Semi-Hard Read online

  Semi-Hard

  by Candace Smith

  Copyright 2010 Candace Smith

  Published by Strict Publishing International

  PRELUDE

  The semi was a monstrously large truck, with both the cab and the box trailer polished to a glossy black finish. It kept a steady pace as it sped down the isolated highway in the darkness. Dillon was halfway through the trip, and as yet he had not spotted a likely target. Every time he glided beside a car, he looked down from the high cab, giving him the vantage point to see enough of the vehicle to judge its possibilities. Tonight had been men or families, and he absently rubbed his crotch in disappointment.

  Through the large side mirror he saw the faraway headlights of a rapidly approaching car. It was small, that was all he could tell at this point, but his heart quickened at the realization that it could not hold a family. It flew past, giving him barely enough time to catch a glimpse of an expanse of tanned legs beneath some very short cut-offs. The sticker on her bumper had some university logo on it, and Dillon stroked his dark mustache and smiled.

  The trucker had an uncanny sense about his prey, and he guessed correctly that the little red sports car was speeding towards the next rest stop. His diesel chugged into lower gears, and Dillon flashed his blinker and scanned the mirrors and windshield to assure himself that no other headlights were in sight. Dillon’s other problem would be if anyone else was parked at the small pavilion, and he let out a held breath when he saw the only other vehicle in the lot belonged to his quarry.

  He parked in the shadow of the trees, not under the assumption that he could not be seen, but more to hide the specific details of his rig. Being an independent trucker made it easy to disguise the huge truck, because Dillon kept a stash of magnetic signs to slap onto the cab doors. Dillon knew that it was as distinguishing a reminder not to have any markings on the black semi, as it was to provide a bogus company sign any witnesses would frantically try to memorize.

  The tall man grabbed his cowboy hat and the roll of duct tape, and he climbed down from the cab. Dillon’s heart pounded as he strode across the pavement, knowing that the girl should be exiting the women’s side of the non-descript square brick building at any moment. Even this was planned out, as after nine abductions Dillon had figured out that it was better to let them finish relieving themselves rather than wetting their pants when he caught them.

  As he approached the car’s trunk, he kicked the back of the heel of his black snakeskin cowboy boot on the pavement and he listened to the whisper of the blade shoot out from the toe. The quick arch of his leg to puncture the rear tire of the car was so quick and slight that the girl would not notice if she happened to see him. He listened to the air hiss, and without changing his stride he banged the pointed toe of his boot on the curb to secure the knife in its hiding place.

  The girl was exiting the portal, and he glanced quickly at her as she automatically gave him wide berth and continued towards her car. She was short, maybe five-four, and all legs. Dillon turned to look at her ass before walking into the bathroom. Oh, hell yes. That little bubble butt will mark up just fine.

  While he pissed in the porcelain bowl, he imagined her frustration when she noticed the flat. Maybe she was already holding up her cell phone and uselessly circling the air for a signal. There was never any reception at these isolated spots because they were invariably hidden behind acres of thick trees. That left her three options... to hope that the rest area had a working pay phone; to change the tire herself… or to ask the big, strong, good looking trucker man to help her. It made no difference which choice she made, because Dillon would grab her anyway. It was just a game that he played, trying to guess what they would do. So far, he had only missed once… all the rest had nervously asked for help.

  Dillon lowered his head and hid his smile beneath the brim of his cowboy hat, watching her holding up a scissor shaped jack and obviously clueless as to its operation. He rolled his finger around the inside of the roll of duct tape pushed against the hand in his pocket, and he walked onto the pavement far enough away from the girl so that she would not be nervous. “You need help?” his deep voice queried, but he kept his stride, giving the girl the impression that it made no difference to him how she answered.

  The girl looked up at him, and then back at the rig with the sign that she could not quite make out, and which she could barely remember passing on the Interstate. She made one more quick study of the heavy stupid tool in her small hands. She was not even sure if there was another part to it. “Yes, please,” she blurted in relief. Not wanting to sound totally ill prepared, she smiled shyly at the handsome trucker, and said, “I have road service, but I can’t get a signal on my cell phone out here.”

  She held out the jack and Dillon took it from her. He tossed it onto the pavement by the driver’s door where it landed with a solid thud. “That’s why I use rest areas, sweetheart.”

  The girl’s eyes widened, and Dillon covered her opening mouth with his gloved hand. This had been a painful lesson he had learned after the second abduction, when the young woman he had been capturing had bitten into his palm. Dillon had to quickly knot his kerchief around the wound before any blood could drip. His identity would be discovered from the DNA that was on file from the time he had worked at the prison.

  Dillon pulled the girl back against his broad chest while he took the silver tape out of his pocket and began wrapping it around her head. He pushed her into the back of the car and used one hand on her shoulder blades to fold her over. They always reached behind themselves first, before trying to rip the tape off their mouths or push up from the trunk floor. It was something that made no sense to him, but it made it easier to snag at least one wrist and tape it, until he could grab the other one.

  The girl was screaming and sobbing behind the gag, furiously shaking her head and trying to buck up out of the trunk to face him. Duct tape loosened with water, but Dillon always wrapped it around their head three times to make sure that it held. This one was a fighter, and she kicked backwards in frightened rage. Dillon barely felt the pressure of her sneaker against the top of his boot. With her hands secured behind her back, he lifted her hips and pushed her deeper into the boxes she had stashed with supplies to bring back to school. Her mind stalled… shocked into terrified panic as she wondered if the man meant to lock her into the trunk… and the temporary halt to her kicking made it easy for Dillon to roll down her socks and tape her ankles together.

  He grabbed the back of her tee-shirt and pulled her up. By the time Dillon turned her, the fearful crying eyes were losing their angry rage and had begun pleading with him. He hoisted her over his shoulder and walked towards the driver’s door. After reaching into the car for her purse to grab her wallet, he noted that her cell phone was resting in the cup holder. Dillon was careful not to take them, and he would have checked the pockets in those too short, too tight cutoffs if he had not found it. He scanned the area one more time, and then carried his prey back to the semi.

  Dillon tossed her into the sleeper behind the seats, and she felt herself sink down into the soft mattress. The flannel covered pad enveloped her body, and it forced her to turn her head so that she could breathe. The shuddering, frightened sobs made Dillon’s cock itch to be inside her, but he never varied his method, and he pulled her ankles towards her wrists to tape them together behind her back. He would alter her traveling position when he stopped at the next rest stop, because he knew that too much time spent in one location increased the chance of another weary, piss-filled traveler pulling into the secluded area and remembering him or his rig.

  Dillon liked games, and he was better at devising strategy than anyone he knew… especially the police, who had no information after two years and nine abductions. The
y never would catch him, because once Dillon trained his victims, he took a paying load of slaughter horses down to Mexico with an obedient slave drugged and sleeping under the mattress in the cab. Vehicles were checked more thoroughly coming into the States… not crossing the border south to leave.

  The girl had rolled onto her side, and for some stupid reason she was banging her head on the back of his seat. Dillon reached back, grabbed her hair, and he pushed her face down into the mattress. When he was certain that her lungs were burning for air, he said calmly, “Lie still. It’s just as easy to knock you out.” Dillon heard a muffled wail, but her body went slack.

  The trucker drove fifteen miles before pulling into the next abandoned rest area. Dillon climbed into the sleeper, and the girl’s eyes widened in terror when she felt him pull off her sneakers and socks. He rolled her onto her back and opened the large buck knife he had pulled from the pocket of his tight jeans. She was sobbing through tearful blue eyes filled with frightened terror as he worked silently cutting her clothes away.

  After slicing through her bra, Dillon laid his knife on her quivering belly, and she trembled delightfully when his fingers squeezed the pink tips of her nipples. He crushed a nub between two strong, gloved fingers, and her shriek caused him to lick his lips in anticipation. There would be many more screams before he was finished with the girl. Her tight shorts had to be unzipped to get the blade down the sides, and he almost nicked her thighs when he sliced through the crotch.

  Next, he began stuffing her clothes into a heavy plastic bag. He had already noticed that the girl wore no rings, and he yanked off the thin gold chain around her neck. When he reached for the small hoop earrings, she whined in panic as his hands approached her face. She trembled at his proximity while Dillon’s gloved hands fumbled to unhook them. He dropped her jewelry into the bag with her clothing. Now, she lay completely naked, except for the tape binding her.

  He had time to spend with his new acquisition, because any vehicles pulling into the rest area would merely think that another trucker had to stop off and sleep or risk the penalties for breaking laws evidenced in the trip logs they had to keep. The bullshit rules also provided alibis for Dillon, and he chuckled at the absurdity of the system that allowed him ply his dangerous games undetected.

  In her hogtied position, the only thing really accessible was her pussy, but that was fine until he got her home. She screamed when she stared at the look in his dark eyes, while he smiled and removed his hat and jacket. His narrowed stare held a hint of sadistic amusement, and the girl knew this man would do whatever he wanted to with her. There was not the slightest sign her fear or pleas were affecting him in any way other than to arouse him.

  Dillon pulled the curtains closed between the front of the cab and the sleeper, and he turned on a light attached to a bendable arm and screwed to the back wall. He trained the bright light on the pale blonde curls, trimmed so that no stray hairs would escape from what appeared to be tiny bikini bottoms, according to her tan line.

  Dillon continued to stare at her crotch and she thrust her hips, frantically trying to move away. He crawled closer, and pushed his lean, jean-wrapped legs between her thighs until they stretched painfully open. Kneeling back on his calves, he raised a hand to his mouth and bit the finger of his glove to pull it off. The tensing of the muscles in her arms let him know that she was clenching her hands… grabbing for the tightly wound tape and searching the blankets.

  After the other glove was removed, his fingers moved forward and he stopped for a moment to pull the light closer. As he stared at her pink slit, he forgot about the girl and her movements completely, and his hands almost shook as he grabbed the small fleshy lips and spread them. A small squirt of urine escaped, and he held her open with one hand and slapped the other down harshly on her pussy. “Stop that,” he growled.

  The girl shrieked behind the tape, and Dillon watched her pussy hole open and close, expelling a small amount of juice with each pulse. At least this one understood that she was supposed to be dominated. It was easier to work with pussies like this, rather than those that required manipulation until they finally learned to respond… though, that was all right with him too. His training was honed to persuade the most reluctant of pussies to learn to lubricate obediently.

  Dillon stroked through her folds while her strained thighs quivered, and she sobbed miserable wails while he spread the cream her body gushed in welcome. The girl would be easy to discipline, and Dillon figured that he could get a good price for her with a minimal investment of time. A few more swipes and he plunged a finger into her tightening wetness. Dillon was rewarded with the little nub at the top peeking out of her moist, trembling crease.

  One hand continued to stroke and plunge, and the other reached behind him and into a box that contained screwdrivers, pencils and other odds and ends, until he felt the small bullet-shaped object. He turned the base and was rewarded with a low buzzing hum. Dillon spread the girl further and he touched the vibrator against her exposed clit until it enlarged and turned red with arousal. She was alternating her whimpers with screams, and he thought once more of recording the music to listen to between captures.

  More cream slid from her depths and coated his fingers until they shone in the light and he could feel her reluctant clenching. Dillon unzipped his pants, and her sobs became more frantic. He had forced his cock to suffer agonized denial long enough, and Dillon watched his rod slide into the girl’s tight hole as it clenched and sucked him in while he continued to masturbate her. This was definitely not the first rodeo for her pulsing channel.

  He closed his eyes to enjoy the sensations, and he felt the girl tightening feverishly against his unmoving shaft. He pushed a little closer and he felt her cervix slip back from his length. Dillon was rewarded with another shriek, and the sound caused his balls to draw up. Her hips began pushing up and into him as her suffering need to climax fought with her terror. Soon… soon, he thought. Dillon felt the tight spasms begin, as behind the tape gag she screamed out her orgasm in frustration. Only then, only when she had debased herself by cumming, did he finally begin to move his hips to slide his cock through her channel. His hands dug into her thighs, bruising her with their force, and he sucked in a deep breath as he threw his head back, gritted his teeth, and jetted deep inside of her.

  When Dillon was finished, he wiped his slick cock on her thigh. The girl was sobbing, and he reached up and pinched a nipple tightly between two fingers until she shrieked again. “I knew you were a slut,” he stated flatly.

  It would be two days until they would reach the large metal building behind his house, located in the middle of a one hundred acre plot of nondescript desert he had inherited from his father. Dillon had added the semi’s garage with some of the proceeds from his old man’s insurance. A wall divided the truck from his training facilities. He had updated the buildings years ago, so that everything was powered by windmills and solar panels. A deep well provided the water and, as far as Dillon knew, other than the yearly property taxes, his property was off the grid.

  The land was barren, and the plots around him had never been developed. His nearest neighbor was twenty miles away, and the small road passing in the distance in front of his land led absolutely nowhere. It dead-ended into desert a few miles past his driveway, and Dillon had only seen one small car travel the road in three years. Within minutes it had turned around and was speeding back towards civilization.

  Just before he turned out the lamp to catch a few hours of sleep, he swiveled the light towards the frightened girl’s face. Dillon pushed her hair out of her eyes, and he realized that she was not bad looking. On top of that, she was blonde… a favorite south of the border… and he figured that it might be worth spending a little extra time on her training, after all.

  So far, he had only turned one girl over to a cartel at the suggestion of the brothel he dealt with. They had decided that the girl could bring high dollars from the mercenaries who regulated the area. The bro
thels preferred not to deal directly with the dangerous groups, and they would not tell Dillon a contact number until he agreed to split the money he received for the slave. Now that he had the information, Dillon could contact them himself when he had an exceptional trade, and cut out the payment to the brothel acting as the middleman.

  Dillon was satisfied that the girl could be turned into a compliant lucrative asset, and he reached out and gently stroked her wet cheeks. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

  Three months later, he had received a very good price for the girl, ending in an association that changed his strategy. Dillon usually dropped the girls off at the brothels, to be moved to whichever establishment was shorthanded. This time, he had contacted the cartel directly, and after he assured them that the girl was of equal quality to the last slave they had purchased from him, they gave him the location of an auction to be held that afternoon.

  Dillon was surprised when they invited him to watch, and he stuffed the money they gave him into his pocket and followed the men through a courtyard to the main house. The estate reminded him of a cleaned up, expensive version of the prison where he had worked. Armed guards scanned the outside of the twelve foot walls through rectangular holes carved out of the stucco, and the light sienna square building had heavy wooden doors with ornate iron fittings locking them closed.

  There would be no admission to the house, and an arrangement of chairs around the courtyard formed a half circle around a post with chains currently securing a young Mexican woman. She was gagged, and her wide eyes sought Dillon out, pleading to him. He walked back to the shadows under the alcove, and a waiter handed him a potent, heavy tasting beer. Damn, it was hot, and he felt sweat trickle down his neck as he leaned back against a support and crossed his ankles.

  He was halfway through his second beer, sipping slowly until the bottle was warm. The last thing he wanted to do was become impaired around this group. His attention was caught by one of the heavy doors to his side opening, and a group of men exited the house. By costume alone, he could see several Arabs, some European styled men, and perhaps two Americans. Dillon figured that they must be the buyers, and several had bodyguards by their sides. This surprised the cowboy, because he thought that the women he brought them stayed in Mexico.