The truck eased to a stop, just shy of the dirt road turn-off. Without a word, he opened the driver’s door and got out. She watched him as he walked around the front of the truck, dust swirling about him. He opened the passenger door. “Get out, whore,” he ordered, the slightest of smiles etching across his rugged, sun-baked, face. Dutifully, she stepped down out of the cab, her delicately polished toes dropping like blood into the soft dirt. As ordered, she had worn, only, a thin cotton cropped t-shirt and her tiny ragged denim cutoffs.
“Turn around,” he ordered. She turned her back to him. Instantly, he grabbed her left wrist and slapped a metal cuff around it. He brought her right wrist around behind her and snapped the hard steel around it. The wetness started to seep out between the folds of her pussy, coating the thin strip of rough cloth that ran between her legs. She stood there, hands secured behind her back, her hardening nipples lifting the skimpy t-shirt off her skin. He reached around and gave them a strong pinch, nearly making her knees buckle. Deftly, he wound the blindfold around her head, tying it tightly. He turned her around. “You’re gonna be a good whore, aren’t you?” he said, running his strong hands down her hips. She almost whimpered when she answered, “Yes.”
He slowly unbuttoned the top of her shorts. “Tell me what you’re gonna be,” he ordered. “A good whore,” she gasped, as he yanked her shorts off. “Damn right,” he said, as he slapped her bare ass. He lifted her into the truck, picked her shorts up out of the dust, then closed the door. She sat, waiting, her wetness soaking into the biege leather.
He climbed into the truck and turned onto the dirt road. The windows were down and the building heat of the morning caressed her ribs and tummy and naked crotch. The road was rough, but he drove slowly. He drove silently. She could feel his dark intensity from where she sat. His strength controlled her. She would do anything for him. It seemed like they had driven an hour when the truck finally came to a lurching halt. He shut the engine off. The air was dry and hot and quiet. The muscles in her inner thighs twitched in anticipation. She could hear him open his door and get out, could hear his boots scuffing around the front of the truck, could hear the latch on her door being pulled and the soft clunk of metal as the door swung open. Cool air rushed over her legs and feet.
He lifted her out of the seat, his thick strong arms cradling her as he set her down, gently. A warm duff of juniper needles, dried sage and dusty dung cushioned her feet. He pulled her head to his chest. He had taken off his shirt. The smell of his skin drove her wild. “What are you gonna be?” he asked, his deep voice resonating through his chest wall. “A good whore,” she answered weakly. He stroked her hair with his large hands. “Yes,” he growled, “you will.”
He put an arm around her small body and led her to a long, low, branch that reached out under an ancient juniper tree. The gnarled branch arched behind her head. He grabbed her long, ropey, hair and twisted it around the branch. He wound a rope around it, tightly, so that her head was securely tied to the branch. A thin streak of cum dribbled down the inside of her leg. She stood there, waiting, tied to a tree with her hands behind her back and her chest heaving. She heard the thin snap of a jackknife and felt the cool blade slide between her breasts. He started a small slit in the fabric, casually folded the knife and dropped it into the front pocket of his jeans, then ripped her t-shirt wide open. It fell off her shoulders and gathered in a wad behind her back. Then, he said something she would never forget, as long as she lived.