Sunday, March 12, 2006
You put both me and my bag into the truck, strapping me in with the seat belt without saying a single word. You walk slowly around to the other side of the truck and get into the driver's seat, start the truck and pull out of the driveway onto the road.
We go about five miles before stopping at a gas station, and still you haven't spoken. I'm wearing just the stockings, heels and coat I had on when we entered the house and my hands are trapped under the seatbelt, and I'm just too nervous to start the conversation, so I just sit there and wait while you put gas in the truck and go to the men's room.
On your way back, you stop to pick up some coffee - two cups. At least I haven't angered you to the point where you don't want me to be comfortable. But boy is it getting hard not to ask you why you aren't talking to me. On the other hand, I'm not really sure I want to know.
You put one of the cups on the hood of the truck and open the door. You grab the other cup and place it in the holder closest to me. "Yours has cream," you declare. "Thank you, Master," I reply as you close the door and settle into your seat.
You pull the truck around to the side of the building and park where we can't be seen by anyone driving by on the road. "I'm not supposed to tell you what happened last night, so I just kept my mouth shut until I could get you someplace where nobody was likely to overhear us."
"I disappointed you, didn't I?" "Disappointed? No, I wouldn't say that. You did make a couple of mistakes, but so did everyone else. And that beating you took... I couldn't have stood that without crying out. I don't know how you did it. I understand why, but I will never figure out how you kept from asking him to stop."
"And you make a very attractive table."
We go about five miles before stopping at a gas station, and still you haven't spoken. I'm wearing just the stockings, heels and coat I had on when we entered the house and my hands are trapped under the seatbelt, and I'm just too nervous to start the conversation, so I just sit there and wait while you put gas in the truck and go to the men's room.
On your way back, you stop to pick up some coffee - two cups. At least I haven't angered you to the point where you don't want me to be comfortable. But boy is it getting hard not to ask you why you aren't talking to me. On the other hand, I'm not really sure I want to know.
You put one of the cups on the hood of the truck and open the door. You grab the other cup and place it in the holder closest to me. "Yours has cream," you declare. "Thank you, Master," I reply as you close the door and settle into your seat.
You pull the truck around to the side of the building and park where we can't be seen by anyone driving by on the road. "I'm not supposed to tell you what happened last night, so I just kept my mouth shut until I could get you someplace where nobody was likely to overhear us."
"I disappointed you, didn't I?" "Disappointed? No, I wouldn't say that. You did make a couple of mistakes, but so did everyone else. And that beating you took... I couldn't have stood that without crying out. I don't know how you did it. I understand why, but I will never figure out how you kept from asking him to stop."
"And you make a very attractive table."
