She says nothing. She knows what's happening, what's going to happen and even though she's looking for a way out she knows begging him not to rape her isn't it. Pleading with him is what he wants. He's stronger than she is by a long way and she knows she can't fight him but adrenalin is racing through her numbing the jarring pain of being so roughly yanked around. Pain that she surely will feel later. Hopefully.
She thinks back to when his van stopped by her broken down car. Her instinct had told her to keep him at arms length and stay away from him, but she was afraid of offending him and he was being so friendly and reassuring that she tried to shake her unease. He didn't have to pull over and offer to help. So she returned his concern with a smile, his offer of help with modest thanks. But she was alone in the dark with help an hour away, and it was cold without the car heater working so when he offered to let her wait in his van with him until help came, she reluctantly accepted and climbed into the front seat.
She probably even fancied him a bit. After all, he was good looking, charming and obviously good at being a knight in shining armour. Still, common sense told her not to flirt with him. But had she anyway? Did she give out that signal? Sometimes she did that without realising. It wouldn't be the first time it had got her into trouble. Never this much though.
She'd be out with the girls for a drink on a Saturday night and some guy would be looking at her. She'd feel him looking and every now and then glance back. It was always the same, he'd stare, she'd glance over more and more frequently. Eventually she'd hold it for as long as she dare, then bring her drink slowly to her mouth, only then lowering her gaze to her drink. It was such a slight gesture, hardly anything at all really. But she knew how it looked, what signal it sent out and how that always eradicated doubt and advanced things up the scale from harmless flirting into primal lust with just a slight lick of the lips. Then she'd smile casually to herself and keeping her face lowered slightly she'd look back at him. He was always still watching. Always captivated. And he usually came over about then and ask to buy her a drink. She'd usually feign surprise, decline with a smile and let her stunning girlfriends wonder why it was always her who was asked and not them.
But one time the guy who's eye she caught hadn't asked to buy her a drink. He'd sat watching for longer than most. He didn't smile back. She began to feel a little unnerved and kept on looking over to him. But then he simply disappeared leaving her feeling a little disappointed that the game hadn't been played out to its usual conclusion. But the pub was full so she moved on, looked for the next eye to catch.
She forgot about him right until he grabbed her by the arms in the corridor just outside the Ladies and tried to kiss her. She pushed him off squealing in horror but he held her arms tightly. He was pulled away by a nearby doorman and was ejected quite forcefully, all the time protesting that she'd wanted it, she'd given him the come on, he'd seen her! She was shaken up and grateful to the doorman and when everyone put it down to some arsehole having one too many she let them believe that. But she knew he was right. She had sent out those signals and he hadn't misread them. The only difference was that most men didn't act on it quite so decisively.
The other thing she would never admit to her friends when they were fussing around her, telling her how scary that must have been and how lucky she was to have been rescued, was that after the initial fear she felt the real rush was how turned on she was. She could barely control her urge to dive into the Ladies for a quick hard fast rub of her throbbing clitoris. They'd never understand that she had wanted this to happen for such a long time. That she masturbated over thoughts of been grabbed, dragged into bushes, toilets or vans and taken by force. And when it nearly happened her pussy reacted with such force it made her knees tremble and her breath short. Her friends predictably misread her state to be shock and fear. And she was glad they had. They just wouldn't understand.
And so here she was now trapped in his van, her ankle being held in tightly in his big hand, being dragged backwards towards him, knowing that he's going to rape her, feeling her terror but knowing that wasn't all she's feeling. Survival wasn't the only thing on her mind.
He yanked her closer twisting her foot. She flipped over onto her belly and kicked out hard with her free foot. It connected with the door and hurt like hell. He grabbed her other ankle and pulled her feet together and in one swift motion she found herself lying across his lap with her head down in the gap between the seats. She realised just how easy she'd made it for him. Never in all her life had she been across someone's knee like this. She froze.
His right hand pressed heavily into her back, his left held her legs down so that her bottom was raised up over his legs. But it was his voice that held her still.
"If you fight me I'll win, you'll get hurt and I'll still take what I want."
"Fuck you!" she spat but she stayed still considering what he'd said.
He let off the pressure on her legs a little and rested his hand on her bottom, feeling it, squeezing it slightly. She ignored his warning and thrashed her legs trying to kick her way forward. She couldn't help it. His right hand reached down, grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head back painfully, arching her back till she was almost level with his face. She cried out and tried to push herself up on her hands to ease the pressure on her scalp.
Again; "If you fight me I'll win, you'll get hurt and I'll still take what I want."
And to drive home the point he pulled her up higher still as he slid his left hand between her thighs and pressed against her pussy.
"Do you understand?"
She said nothing. But something in the way her hips rocked told him that she understood perfectly.
"Good girl."