The kidnapper struck up a conversation

As Charlotte struggled with her tumultuous feelings, the driver looked at her in his mirror. He studied her long, brown pigtails and her sweet, made-up face. His gaze lingered on the young woman's large breasts and exposed cleavage before traveling down to her bare stomach and her long, toned legs.

"I could hardly believe it when I saw you," the man's sudden speech startled Charlotte from her inner thoughts. "A pretty girl, dolled up and walking through the park late at night. I thought you were just about asking for it."

Charlotte blushed as she thought about the truth. She had been asking for it. As a matter of fact, she still hadn't gotten it.

"You know," the man continued, "I almost didn't pick you. I usually go for girls with a little more meat on their bones. A little more fear in their eyes. But when I saw your skirt flip up and no panties underneath, I just knew I wanted to fuck you."

Charlotte's blush deepened as she felt a drop of moisture leak from her bald labia and into the rough, stained carpet underneath her.

The man continued to speak, "Then, when you cuffed your own hands together and threw away the key; holy shit, I knew I had to keep you."

Charlotte looked up at her bound wrists. The handcuffs she had bought earlier that day still encircled her wrists. Those small bands of steel had helped her fantasy come true. She wasn't sure if that was still her fantasy. She was scared. And she was more turned on than she could remember ever being.