Wren

Wren swallowed without choking as his orgasm spurted in her mouth. His groin, after a moment's stillness, bumped her a couple more times and he released her head. She fell back onto the blanket looking up at him.

"Dog shit," he said as he zipped up, "we have to come to a basic understanding. Not a peep out of you or I'll thrash you to within an inch of your life. Don't doubt it. If you're a good girl and I decide to let you leave, you can have your clothes back. Your bag is mine -- partial payment for rent. Any complaints?"

She wiped her cheek with her bound hands and shook her head. She wished he'd shut the door when he came in. It was cold out there.

"Come on in, then. Breakfast's waiting."

She started to rise.

"You'll crawl, dog shit."

She settled onto her hands and knees. With her bound wrists she had a hopping gait as she followed him to the house. Daylight made the house much closer than it had seemed last night. Clapboard with peeling white paint, an oil tank and small square cement porch in the back. Brad waited in the screen doorway for her. The yard was mown patchy grass on sandy soil, surrounded by tall weeds. She couldn't hear any noise of traffic or nature and out of the shed the wind bit her bare skin cruelly.

He held the screened door open for her, let it bang against her heels, shut the door behind her. "In the living room, dog shit."

She had to pee, didn't look up at him as she passed. She wondered what the penalty would be if dog shit had an accident.

Three guys sat on the couch enjoying the oil heater. She settled next to it. So far Brad had been fifty percent predictable, worth putting up with. His friends were utterly predictable and okay as far as things went.

She didn't plan on staying forever and when she left she was going to take her rucksack with her, Brad or no Brad.

"Hands," Brad said, standing between her and the men.

She raised her wrists and he untied them. She wondered at what they thought they saw. A girl, yes, but with some value added -- negative in this case. Whore. Slut. Tramp. Trash. She settled on her knees and faced them. Captive. She wondered what these cowboys' forefathers had done to Indian maidens they'd captured or found huddled at the rear of the trading post.

"Make it quick, dog shit. After breakfast you're going back to the dog house."

She'd let the three men decide what that meant but they weren't saying much. The fat one in the center was prone to giggling, that was all.

"I need a collar and a leash for you, don't I?" He grabbed a fist full of hair and pulled her toward the blond at the closer end of the couch. She held Brad's wrist as she crawled on her knees after him. He shoved her face into the crotch -- unwashed and smelly jeans -- a smoker. "There's your bowl, honey. Start eating. Scott, you'll find she's okay, not great, but she doesn't waste a drop either. Good girl."

He mashed her face down onto the prick she'd gotten out of the jeans.

It was a decent prick and once Brad had stopped fooling around she was able to get it in her mouth. Somebody, Brad or Scott, controlled her head as she sucked. Scott came in her throat when she wasn't ready and in a bad position and she choked; come came out of her nose.

"Bad dog, bad dog," Brad yelled and began slapping her hard.

She coughed, hands by her nose cupping the come, bright stars of light in her eyes. Her rear and back stung from Brad's blows. After Scott's prick slid from her mouth she slurped and licked the come from her fingers.

Brad jerked her head back so she looked up at him. "I'm a mind to send you out without any more breakfast."

She reached for the giggling fat man's crotch as she pled with her eyes to Brad. She couldn't tell if he was playing or not which was perfectly fine with her. He slapped her face and pushed her down into this one's flaccid lap.

"Where'd she come from?" She guessed it was Scott asking.

"I bought her from a salesman who was passing through." Brad's hands left her head and someone else grabbed her ears.

"He'd found her drunk out of her skull in the back seat of his car one night, at a joint north of here, near the state line. She'd obviously been fucked a lot already, was stark naked and not able to put up much resistance."

The fat one's prick was a babe swaddled in greasy blubber. She moaned as she sucked and as he twisted her ears.

"He put his two cents in, at least that's what he said. The next morning, sober and sore, she had some story about a boyfriend getting back at her for fooling around and begged to be taken back home. As far as he was concerned she was too good a thing to pass up, naked and more or less willing, you can see she isn't resisting a lot. So the salesman kept her, used her to make a few bucks, leaving her at a house when he was home weekends."

The fat man's pelvis jerked as he came, squashed her nose painfully. Brad's hand on the back of her head kept her on him as she swallowed. "How'd she do, Luther?"

"Is she supposed to do that? You know?"

Brad pushed her into the last lap. "She'd better do that if she wants breakfast. Speak, dog shit."

"Please," she said softly.

"Enough of that, dog shit." She got a swat on the back of her head. "What did I tell you about begging?"

The man's knuckles were scraped -- some old wounds almost heeled, some new and still weeping. He drew his hands back so she could open his pants. The backs of his hands were covered with thick black hair. This one smelled of leather and piss.

"So anyway, the salesman's old lady found out about the bitch and he had to dump her. Thirty dollars from the till which I need to make up before going to the bank or old man Roberds will kill me."

She choked on this one too. He was energetic and forceful.

"Thirty dollars," the giggly voice said. "What if she doesn't want to do this?"

"Fuck, Luther." Brad grabbed her hair and thrust her up and down on the fat prick. "You don't ask, you don't put up with objections of any sort, you just do it. And to a girl like dog shit here, this is heaven."

Wren was retching violently when the prick shot its load.

"Bad dog," Brad screamed. He held her head down on the prick. "Bad dog."

She backed away from the couch, face streaming with tears, snot, come and spit. Wiping her face with the back of her hand she heard Brad's belt being pulled free of his pants' loops.

She couldn't be silent as he strapped her, saying, "Oh. Oh." with each blow as she rolled on her back. A hand grabbed her cunt and squeezed as her legs were being whipped, Brad screaming, "Bad dog, bad dog," and she came, heels kicking the floor, back arching.

Brad stood over her panting. "Go back to your shed, dog shit."

"Ah." She shuddered involuntarily, gasping for breath convulsively. "Ah, ah, ah."

"Luther, she could have left the salesman any time she wanted, clothes or no clothes. Tell me. What would any of you done? Done what she told you she wanted? Or known, instinctively what she was and what she really wanted or she wouldn't have been in your car, nude, drunk, and fucked by so many she was covered with their spunk. The guy she two-timed her boyfriend for must have been something else. No tears, no shame, she wanted to run back to his arms. I said back to your shed, dog shit."

She didn't play any games, not a look, wink or grin back at the men on the couch. She crawled from the room, out the door into the cold yard. She found a place to piss and shit, found some dried leaves to wipe herself, and closed the shed door after her.

The water in the bowl was icy and made her teeth ache as she drank, then she crawled into the blankets.

She could barely remember their faces, remembered Brad's voice better than his face, except for his pale eyes, unreadable, as he watched her. She wanted to touch herself but didn't dare; her skin was on fire with wanting. Instead, she gently felt the welts of the strap, tender, so tender she didn't need to actually touch them to feel her finger's closeness.

Some time later the door opened and four dark shapes stood outlined by the clear sky. "See, I told you she'd be here," Brad said. "Dog shit, these fine, upstanding citizens have rented you for the day, until I get back from work this evening, and you'll do anything they ask. Understand?"

She nodded, not looking at them.

"And you, my friends, remember. Here or in the yard, and nowhere else. If you attempt to abscond with her, I'll hunt you down with no mercy. And no mercy if she gets you to put her on a bus. She's only pretending. You like it here with me, don't you, dog shit?"

She nodded, raising her eyes to his shape. She smiled, a brief, tight smile, hoping it made her seem less than willing.

"She's all yours." The shape walked away.

"Close the door," the fat one, Luther, said.

"We can't see if we close the door," someone said. Scott?

No this was Scott; he said, "There's a lamp here." The other sounded almost like him; for her he had no name.

The lamp was lit. "Close the door," Scott said.

"What are you doing?" Luther asked.

The blanket was pulled away from her. "Getting ready to get my money's worth," the one who wasn't Scott said. "What does it look like I'm doing?" There was a rasp of metal and cloth and then he was on her.

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