Loran

 

 

 

This was easy.

Too easy.

I can't wrap my head around how naive this girl is. The way she just followed me to my car was strange on its own, but when I steer the car out of the city and she realizes this is not about finding her precious ugly coat, she doesn't freak out the way I expected. Acting on impulse was a risky move. I jumped out of the car, set aside my former plan, and decided to just... go for it.

I didn't think this through, none of it. I'm driving with her in the passenger seat, fully conscious and not bound. She could easily jump across the steering wheel, risking both our lives in an attempt to save herself. She could scream to deafen and distract me, she could hit me, she could run as soon as I park the car, or try to overpower me when I have to stop for a red light.

That's what a normal person would do. That's what I have to be prepared for.

But she's not doing any of it. I can tell that she's unsettled and worried, but she's nowhere close to panicking, and she should be. In fact, it's almost as if she's trying to figure out what she should say in this situation.

"Where are we going? What are you going to do to me? Let me go!"

The words spill out of her, but there's no conviction behind them. Maybe she's in a state of shock? Her hands are clenching the black purse in her lap, and her eyes scuttle around aimlessly. She tries to open the door at one point when I have to slow down to navigate a sharp curve, but she only does it once, confirming that the door is in fact locked.

"Let me go!" she repeats, now yelling at me. "I'm scared! Let me out!"

I ignore her pleas and continue driving. If she ends up going crazy, I might have to use the injection on her after all. It's hidden in the inside pocket of my jacket, easily accessible and ready to be used if needed.

We still have about half an hour of driving ahead of us. A lot can happen in those thirty minutes. Every moment brings her closer to my house, closer to the basement that will become her cage, closer to her becoming mine. And she has no idea.

However, it's pretty apparent that I'm no longer the good guy in her eyes. I'm no longer the savior who came to help her get that coat back. She knows that my intentions are evil, and she's growing more and more afraid of me.

But still, she's not displaying the degree of panic that would be normal for someone in her situation.

"Where are we going?"

She's asked me that about five times now, but I never deigned her with an answer.

"Home," I say eventually, still not looking at her.

"Your home?"

"Yes."

"W-w-why?"

Her voice is trembling. Finally.

"What are you going to do to me?"

"You'll see."

"Are you going to kill me?"

I let a few moments pass before answering her. I relish seeing her like this, scared as fuck, ready to jump at any moment, at my slightest move. I want her to act out against me.

I want to have a reason to touch her.

"I hope I won't have to kill you."

My answer causes her to inhale audibly, and she shifts uncomfortably in her seat, pulling at her seatbelt and removing it from her chest, gasping for air. The view of her round tits heaving with desperation is driving me crazy. I avert my eyes in an effort to remain cool and collected. She's so fucking delicious, looking like the perfect fuck toy in her slutty dress that hugs her perfect curves in all the right places, showing off her lean legs and her tits that are way too big for her frame to be real. She's wearing stockings underneath, I can see the suspenders peeping out from under her short dress now that she's sitting.

What a perfect slut. My cock twitches with desire every time I lay my eyes on her, but I can't let that part of my body take over just now. I need to stay focused and level-headed. I need to be ready to keep her under control in case she tries to escape or overpower me.

She falls silent, and minutes seem to turn into an eternity, leaving me guessing just by her breath and her gestures what she might be thinking. The tension is almost unbearable.

I can see the red light approaching far ahead. My shoulders hike up in strained anticipation, as I'm forced to slow and stop the car. If she's going to try anything, she's going to do it now; I can sense it.

And in the blink of an eye, I find myself reaching for the syringe inside my jacket and jamming it into her exposed thigh. I don't even know what brought it on. She moved. I saw her moving from the corner of my eye. I don't know if she was up to something, if she was about to jump at me, hit me, start screaming, or if she was just shuffling in her seat.

It doesn't matter now. The sedative is spreading through her system, the needle still embedded in her flesh, as she casts me a horrified look.

I make sure that the syringe is empty before pulling the needle out of her flesh, accompanied by her pained yelp.

"What the hell did you do?!" she shrieks at me.

"Just something to calm you down," I say nonchalantly, as if I'd just embraced her in a friendly hug.

She whimpers, pressing a hand to her thigh where the needle stung her. She has a small frame and doesn’t weigh much, but the drug still needs a few minutes to take full effect and knock her out. Her eyes are drowsy already, and her facial expression lacks the intense panic from before, as her muscles begin to relax. She sinks back into her seat, the tension fleeing her limbs just as the traffic light turns green.

"You sick bastard," she slurs. "I wasn't gonna do anything..."

"Better safe than sorry."

"This... this was unnece-nece-ss-"

"Shut up," I cut her off. "Just relax."

She moans in protest, and it's the sweetest sound to my ears. It takes all my strength to focus on the street ahead as I resume driving, noticing as she slowly loses all control over her sinful body. Her head is falling to the side, turned away from me, and she manages just in time to turn her knees inward so that her legs don't sprawl out in an obscene manner.

"S-s-s-," she slurs desperately. "S-s-s-sick."

That's the last word that leaves her beautiful lips before the world darkens around her.