not a meditative person, but his body shuddered with exhaustion, so he closed his eyes. The vibrations of the engine, the smell of sweat and saliva and semen, and thin layer of perspiration on his skin. They flooded his senses, but the sound that prevailed over all was the sound of chains clanging as Delilah played with herself.
"Are you fertile?" he asked. It was not a common question to ask after a round, especially since she had been sold to him as a breeder.
"Yes, sir," she said after a moment of hesitancy. She didn't stop playing with herself, but all arousal had faded. She stared at him, lying naked beside her, and wondered why she wasn't turned on anymore.
"Any kids?"
She shook her head, but his eyes were still closed. "None that lasted."
"This one better take," he said. He didn't state the threat, but it was implicit. He had purchased a breeder. A woman who couldn't breed would be sent to the fields with the men, or maybe down a mineshaft.
His hand wandered onto her stomach. Her chains stopped rattling, and the only sound was the engine of the truck and tires rolling over asphalt.
"I've lost a few boys. They probably would've been brats anyway, like the one who's still kicking. But I'll make a man out of him yet. Or kill him trying. Whichever comes first, I guess."
Delilah knew what this was. She knew not to offer an opinion or insight. Her duty was to listen, and a few minutes ago her duty was to lie there. So she rubbed his chest and listened to his complaints and nodded to show that she was listening, but he didn't seem to care. He would probably say the exact same words whether he was with her or alone.