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Stolen -2- Friendly Moose
🕑 Added 2020-06-28 07:02:00 +0000 UTCMoose asked me if I had a phone, and I shook my head. Stupidly, I hadn’t brought it with me when I went to the market. “Good,” he said. “I’d just have to destroy it.” But he checked the pockets of my cut-off jeans to be sure. “Good,” he said again. He added, “Never lie to me. It’s not a good idea.”
I nodded. I believed him.
He told me to lie down on the bed, against the wall, and he lay down next to me. The mattress must have been at least queen-size since it was big enough for both of us and long enough for his height. “Kick off your shoes,” he ordered me. “I’m not going to hurt you, but let’s not get the bed dirty.”
I used my toes to pull my sneakers off, they were only loosely laced, and I had always treated them as slip-ons anyway. He’d told me to be quiet, but I discovered that I was too scared to speak anyway.
Moose sat back up long enough to take off his own shoes and put his and mine on the floor, then he lay back down on his side, making a sort of wall in the middle of the bed. He propped his head up on an elbow and looked at me, his big face only inches from mine.
The room smelled of pine and lemon and fresh, clean bedding. And of a big guy who may have been sweating from his activities. And of me, my fear of the situation and the big man lying beside me.
“This probably won’t be pleasant for you,” he said, speaking softly but not really whispering. The truck had put on some speed, and no one not in the tiny bedroom would have been able to hear him. “We should do some play-acting to convince Earl he doesn’t have to silence a witness.”
I managed to nod in agreement and made a squeaking noise.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Eighteen,” I said. I didn’t think to lie. This was happening in early May, the Friday before the holiday weekend, a month after my birthday and a month before I would graduate from high school. Would I ever graduate now?
He grinned. “You are awfully cute, you know. I thought you might be younger.” He leaned in closer and kissed me on the forehead, where Earl had punched me. “Was that terrible?” he asked.
I nodded again. “It hurts,” I said squeakily.
He raised an eyebrow, “Oh, you mean Earl hitting you. He won’t be doing that again. I’m claiming you for my own squeeze, and Earl respects our arrangement.”
“Um? Uh? S-squeeze?”
“My girlfriend,” he said and kissed my forehead again. “Does that make the owie feel better, eh?” He chuckled. “I imagine you’re horrified by what I’m doing, hmm?”
I nodded fearfully. I clenched my hands in the folds of the bedclothes, staring at him. His eyelids drooped then opened wide.
“It may get worse,” he said. He kissed me on the eyebrow, the cheek, the corner of my mouth, then full on my lips—little, brief, dry, kisses.
I shivered.
“Not too bad, eh?” he said.
I didn’t answer but felt tears welling up in my eyes. I knew what he wanted, and I’d never been so scared in my life.
“Shh, shh, shh,” he said, and I realized that I was weeping. “Turn your back to me, face the wall. We’ll make spoons and just cuddle for a bit. That might be enough to convince Earl that I’m serious. But we can’t let him get too good a look at you. He may be unobservant, but he’s not an idiot.”
I turned away from him. At least he wouldn’t be able to kiss me on the mouth again, but he put an arm over me and pulled me close to his chest. “You’re pretty enough to be a girl,” he whispered in my ear, and I felt his lips on my neck. More shivers.
We lay there for a while, and the road noise changed again. Perhaps we were now on the freeway. I wondered where we were going, and if I would even survive to find out. I realized I was crying again when I felt the dampness on the pillow against my cheek.
His arm weighed a ton and was covered in coarse black hair. He put an even heavier leg over mine, trapping my legs between his. “Clasp your hands together in front of you,” he whispered in my ear.
I did, clasping them in front of my face. “L-like this?” I asked.
“Mmm-hmm,” he murmured. Then he closed his big hand around both of mine, holding them against the pillow. “Tell me if I’m hurting you. Say ‘ouchie,’ and I’ll know to stop.”
I nodded a bit, scared out of what wits I probably had left. He put his other arm under the pillow to take my clasped hands in that one, freeing his first hand to move to my middle pulling me closer. He turned that hand, so two of his big fingers were pressing on my lower belly, just above my groin.
I realized what the shape I felt through his pants pressing against my backside was. He had a hard-on that must have been as big as my forearm. I whimpered.
“Shh, shh, shh,” he said. Then he nibbled gently on my earlobe. “You’re okay. You’re all right. I’m not hurting you, am I?”
I shook my head, a tiny motion.
He chuckled. “Can you wiggle your butt a little?” he asked.
I made a noise like a sniff more than a gasp. He laughed softly again. “You’re doing fine. One thing at a time, Dolly. We’ll go slow as you need to.”
I cringed when he called me Dolly. He pulled me even tighter against him, pushing me down into the mattress with his weight too. “Try to struggle, try to get away from me, Dolly.”
“I—what?” It didn’t make sense to me.
“Try to get away. No biting but kick, hit, push, pull, whatever you want to do.” Suddenly, with the hand on my middle, he was tickling me! Up and down my ribs and under my armpits. It was so unexpected.
I squealed and squeaked and tried to get away for real, wiggling and trying to buck and shove, even throwing my head back, which only hit him on the chest. It was no use. I couldn’t get free or even move very much at all. I was helpless.
Moose pressed again on my lower belly while flexing his hips back and forth, so the bulge in his pants rubbed against my ass. “Stop! Stop!” I whimpered.
He stopped. His breath had a bit of a catch in it as he asked. “No ouchie? I’m not hurting you, eh?” I noticed this time that he pronounced ‘ouchie’ as ‘ohchee.’ I almost laughed, realizing he was Canadian. Only a True Northener would be a nice rapist who stopped when asked.
But it wasn’t funny, and I heard myself sob.
“Are you hurt?” he asked again.
“N-no,” I admitted. “B-but I know what you were doing, and I wanted you to stop.”
“I stopped,” he said.
“You were—you were…” I didn’t finish the accusation.
“I stopped,” he said again. He still held me tightly against him, but he didn’t move. “You’re safe from me. And I’ll keep you safe from Earl, but you’ll have to be my squeeze to make this work.” He squeezed me lightly to demonstrate.
“I’m not gay,” I protested.
“I know,” he said. “This wouldn’t work if you were.”
Again, it sounded like nonsense. “I’m afraid,” I whispered.
“That’s sensible,” he said, as if he’d read my thoughts. “Earl is a dangerous man. But so am I, and I want to be your friend.”
“M-m-muh….” I couldn’t say it.
“You are a pretty dolly, Dolly,” he said and repeated it. “Such a pretty dolly.” He kissed my neck again. The chill running down my back wasn’t only from the kiss.
