Read Online Woman In Chains by Bridget Midway - Free Book Online

the driver. When This Slave turned and caught the silhouette of a police car strobe light on top of the vehicle, her heart pounded faster than her feet moved. She ducked behind a tree and waited for the car to pass.
    Although she needed help, she had to be selective. The police would only ask questions. Then again, they probably couldn’t help her anyway. Their answer would be to take her back home, not to Master Blade’s house. She would rather die than to go back to her father’s house.
    As soon as the cop car disappeared from view, This Slave resumed her trek on the road. Within moments, another set of headlights coming toward her snagged her attention. Since the vehicle came from the opposite direction from Dak’s house, she had no problem flagging down this person.
    Stumbling to the middle of the street, This Slave waved her hand in the air, the hand without the handcuff. As the vehicle got closer, she noticed it looked like a pickup truck.
    She must have startled the driver. The truck pulled over like the driver wanted to hit her. Then the large, dark truck jerked to the side of the road close to the shoulder. It stopped a few feet from her at an angle.
    This Slave clomped over to the driver’s side. The dark tint of the glass camouflaged the driver until the window descended revealing a burly, unshaven man. When he saw her, he offered a nearly toothless grin. The man looked to be well into his sixties or seventies, but nowadays, who knew? Life might have been just as hard on him as it had been on her.
    “Awfully late for an evening jog, ain’t it?” he asked, coupled with a phlegm-filled chuckle.
    “I, um, need help.”
    It had been such a long time since she had referred or thought of herself as anything but This Slave, it still felt foreign to her to call herself “I.” However, to this stranger, she had to appear as normal as possible. Since when did normal people engage in the lifestyle that involved spanking, being chained up, and wax play? How many people enjoyed it as much as she did?
    “Help? I can help you. Get on in here.”
    As the driver unlocked the passenger side door, This Slave galloped to it. She could see salvation. This Slave plopped down in the seat. She barely had the door closed before the driver sped down the road.
    “You hungry? There’s a place back there that serves a mean meatloaf.” The man tilted his head back.
    Again, her stomach growled its agreement. “Um, money. You see, um—”
    The driver waved his hand. “Couple of bucks from my pocket ain’t going to hurt me none.”
    She smiled at his generosity. If he could figure out a way to get her back home to Master Blade, she would be eternally grateful.
    “People call me Doc.”
    She regarded him in the darkened cab of the truck. His belly extended so far that it touched the steering wheel. Occasionally, the fat stomach steered the vehicle whenever Doc used his hands to light a cigarette.
    “Are you a doctor?”
    Doc cleared his throat as he made a U-turn in the middle of the street. “I used to be a lot of things.”
    Even in the middle of the autumn season, Doc’s skin held a deep tan. In the darkness of the truck, his skin texture matched that of a worn saddle.
    “What are you now?” This Slave kept her gaze on him, especially after he made a couple of swerves over the empty road.
    Doc smiled at her. “People in this area would call me lots of things. But enough about me, darlin’. What’s your name?”
    This Slave opened her mouth to spout a name, any name. To this stranger, she certainly couldn’t call herself This Slave. She could use one name, something that would take the place of her birth name and her BDSM name.
    “Rebekah.”
    “Pretty name. Just like Becky of Sunnybrook Farm, right?”
    When he laughed, This Slave thought she smelled the familiar scent of alcohol wafting from his mouth. Years of growing up with her father smelling of the same aroma made her an expert in recognizing the stench.
    She