A New Career Opening For A Dirty Slut...
I wake up naked in bed between two naked men. I can feel the closeness of their body-heat, the touch of their skin. I'm scared. Where am I? Who are these guys? I lie as perfectly still as I can. It's dark, I can't see far. Although the intimate warmth is already have an arousing effect on me. It doesn't mean anything, it's just a natural reaction to close physical proximity, but I fight for control as my cock stirs into uninvited erection. This is unreal.
The guy to my right moves away. I lie still. He moves into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through his tousled hair. I pretend to be asleep. He stands up and scratches his bare arse, then paces across the floor into what I assume is the en-suite toilet. So this is a motel? I hear the long deluging slosh as he pisses. Then, after a moment's pause he reappears, and I get the full frontal. It's even more scary. This guy is seriously hung. It sways lazily down between his legs, impressive even when limp, hooded with a dark wrinkled foreskin. Has he fucked me with that? I feel an answering ache deep in my arse. I can detect the familiar sensation of dried spunk on my face. There's a hair in my mouth, a pubic hair? And I know without doubt. Yes.
He gets back into bed. I'm too scared to move. I keep my eyes clammed shut scarcely daring to breathe in case it provokes his attention. Cursing my stupid erection hard up against my gut. It has no conscience. I lie awake for a long time. Next thing I know I must have slept, despite everything. Because it's bright daylight. I'm sprawled across the bed, but I'm alone. They're no longer in this motel room. I get up cautiously, the bathroom is empty too. I swill cool water around my face, and rub my teeth with my finger. Then I hunt around for my clothes. There's a T-shirt, and some denim shorts. They're not mine but they're all there is, so I pull them on. The shorts are little too short than I'd prefer, frayed along the bottom where they've been hacked off. But it seems I have no choice.
There's a short corridor outside. I follow the smell of coffee and the sound of country music into a diner. The two guys are already there, it's too late to avoid them, they've seen me and beckon me across. I glance around warily. There's a big old Rockola chrome jukebox, lit up with maudlin country hits. Outside, beyond the plate-glass frontage I can see only a scrubby landscape that goes on forever. A highway strung with telegraph wires, and sandy ochre grit.
I slouch across to the table they're sharing. They're eating a big fried breakfast. I feel bashful, don't quite know how to react. So I sit down beside them.
"Hey, another order here" yells one of them, in the direction of the serving hatch. The guy I saw during the night.
"Sorry guys" I mutter. "I'm not too sure what's going on here."
"Don't worry, boy. Nothing to get overly concerned about." I hear his voice for the first time. Thick with southern accent, firm, allowing for no argument.
A big blowsy woman wearing too make-up has come across with a pad. She has tattoos and sagging breasts like twin airships.
"Same for our friend" he says brusquely. Allowing me no choice.
"Where are we? Where are my clothes?"
"You won't be needing no clothes where you're going, boy" laughs the other man. He has long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, and a drooping mustache.
"Tell me, I don't remember much about last night."
"You got a friend called Ivan" he explains wearily, as though he can't really be bothered. "It seems Ivan has a weakness for pretty boys and for games of chance. Not a great combination as it turns out."
Yes, I remember now. New Orleans. We'd docked in Louisiana, and were spending shore-leave together. "Must have drunk more than I'm used to" I manage with a half-smile.
"Ivan's in trouble. He lost more than he can afford to lose. He owes money. You're standing surety on his behalf."
The blowsy woman shoves a greasy breakfast in front of me. Suddenly I'm not hungry. "What do you mean 'standing surety'?"
"What I say. No more, no less. You are held as a bond, until he comes up with what he owes."
"That's not possible. There's no law in the world says that's possible."
He shrugs and leans back in his chair. "I'm just telling it like it is. It's not up to us, me and Luke, we're just delivery boys. Transporters. We're just doing our job. You got a beef you gotta take it up with them when we get there."
I stand up abruptly. "This is crazy. I'm getting the hell outta here." They don't raise a finger to stop me. I storm angrily across the diner, through the door and out into the porch. There's a highway that goes all the way north and south. And there's grit desert, dry mangy-looking scrub-bushes and scraggly cacti. There's one vehicle, a motor-home pulled in off the road, which must be how we got here. I stand there getting my breath back. My heart pounding up against me rib-cage. No way out. What now?
I go back in and sit down. "OK. Where are we? What happens now?"
