Eep Me Caged

Hi everyone! I just wanted to thank you for the response to this story. This has been a little more difficult to write because there are significant portions of it that are inspired by real events. Of course, any resemblance to any person living or otherwise is purely coincidence.

This story contains true accounts of sexsomnia and sexual abuse.

This story is not like the other things I've shared so far. This story has no fantasy elements and probably falls in the "dark stalker romance" category of things. It's a gritty story and as such, has a lot of elements that some people may find triggering. BDSM, non-con, con non-con, violence, murder, kidnapping, submission, domination, alcohol, smoking, revenge porn, spanking, captivity, no safe words, suicide, sexsomnia, disability, eating disorders, Iraq war, tampering with birth control, and abuse are all part of this story. And again, there are no werewolves or faeries in this one - but you will see a lot of common themes across the stories I've shared so far, and this one. Stay sexy and don't get murdered - Ava

FOURTEEN - Talia

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,

There is a field. I'll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass,

The world is too full to talk about.

Ideas, language, even the phrase each other

Doesn't make any sense. - Rumi

Leo's rules started to change almost as soon as we set foot in the truck, but I didn't hold it against him. I tried to reserve judgment - messy friend group, drinking problems, not wearing his seatbelt, and then the shifting demands once I actually got into his truck. Savannah had always told me that I was a little too judgmental, a little too confident that I knew everything. I'd tried to learn not to be that way so that she could feel more comfortable confiding in me, and with Leo I tried not to be that way so that he might actually stand a chance.

But he was totally a fuckboy, wasn't he?

I could still see something in him, though, even if half the time I wondered if I was out of my mind.

"Remember what I said before about safe words," he asked me almost as soon as the truck was out of the truck stop parking lot and on the roadway.

"Yes," I answered hesitantly.

"How I told you 'stop' and 'no' don't work, and we need a safe word?"

I nodded.

"You remember my government name?"

I laughed every time he phrased it like that. It was on a million things inside his home, engraved on his dog tags, and everything else the Army gave him, but he hated it. His parents, Southern and devoutly Catholic at the time of his birth, had given him a Biblical first name that was so common he was never the only man in the room with the same name.

"Either you call me that, or J. Alright? That'll get my attention well enough."

I wondered what he intended to do to me that I would need the safe word for, but I didn't ask. So far he hadn't really done anything that weird, had he?

"I still can't believe you haven't told me to stop by now," he murmured as if he was reading my mind.

"Why would I?" I let my face wrinkle up as much as possible. If he thought he was too rough, mean, or dirty with me, he was crazy.

"The women that I've been with have all told me I take too long. I can hurry up if you want it done faster--"

"Why would I want it over faster? Knock it off or I'm going to start calling you by your 'government name' all the time."

He made a gagging sound and finally turned his full attention to his work. Eventually I climbed into the back of the truck so I could work on my laptop in the dark. It wasn't the safest idea I'd ever had, but I had things to do and axes to grind. I told myself that Leo was a good driver and laid out my equipment on his bed. My laptop, a digital drawing tablet that ported my drawings right into Photoshop, and a few odds and ends were all I really needed to make art.

"You're not buckled-up back there," he teased.

"I still won't fuck you if you don't wear yours," I teased back.

"How is that fair?"

I rolled my eyes behind the bunk curtains where he couldn't see me. "I can't die and leave you pregnant, can I?" He clicked his tongue but finally minded his own business so I could deal with mine.

I lost track of time, only popping my head out when the truck stopped moving. "What's going on? Gas?"

"Diesel," he corrected me, as if I'd ever be the one putting fuel in the truck. "But I have to take a break, so put your stuff away and get your panties off."

I stared at him for a moment, a little surprised by his tone. It was more gruff and demanding than usual and I worried that he'd been holding it back until I couldn't get away.

He caught my gaze and froze. "What?"

"'Put your stuff away and get your panties off'," I replied, doing my best to imitate his rough demeanor.

His eyes darkened a little. "It'll be quick. Filling the tanks will take most of my time. Clock's ticking," he told me, then jumped out of the truck without bothering to touch any of the steps on his way down. I closed my laptop and tucked things away on one corner of the bed, hoping that was good enough. I took my panties off, then curled up against the back wall of the cab and hoped no one had any reason to get in the truck and discover me Pooh-bearing it in a t-shirt and no pants. Then I remembered I had a few lightweight summer dresses and slipped into one of those just as Leo pulled the truck out of the fuel island.

When he came into the back he wasted no time. He grabbed my thighs and pulled me to the edge of the bed, roughly rolling my dress up over my hips as he went. "Always wet," he murmured with a grin as he freed himself from his fatigues and slid his cock against me. And then he was inside, straining against me and pushing himself in to the hilt.

"I don't care if you come," he growled as he pounded me, "I'm using you now, and I'll take care of you later." But something about being objectified that way turned me on and I came anyway. He was right - he could make it quick if he wanted to, and he did, though he fucked me as hard as his sleeping-self liked to fuck while I scratched and clawed at the bed and wall behind me.

"Stay like that, don't put panties on," he barked as he buttoned up his fatigues and left me, red-faced, sweating, and panting for air in the bunk. As the truck rolled on I set up my laptop and went back to work. In the evening, once his day was over, he was back to his usual patient self. We ate dinner from the truck stop, had sex, then played on our respective laptops until we were sleepy. I curled up in his bed, still feeling guilty for getting the real bed, and he sacked-out on the floor. In the morning he woke me, fucked me hard and fast, then he took me into the truck stop where we shared a shower. As soon as I thought I was done bathing Leo was pressing me against the tiled wall and coming inside of me again.

"Why?" I panted, trying to keep annoyance out of my voice.

"Just shut up and wear it," he groaned, then wrapped his arm around my belly and filled me. "Wear one of those little dresses, no panties," he demanded and I complied, though I worried a gust of wind would flip my dress up and flash everyone at the truck stop. "It would be the thrill of the day," Leo chuckled when I told him my fears, then he walked with one hand holding my dress against my ass, much to my chagrin.

Life in the truck settled into that routine - sex, drive, sex, drive, sex, rest, sex. There wasn't much else to do, at least not for Leo. For me it was a different story. I kept two different desktops, the art one that Leo could see, and the one that he couldn't know anything about. My side job was sporadic. It wasn't like we were busting sickos every single day. Those people always seem to operate in rings and groups and it would sometimes be months of other people working before I'd get a text or e-mail from Sueycide asking me to make something visual. There were other things they worked on, too, mainly harassing people they didn't like.

The group operated a voice chat server which I rarely ever joined. I know what most people imagine when they conjure a vision of a hacktivist in their mind - someone who has been wronged, a genius that wants to make the world better, someone who is compassionate and cares about victims.

There were a few like that, but most of them were young men who were angry at older men who had money, power, and women. They were misogynists, often racists as well, more like rebels without a cause who had found an unsympathetic target. On the rare occasion I joined the chat and actually said something my voice was met with whoops of, "who let a girl in here?" and, "sandwichbot has joined the chat!" In Leo's truck, using his truck's internet connection, I didn't bother to check in with the group that way. I stuck to texting Suey when I had questions and otherwise just stayed out of it.

It had been a slow week. I finished my commissioned illustration work early and Suey hadn't texted me much since the Pastor Matt debacle. And maybe I was a little bored. As Leo's week was coming to an end he would have to park the truck and sit for thirty-something hours and a little demon that had been niggling at the back of my mind told me this was my last chance until Monday.

No,

I told myself,

I shouldn't do that.

But how could I be certain? I thought about Matt. He'd told me he was an Arabic Jew and he certainly looked the part. That was one of the only reasons I'd even stayed with him - our shared ancestry made me feel a little closer to the culture. Not long after I dumped him I found out he was a Christian youth pastor and my discoveries about Matt were only just beginning then. I thought about Leo's messy friend group, all the angry women we'd left in Oregon, and that little demon finally won out.

I'll just look a little bit,

I told myself, opening my second desktop and using a special browser to search for him. His common first name proved problematic at first, but then I found him. There was almost nothing. A Facebook account he had never used and no other social media presence to speak of. After a little more digging my blood was boiling.

I'm not dumb enough to pick a fight in a moving truck, so I packed up my things and moved to the passenger seat. He was listening to music and enjoying himself, but he picked up on my bad mood instantly.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I told him, but he still moved his eyes back and forth between the road and me. "I'll tell you later," I finally gritted out, though I didn't know how I would. It was hard to even draw a breath. My chest was tight, betrayal squeezing my heart and filling my eyes with tears over and over before I'd blink them away and return to staring out the passenger window.

Why am I so stupid,

I thought over and over. There were so many warning signs and I just ignored them. Did I really think he would just change his ways?

Leo

"It's hard to just stop being a fuckboy." - Me

The challenge in sharing a truck with another person is that you really have no secrets or privacy. It doesn't matter how good you think you are at keeping secrets, your passenger or co-driver will figure it out eventually. There's no space in a truck, and without it you can't keep much of anything hidden. I'd thought that I'd left my secrets at home on my PC. I was careful never to visit those websites on my laptop, especially not in the truck, but it hadn't mattered.

The worst part is that I knew she would figure it out, and I still made no effort to cover my tracks. But I wasn't the only one keeping things to myself, and like Talia, I was a snoop.

When I finally shut the truck down that night after taking as long as possible to do so, I turn in the driver's seat and ask her what's wrong. She's quiet for a long time, but finally she meets my gaze. I already know I fucked up. I don't think there's a man alive, even one who has never had a woman before, that doesn't know

that

look.

"You said you wanted to be monogamous."

"I did. I still do. Why?"

She just snorts, an angry blast of hot air that sends her bangs shooting upwards like a cartoon princess. "What's the matter," I insist, and lean forward to grab her hand, but she flinches away and shoots me the dirtiest look I've ever gotten in my life.

"You say that, but then the only social media you use is dating websites?" Her glare is devastating, but I'm a stubborn asshole with a brilliant poker face, so I just stare at her.

"I haven't been using those since I met you--"

"It says you were active over the weekend, when we were at your house."

Well, shit.

"Alright." That's all I can muster. I'm caught being a dog and I honestly don't even know how to defend myself. I can't even say it's an old habit that dies hard - I never fucked around in the Army. I waited until I got out, then I fucked around enough to make up for lost time. Call me a late-bloomer or a slow-learner, but I just figured it out and now I have to give it up.

"Just, 'alright', that's all you got? How far are we from Wenatchee? I'll just find a ride," she's already moving to the bunk and grabbing her stuff that I see now is already packed.

Ah, fuck.

"You've been thinking about this all day and only gave me thirty seconds to respond," I tell her, but I don't think that argument holds much water with her.

"You have had at least a week to think about it, really more like two and you still don't have a defense? Sad," she mutters and flings her laptop bag over her shoulder. "I just don't get it. You made a big deal about your weird fuck-friends, broke it off with all of them in front of me, supposedly quit drinking and smoking, but you're going to throw it all away over a dating website and potential pussy? You're all the same," she's on a roll now and I'm trying to claw-back the scraps of my ego when I blurt out that I know all about her.

"Oh yeah? Well, how about you with your second desktop full of... I don't even know what, Talia."

Her eyes lock on mine and the shift behind them is pants-shitting territory, even for me. "Cold" doesn't begin to describe it. I've never seen someone actively compartmentalize something, but I've just watched her file me away under "target" and I don't like the way that feels at all. I think about those spooky aptitude tests that I burned at her family's home and I finally get it. There's something not right under the hood.

"What does that mean?" She's still as a statue, regarding me out of the corner of her eye.

"You tell me," I retort. "Desktop folders with gross descriptions. A voice chat server full of dickheads. Pictures of dozens of men, some of whom are in prison for crimes against children. You know, I looked up that surgeon that worked on your back. Do you know what happened to him?"

She sets her bags down, glares at me for a little longer, then finally says, "why don't you tell me?"

"He's in prison, and you know what for. My question is, did he actually do it, or did you just frame him?" She stares at me for a moment longer, then sets her laptop bag on the passenger seat and carefully unzips it. I thought she'd crack at some point, get mad, hit me, cry. Maybe now she's going to show me proof that she either didn't frame him or that she's going to blackmail me. Instead she takes out her laptop, opens the passenger door, and throws the laptop down onto the pavement outside the truck.

"Talia! What the fuck, all your work is in there!" Instead, I'm the one that cracks. Did I really think I was going to out-bluff this fucking psycho? All for a dating website that I only got a hook-up from once?

I don't even have time to react. In an instant she's out of the truck and just fucking

gone.

I'm standing on the passenger-side steps looking down at a pile of broken plastic, one corner of the metal hard drive case hanging out to glint in the street lights and mock me. The idea of all the lost art inside that hard drive makes me sick. It's dark outside and the truck stop is noisy. Trucks with refrigerated trailers are running non-stop. Trucks with air-leaks are puffing and sputtering. Somewhere nearby two drivers are fighting over the last parking spot, bass is rumbling from another truck, and a woman is beating on another driver's door and yelling that he owes her for a blow job.

And where is Talia? What does she think I'm going to do?

Oh, you big, dumb idiot, you know what she thinks you're going to do. She thinks you're going to turn her in to people like her, people wired from birth to punish bad people. Moron.

I get out and scoop up the carcass of her laptop. It actually looks alright, and I think I can transfer the guts to a new case and make it work again. But as I climb back in the truck with it I look at the floor and realize she's left everything behind. She doesn't even have her phone or her wallet. What's her big plan?

And what the fuck is mine?

I put the remains of the laptop in the bunk, then I sit in the driver's seat. "What are my priorities," I ask myself in the resounding emptiness of the truck. I told Bonnie I was going to marry this girl and blew up my social life to pursue her. I quit smoking and drinking, but I never needed either of those things. They were just something to do and contrary to popular belief I was never addicted, I just liked to overdo it. But I always want a back-up plan, a Plan B, and that's where the stupid dating profiles come into play. As much as I like to think I live on the edge, I just watched someone who actually does and it scared the absolute shit out of me.

Where do you even start to apologize to someone like that, someone that will just throw their whole life away in an instant and disappear? And if I don't figure out a way to make it up to her, what will she do? Will I never hear from her again, or will the police show up, seize my computer, and find a bunch of illegal shit planted on it?

"Shit, fuck, shitty fuck," I growl as I jump out of the truck and take off into the darkness. I look under my trailer and the next one over, circle around and look under a few more trailers, then I stand back and sigh. In front of my truck are rows and rows of trucks, hundreds of trailers where she could duck under or sit between the cab and the trailer. I could look all night.

Behind me, the options get worse. I backed up and parked beside the forest thinking the little picnic table behind the trailer might be a nice place to sit. But is Talia the kind of person to pick the truck stop full of loud, mechanical noises and strangers, or the dark forest; not her forest but one that looks just like it?

"Fuck," I yell, not concerned that anyone will hear me over the riot of idling trucks.

How far can someone with a back like hers realistically run,

I wonder. But then, is Talia realistic? No, she's stubborn and nuts. I go back to the truck, get strapped, and grab my heavy metal flashlight that can double as a club in a pinch. I have no idea what she might find in the woods. There are always people begging for money, suspicious-looking dudes, lot lizards, drug addicts, and worst of all, cops. What if she stumbles across a mean pimp or some horned-up meth addict living in a tent? When I add in the complication of the Pacific Northwest being bear and cougar country my brain populates the forest with a thousand predators.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Talia," I rant as I stomp into the forest. "Rule number one was truck stops are dangerous. Where are you?" I notice a trail that passes by the picnic table and heads somewhere into the forest, so even though I think that's probably the most dangerous route to take, I take it because I think she would. I know it was probably beaten into the ground by thousands of footsteps belonging to drug addicts and truckers that needed to take a piss and I hope she doesn't find any of either of them. I jog as fast as I dare, afraid I might miss her hiding behind a tree if I move any faster.