Dirty Diaries: A Darkly Erotic Novel (13 page)

"You?" I exclaimed. 
"You've done that before.  When Frank had me tied to the floor
here."  And in his office when we had first been alone, but I hadn't even
put it together then.  Maybe because I hadn't been bound.

He nodded.   "That was the experience
that made me realize I wanted to buy this place."  He opened the cage door
and motioned for me to go back inside.  I didn't even argue, I just crawled
back through in a daze.  He locked it behind me.

"So this was the plan all along. 
Frank told me that day that someone was looking for a helplessly bound girl to
fuck, and then you showed up.  This is your thing." I said.

"Right.  Not just mine, I told you I
belong to a group that are into this sort of play.  You've been meeting some of
my friends for weeks.  So yes, this was the plan.  As soon as I saw you were
willing to be bound and fucked, and I saw how much Frank was pulling in, I had
to buy this place."

"I wasn't exactly a willing
participant that first time," I pointed out.

"Even better," he said
ominously.  He then turned and left.

I sat back on my sore ass and stared ahead
at the bars of the cage.  Now that I knew this had been his plan all along, the
pieces started to make more sense.  And ever since I've been wondering if I'm
ever getting out of here.

After Charles had revealed that he was the
man who had first fucked me as I lay bound on the floor of the shower room and
that it was that experience that had caused him to buy this truck stop in the
first place, everything made a lot more sense to me.  I was in a cage, now,
because he was into bondage and he enjoyed the fact that I was helpless.  He
had friends that were into the same thing, and many of those guys would visit
me and act out their twisted little fantasies.  Regular truckers would still also
fuck me, but it seemed like those experiences were few and far between now. 
When they did happen, it was always up here in the shower room.  I haven't been
back to a truck in ages.  Hell, I haven't even left this shower room in ages. 
Most of my time is spent lying on the thin carpeted floor of this cage.

I got the feeling that I wasn't really
allowed to leave this room at all any more, although it was never explicitly
said.  However, whenever I started to ask Charles about it, I would all of a
sudden find myself dizzy and sleepy after the next meal.  Sometimes I would
lose a day or two, I would have very little recollection of what had happened,
but when it was done I'd forget that I ever wanted to leave.  Until next time,
anyway, and then it would start all over again.

That's the main reason I haven't been
writing much at all this month.  My head just hasn't been clear long enough for
me to be able to put my thoughts down.  My recollections of this past month are
disjointed.  Plenty has happened, but I can't remember it all clearly, or even
what order it had all happened in. 

It took me a while, but I've stopped
asking Charles about getting out of here.  It's not that I've stopped thinking
about it, it's just that I learned that it's not a topic that he cared to
address.  Maybe I haven't been forceful enough.  Maybe I need to just demand it
instead of trying to ask him casually when it was going to happen, or whether
or not we could start going back to our old routine for a bit.  But if I do
that, I think he may get angry and kick me out.  I don't think I'm ready to
leave just yet.

So instead, I'll just keep my mouth shut a
little while longer until I figure out what to do.  Or until I think I have
enough money saved up to go out on my own again.  I'm just not ready to be
alone, though.  As terrible as a lot of these guys are, I remember how lonely
it was when I was traveling on my own for that one year before I settled here. 
I'm not sure I'm ready yet to go back to that.

So although I’m cut off from basically
everything and have spent a lot of my time in this cage in a mental daze, I’ve
been able to keep a rough track of the time by asking some of the guys that
have been coming through here.  I haven’t felt up to writing in about a
month, but now that my head is clear I’ll try to fill in some of the main
details of this time as best I can recall, but really, there were only two or
three notable encounters.  Other than the regular sessions with Charles,
anyway.

Ever since he fucked me in front of
this cage a month ago, revealing that he was the mystery spanker from before he
had bought this place, he’s returned about twice a week for the same treatment.
 Sometimes he’ll take me out of the cage and tie my wrists to the bars,
fucking both my ass and pussy in quick succession between slaps that get harder
the more I protest or cry out.  

After I had figured that pattern out,
I made a conscious effort not to make a sound during his visits, but that
seemed to anger him since it was the spanking that seemed to make him hard, and
for whatever reason he only wanted to do it when I would cry or protest.
 So once I stopped making a sound and he figured out what I was doing, he
would intentionally go out of his way to be rougher in order to elicit a
response.  Sometimes he would push hard enough to slam my head against the
bars of the cage, other times he would fuck my ass without any lube or spit.
 Eventually, I relented and just started to protest and cry out
artificially.  Like some girls fake orgasms, I was reduced to faking fear
and pain.  Ironically, faking it is what would bring on the real pain of
the spanks, but as with everything else, I’ve been getting use to that as well.

That first week, I don’t actually
remember a whole lot, except for one encounter since it pretty much brought me
out of my stupor.  I had been sleeping in the cage pretty deeply when a
loud clanging woke me up suddenly.  

“What.. what’s going on?” I said,
through half closed eyes.  My head felt like it was full of lead, the
drugs in my system from the day before still doing a number on me.  I wasn't
even sure what time it was.  Usually the guys didn't start coming around until
at least early afternoon, so it was likely I had slept through breakfast and
lunch.

“Get up, girl.  Time to earn
your keep.”

The voice was unfamiliar.

I rubbed my eyes, trying to clear
both them and my head at the same time.  I was dizzy and disoriented, forgetting
for a moment that I was still in a cage.  A sudden clanging against the bars
again brought some of my senses back, though.  I squinted up to identify the
source of the noise, and saw a man standing there holding a big familiar key
ring.  He was slamming it against the metal door to wake me up.

"I'm up, fuck," I said.  I
looked down at my naked body, Charles had never bothered returning any of my
clothes but he did let me out each night for a shower.  I hadn't shaved or
trimmed in a while, though, and my blond pubic hair was beginning to grow into
a bit of a furry little bush.  Although I couldn't see it, the leash around my
neck was chafing a bit.  It was my only piece of clothing, for all the good it
did towards my modesty.  But Charles demanded I keep it on.  Most of the guys
ignored it.

"Then come the fuck out,"
he replied, opening the door of the cage and stepping back. 

I went down onto my hands and knees
and crawled out of the little cage door.  As soon as my head came through the
opening, though, the man bent down and snapped a leash onto my collar.  I
groaned inwardly.  Another guy with a fetish for treating girls like dogs. 
Great.

"Come on," he said, yanking
hard on the leash and wrenching my neck.  I let out a little involuntary yelp
but didn't protest.  I knew that this fetish generally dictated that I didn't
speak.  Aside from situations like those with Charles, I usually tried not to
provoke any of the guys into being more cruel or sadistic than they already
were.

The man holding the leash was about
average height, and had rough and calloused hands that were gripped tightly
around the end of the leash, his knuckles were almost turning white.  His face
was hardened as well, weathered from years of working outdoors, it seemed.  He
was probably in his 40s, maybe 50s, but it was tough to tell.  Time and the
elements hadn't been kind on his skin, although aside from that his features
would have been almost pleasant, under other circumstances.  He had steel grey
eyes, a well formed jaw line and a full head of black hair. 

"Come on, bitch, I know you've
been in your kennel for a long time so you must have to go by now," he
said, still yanking on my leash and pulling me towards the shower room.

Go where?  What was he talking
about?  I followed him on my hands and knees until the carpet of the change
room ended and the tile of the shower area began.  We stopped just inside the
door and he pulled my head so I was facing the toilet.  Oh.

I did actually have to pee, so I
started to shuffle towards the toilet.  If this guy really wanted to watch me
sit there, I may as well get it over with.  As soon as I started for it,
though, he yanked me roughly back.

"Not there," he said. 
"That's for people.  Can't take you outside though, so we'll have to do it
in here."  He led me into the big open shower area, right to the drain in
the center of the room.  I looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.  He just
wanted me to piss on the floor?

"Go ahead," he said. 
That's what dogs do.  He gave me a shove with one of his legs against my thighs
to hurry me along.  I wasn't too impressed with this and was just glad I only
had to pee.

I got up onto my feet and squatted
right above the drain, trying to relax enough to let my bladder go.  I looked
down at my pussy, most of which was hidden from my view by my dense pubic hair,
but I knew that my lips were spread open and from where this guy stood, he
probably had a good view.  It made me feel a bit self conscious, never having
done this before.  My bladder was having a hard time letting loose.

"I don't have all day you little
bitch mutt," he growled, giving me another kick causing me to lose my
balance and fall over onto my side.  "Hurry it up!"

I scrambled back onto my feet and
tried again, willing myself to relax and let loose.  I was finally rewarded
when a stream of piss started to flow out of me, hitting the drain directly
underneath me and splashing onto my feet.  If I didn't know what it was, the
warmth would almost been welcome, but as it was I was disgusted.

The man in front of me didn't take
his eyes off of my pussy the entire time, lust glazing over him as he watched
me urinate.  No matter how long I did this job, the things that turned some
people on never failed to amaze me.

When my flow finally ceased, I looked
around for something to wipe myself with, but the only thing available was in
the small room with the toilet we had passed earlier.  The man saw me looking
around and guessed at what I was thinking.

"Dogs don't wipe, but you're
right, you should get clean," he sneered at me as he said that, as if I
truly was a dirty animal that he felt obligated and annoyed with having to take
care of all the time.  He walked over to the shower handle and turned it on.  I
moved out of the way before the spray started as it would take a few moments to
heat up and I was already cold from standing on the cool tile and being naked
all the time.

This guy had other ideas, though, and
he yanked hard on my leash, pulling me towards the water.  I started to resist,
but it was hurting my neck so I just went with it.  I gasped as the frigid
water hit my bare skin.  I tried to move away from the water, but he had pulled
the leash taunt so that there was no give, and then wrapped it around the
shower handle, forcing me under the cold spray.  I looked up at the handle and
saw that it wasn't even turned to hot.  Or even warm, for that matter.  The bastard
had left it pointing at cold. 

I looked up at him and gave a
whimper, but his eyes showed no mercy, the sneer from earlier still on his
face.  I decided to make the experience as quick as possible, so I squeeze some
soap from the dispenser and washed my body off quickly.  When I had rinsed, he
reached over and turned off the tap.  My body was shivering, and covered in
goose pimples.  My nipples were hard as rock and pointing out from my small
tits, and cold water dripped down from my wet furry bush.  At the very least, I
was fully awake now.

In front of me, the man stood and had
begun to undo his fly.  He reached into his pants and pulled out his half hard
cock.  It looked to be about six inches in its current state.  My teeth were
chattering and I wondered whether he was going to expect me to blow him.  If he
did, I might bite his dick of accidentally. 

"You poor dog, you're
shivering," he said, but there was no kindness or pity in his voice.  He
sounded amused, more than anything.  "Let me warm you up."  He
stepped forward holding his pecker and I looked up to see what he had in mind. 
As I did so, I was hit square in the face with a warm stream of urine.  The
fucker was pissing on me.

I hadn't been pissed on since Frank
that one time, months ago, when he was furious at me for making a comment about
the size of his dick.  The warm yellow liquid rained down on me and I closed my
eyes, turning my head away but it was too late, my eyes were already burning
from being sprayed.  Despite the fact that I was disgusted and felt like
gagging, the warmth of the piss was actually helping my frigid body.  The man
was making sure to hit me all over, my back, my chest, my legs.  Wherever it
ran down my body, it left a trail of putrid heat that both disgusted and warmed
me.

When he finally stopped pissing on
me, I kept my eyes closed for a few minutes and tried to rub them with the
palms of my hands which I had kept under me and away from his spray.  When I
finally opened them, I was greeted by the man with his pants around his ankles
now, furiously beating off as he stared down at me.