She was nervous in the car after I picked her up at the gas station and didn't try to talk much at first. They never do. She didn't want to be obvious about looking either, just sat beside me fidgeting a little and peeking at me out of the corner of her eye, hoping I would say something first. She's a lot smaller than me, and she keeps looking at my hands. I can tell she is impressed with how big and strong they are, especially when compared to hers. She knows I will use them a lot, we talked about that in chats and e-mails, how much I like the personal touch so I can feel the way her body responds in the moment. She told me she isn't aroused by pain, it isn't part of the turn on, she just wants the result and she figures if I hurt a worthless girl like her then a girl with something to live for will be saved. It gives this more meaning, makes it almost like a sacrifice, something worthy. She isn't turned on by the pain. But she is here anyways.
She will try to talk. She will want to make friends. She claims anonymity is fine but she is still a she, which means she secretly wants to be known, recognized. I will be the most important relationship she has ever had, really, so she will instinctively try to reach out to me and make a connection. She is looking for something real here. They are all like that, even the most resigned volunteers never seem to be so short on self esteem they can't make a feeble attempt at friendship. I used to be revolted by it, until I realized how much easier a little play acting makes them to control. When she finally gets too fidgety I'll talk to her. I can make that mask knowing it becomes part of the leash. I can even feign sexual interest. They all want that too. I can't cum though. Not when they are like this. But I can imagine how beautiful I can make them look, how hot and wet and shiny and perfect they are inside, and get hard. I have to make them stop looking at me before I can cum though. That part is later.
I wait patiently, the darkness eating the miles behind me until the fidgeting gets so close together I sense her moving more than staying still. Then we talk. I don't have to talk really, just get her started and let it spill out. Ask a question whenever she stops for longer than a breath and she will keep going. Get her to tell me about herself. Her story. Her history. When she first started thinking about it. Why she can't help herself. Her guilt. Her shame. She doesn't know it but telling me about her shame gives me ownership. Secrets are ties that bind. She will start asking about me. I won't answer, and she will interpret it as playing hard to get. She tells me she has never enjoyed sex, never felt an orgasm, and I believe her, I really do, but she will still try to seduce me. They are all wired like this.
She wants to give me pleasure. I tell her this isn't allowed, not in the car, I need to focus. But I tell her I will make her a compromise. I tell her to unzip my pants and pull my cock out and hold it in her hand. No rubbing or caressing, just hold it. then I have her lay her head in my lap and suck my thumb. The girl who never enjoyed sex before is suddenly a committed cocksucker. Well, thumbsucker. It shuts her up, and gets her thinking. She is learning something new about herself from me, and I have planted a seed in her head: she thinks I am capable of compromising with her. This is something I can take from her, later. The girl who never felt hope before will have her hopes crushed just as they flower in my hand. Even after I kill her hope she will stay in love with me. She is already falling, they all do. The willing ones because they have finally met their one, the unwilling trying to need me so good I'll need them back and keep them.
The interstate gives way to the state road, which gives way to a smaller town road, which gives way to a long dark country road. We leave behind buildings, lights, eventually even barbed wire and lonely houses as the terrain gets rugged and the woods close in. The dirt road is two and a half miles and as much rock as dirt, I have to pick my way carefully down it in my car. It's fast, with a big V8 and has a bench seat so I can control the whole front from my driving position without having to hop a divider but these old muscle cars are low to the ground. Her eyes are very big, she is drawing back into herself physically but not mentally, she is looking at the place and looking at me too, not nearly as shy as before. I let her out and walk to the trunk. She sees me reach in and she is terrified, her whole body wired but she doesn't try to run. It's just a leash, a collar and a leash like you would walk any dog with. She is very shy about removing her clothes so she does it quickly, and doesn't try to move or show herself off, jsut following orders. Once the collar is on I walk her around the property.
Dawn is breaking, so she can see how remote we are. The cabin is nestled back in a valley well wreathed with trees, the rugged terrain breaking in rockfalls near the grassy lows. No one else is here, and what are the odds of anyone coming. The realtor told me the place was picturesque, and just what I needed to write in peace with no chance of an interruption. I walk her around the edges of the grass, until we get to the small stand of pine where I have dug the grave. I surrounded the edge with rocks, and at one end there is a little rock pile that looks like a marker. She is silent. Dread, now, she always feels dread, but at the same time it's such a romantic scene, and isn't this really what she wanted? I don't stop to show her the ant piles I have been feeding, laying out sugar for, and she doesn't notice them, or doesn't make the connection.
I take her around back to the Dog Kennel. This is my own addition. White concrete, and 10 foot fence with barbed wire on top. One way in or out, strong steel pipes for the fence, and a drain in the concrete down by one end. I cuff her hand behind her back to the pole nearest the drain and leave her squatting there while I go back in the cabin. I mix a gallon of harsh, salty brine, and bring it back with a funnel. She asks why, then looks down and apologizes for asking. They all want to know the why of everything at first. Then they will just ask if I am going to hurth them any more. Then they will stop asking, just look up at me, panting, groaning, waiting for whatever comes next. I'm in a good mood now, so I answer her question, tell her the saltwater will purge all the mud out of her gut. She tilts her head back like a good girl, holding the funnel delicately between her teeth, and drinks the brine a cup at a time. It takes a while, because I don't force it.
It will take a while to work through her and I am out of sorts. I hate this time. I am too wired to sleep but without anything to do feeling the lack of sleep the night before. Need to eat for energy but stomach is tight and tense. Feeling sweaty and clammy from the long drive but I don't want to shower before I have mucked out the kennel and hosed down the pig. I hate this empty waiting, but the purge needs time. It will be worth it, she will be clean through, degraded from all the mud hosing out of her and sitting right in it, and dehydrated from all the salt so her skin will be flush and taught against her meat, her eyes bright. The dehydration makes her breath come hot and quick too. They don't know it but this sweet moment is, to me, the moment they start to end. Hot, flush, pulse fast, body fighting back, burning their inner reserves away. She's ready to start now. Finally.