Half an hour later, they were outside of the city and on the highway, heading to a mountain cabin that Stephen sometimes rented. It was a summer cabin, and it was the middle of the fall, so he hoped that it would be unoccupied for a little while yet. It might be dirty, but he could handle that kind of thing.

Rhonda had refused to talk with him after the breakout, staring mostly out the window and keeping quiet. Every so often he heard her grunt or sigh, clearly annoyed with the situation.

“Look,” he said, “I know you’re upset. And probably scared. And I know you don’t like me. But I don’t know what’s going on any more than you do.”

He was trying to drive and have a serious conversation, never an easy task. The weather was mostly clear at least, and there weren’t many other cars on the road.

“Is that what you said to all of them before you took them hostage and fucked up their minds?”

“I’m not going to fuck up your mind,” he insisted, “and you’re not my hostage. You can go at any time. I just thought I would take us some place safe first. You can have the car when we get there. Unless you want to be picked up by someone from town?”

She paled a little at that. Slowly, she shook her head and looked out the window.

“I just don’t get it. I don’t get any of it,” she said after a minute. “The girls, the…the changes. Or like, you. Look at you. I mean how did you even do that? With the handcuffs?”

They had broken like wet paper in his hands—both the chain to remove Rhonda from the table and then the cuffs themselves when he’d set her free.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I guess I’m just…stronger now. There’s a lot of things I don’t understand.”

She made a face. “So the whole town is turning into your personal harem…except for the men, who are like, a gang of beta simp cucks now, and you’re telling me you’ve got nothing to do with it?”

“I’ve clearly got something to do with it,” he said, “I just don’t understand it. I was hoping maybe you would help.”

“Why would I help you?”

“I mean you want to see me ruined, right? For some inane fucking reason? What better way to ruin my day than to take away all of this nonstop blowjob action?”

“It’s not an inane reason. You sent my sister to the fucking madhouse, and—”

It was Stephen’s turn to make a face. He nearly took his eyes off the road.

“I did what? We slept together, once, and it wasn’t even—”

“She was in love with you, stupid!” Her cheeks flushed a lovely shade of red. “She had been in love with you for ages, and once she realized you didn’t care—”

“You’re not supposed to call it a madhouse, you know. You’re supposed to be sensitive.”

Rhonda looked short-circuited, which was the point of his comment.

“You’re telling me how to call it? Are you serious right now?”

“Hold on.”

They passed a hitchhiker and Stephen slowed down the car to pull over. She had thick burgundy red hair tied up in a bun and wore a giant backpack.

“What?” said Rhonda. “Are you kidding? No.”

“She’s heading out of town,” he said. “That means she might know something too.”

“Hitchhikers are dangerous! You can’t just pick someone up. And you’re just trying to change the subject, because you won’t face that you fucked up someone’s life and—hi! Hello. Where are you headed?”

The hitchhiker appeared at the window that Stephen had rolled down. He smirked at Rhonda’s natural instinct to be welcoming.

“Anywhere, just out of that crazy place,” she said.

Stephen noticed—or rather, his cock really noticed—that this girl was young and fresh and she smelled like a virgin and she was gloriously sexy as hell. There was a ruddiness about her cheeks that made him want to fuck her in a field full of flowers. He had thought she was bulky and stout, but it was just the many layers of her clothing. As she leaned over, he saw her magnificently constructed clavicles inside her dangling sweaters and shirts, just above a tremendous pair of heavy tits.

She was fit. She was busty. She was a virgin.

She was exactly the kind of girl he shouldn’t be picking up if he was serious about getting away from the problems the town presented.

But—maybe it would be different in a different location? What did they call it? A geographical cure? If it didn’t work, they wouldn’t call it a cure, right?

“What’s your name?” asked Rhonda.

“I’m Kylie. I’m ei-eighteen. I’m totally single, and I’m a virgin?” She giggled and pushed her hand through her thick, shiny mess of red hair, smiling and looking directly at Stephen. “Sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I just wanted you to know? Is that okay?”

Stephen held in a groan of lust.

“Get in.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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