Back to reality, Lydia started to shudder as Joyce's tongue did its work. She moaned horribly, her back arching off the floor, the merry widow forcing the air out of her nose. Taking her cue, Madge suddenly reared up, pulling on Lydia's chest by both her pinched nipples. Joyce did not stop; instead, her tongue and hands urged the captive ever on.
Lydia's arms and legs strained against the straps holding them wide. She quaked once, then twice, then again, hardly feeling as her nipples were pulled by her movements. Even her agent felt compelled to glance around at her plight. Lydia's flesh contracted, the blood flowed through her tissues, setting off the natural cataclysm.
Lydia screamed in denial as she came, every muscle straining against her imprisonment. Joyce merely sat up and shoved her fingers deep into Lydia's vagina, hooking her like a frustrated fish.
Madge flattened her hands across Lydia's aching tits, then shoved her down unceremoniously. Lydia shrank and squirmed, then started to sob.
"I'm taking the exit off the highway," the agent said flatly. "Maybe you should play it safe."
"No trouble," Madge replied sneeringly, looking meaningfully at the quaking captive. "Nothing's going to sneak out from behind the beach ball in her gob."
"Still," Buchler mused, her hooked fingers still rooting around, "we're gong to need her a little more tired if the next part of the operation is going to come off." She straightened, straining to look out the van's front window. "Stop at that car wash," she advised. "I know just the thing."
Even in her addled state, Lydia couldn't believe what was happening now. Madge had placed a folded towel over her ball-gagged mouth, and her agent had turned into the extra-long car wash building. Joyce had climbed into the passenger seat and Lydia had heard her conversing with the help. The captive's eyes had rolled, but all she could see was the towel pressed on her lower face. She had strained to raise her head, but Madge forced it back down to the mattress-covered van floor.
The sound of the car wash drowned out what pitiful noises Lydia could make, and the spraying water and soap clouded what of her could be seen through the windows. Then, incredibly, the rear door of the van opened.
Lydia's head went back, and her blue eyes widened like full moons in the night sky.
The sun out the back of the car wash was blotted out by two of the biggest black men she had ever seen. One was wearing sweat pants and a t-shirt bearing the logo "Sinbad." The other was wearing coveralls with one shoulder strap undone. Both were powerfully muscled and expressionless. And both stepped up into the van without batting an eye.
Then the doors were closed again, and the car wash slowly, agonizingly, continued.
Madge scrambled up to the front of the van, perching herself between the seats. Her expression reflected the other two who sat there; sardonic, sadistic, anticipation.
"Tire her out, boys," Joyce Buchler said simply.
Within seconds, Lydia was unstrapped from the sides and seat-legs of the van. Moving her around like an inflatable doll, they twisted her arms behind her and used the straps to tie her wrists together, and then to her waist. The ankle straps were wrapped around her thighs so that she sat with legs bent, and wide.
The cover-all man cupped her chin in his meaty hand and looked deep into her eyes. His own eyes were dark and dead, like a shark's. "She has pretty lips," he said to no one in particular. Just then the man behind her removed his sweat pants.
Lydia's head whirled around in dread as Joyce opened the glove compartment and handed a small, circular canister to Coverall. What she saw made her heart sink and thud at the same time. His organ, even in its drooping state, was the largest she had ever seen...the largest she could even imagine.
"No," she started to choke, shaking her head. She looked for Warren again, screwing her eyes shut, shaking her head. "No...."
When her eyes snapped open again, the canister was held directly in front of her face. For some reason, it set off some sort of memory alarm. "Look familiar?" Coverall inquired quietly. "It should. They just used this stuff in that movie HOUSEGUEST...."
Then he dipped his fingers, now encased in a rubber glove, inside the can, and slathered the blue-green gel on Lydia's jaw.
TO BE CONTINUED