THE LIBRARY: Ave De Rapina Part Four

{This story originally appeared on BDSMARTWORK - We thank them for letting us share it with you here}

She started to babble: stop, please, who are you, what do you want ... all that sort of thing, but it was wasted on the cunning gag and his pasted hand. His other hand left her mauled tit and shot under her panty.

Anne's pretty body tautened like a bow and she tried to haul herself away, but his claw-like fingers sunk into her silken soft tuft and hooked into her. She stiffened.

"Just you and me," he murmured, and then the finger began to move like opening and closing pliers. "How does that feel?" he hissed softly. "Tell me, how does that make you feel? You been a good girl? Saving yourself? Am I doing it right? Tell me, Annie...."

Anne squeezed her eyes shut, her head going back, moaning.

"That's it," he sighed. "Come on Annie, let's go."

Her eyes snapped open as he grabbed her around the waist and started propelling her, stumbling, out of the kitchen, across the living room, and up the stairs. She was so surprised she was halfway to her bedroom before she really even started to understand what was happening now.

But then she was in her own bedroom, he closed the door, whirled her around, grabbed her by the throat and shoved her against the closed portal. Before she could even wriggle his fingers tightened around her neck. She choked, her eyes widening, her mouth opening, and drool poured down her chin like a coursing waterfall.

It splashed onto her chest as she made a gurking sound, coursed between her jiggling breasts, and disappeared into her darkening shirt. With a single step, he wrenched her pants down around her ankles, effectively eliminating any more kicking.

"Now, Anne," he said quietly. "Let's see what we have here." As he held her against the back of the door with one hand -- her tits and most of her sweet, sexy body exposed -- he pulled open the top drawer of her bureau and started pulling out underwear.

It was as if he had kicked her in the stomach. All her bras and panties were mocking her now. She stood in her darkened room, nearly naked, bound, gagged, choking, as piece after piece of black, white, red, jade, purple, and peach poly cotton, lycra spandex, nylon, lace, silk, and satin fell all over the place.

He gripped a red panty in his hand, holding it up to her. "See this, Anne?" he hissed. "Know what it's good for?" He immediately started shoving it into her mouth as if stuffing a bird. He ground it in, twisted it in, shoved it in, damped it in, all while holding her tightly by her throat.

She choked, gagged, coughed, and cried in hysteria and fear before he hurled her to her bed. He climbed over her bouncing little body, straddled her, and ripped off two pieces of duct tape from a roll in his jacket pocket. He half-slapped, half-pressed them over her mouth, sinking her head deeply into the bedclothes and mattress. He insistently flattened it deep into her skin as tightly as possible over the lace straps of the gag.

"Let's see how much that soaks up," he announced, then rewrapped her legs in one arm while wrapping her shins in tape with the other. When he finally dropped her, she cringed on the bed, her body wracked in sobs. He sat alongside her for just a second, watching her agonizingly contort, then fell on her.

Before she knew it he was sitting on her torso, his meat slammed between her tits, his hands gripping them like pizza dough.

She stared up at his ecstatic face in alarm, but he saw none of it. His eyes were closed and his mouth was in an "o" of rapture. "Oh, yeah," he breathed huskily. "Oh yeah...."

Her legs in the tape and bunched jeans thudded onto the bed clothes. She choked on the iron and balled cotton in her mouth. The tape even tightened as she tried to screech, but his long, thick, slimy, knobbed member kept rubbing the sides of her smooth, succulent breasts until he panted, vaulted off her, violently tore the t-shirt from her body and stood there, by the bed, ejaculating into the shirt.

"Idiot," he hissed at himself as she stared in abject terror. "There'll be no evidence of me here, remember?" He snapped his head over to look at her. "I'll get you for that," he promised, then slapped the semen-soaked shirt onto her lower face.

Anne screamed and screamed and screamed as he tied the sodden thing over her face and hair. Then he stuffed her head between a pillowcase and the pillow to hold it tightly in place before running downstairs.

He got back just as Anne swung her legs over the bedside and was ducking her head to get the pillowcase off. "Perfect timing," he said, grabbing her hair and shoving the still damp pulpy pad over her nose and mouth, winding thin tape around her head to keep it in place.

Anne sat straight up as the noxious fumes began to mingle with the scent of semen, but that didn't even slow him down. He wrapped her face in bandage as tight as it could go, before pulling the pillowcase free and then shoving all her underwear into it.

The girl wrenched this way and that, trying to get the thing off her face but then she felt the vapors creeping up into her brain again. She lurched forward, but he merely wrapped his arm around her waist, pulled her to his lap, then yanked the lingerie-filled pillowcase over her head before tying it off around her neck with more tape.

Finally he released her and stepped back to watch. She sat there on the edge of her own bed, chest exposed, arms lashed to her own waist, her head sealed and her mouth gagged six ways.

She tried to get up, but fell back. The distant sounds coming out from beneath the pillowcase couldn't even be called moans. Her head lolled once, twice, then, on the third time, fell back. She tried to sit up again but failed miserably. She sank into the bedclothes, trembling.

Finally she lay still. He took in her slim shape, proud chest, and long legs in the remnants of her clothes...and life.

"Bitch," he muttered. "Almost made me lose it. Stupid bitch."

His movements were professional. He removed her shoes and jeans. He taped her knees and thighs. He rummaged through her closet. He cursed that he couldn't find any white thigh high stockings. That would soon be rectified. He found her highest heels (black) and wedged them on to her feet. He promised her that she would soon have white ones as well. He looked askance at her chest then snapped the white lace bra cups back onto them.

Taking a last look at her glorious 34-22-32 form in the D-cup bra, high-legged panty, and heels, he wrapped her in the bedcovers, knotted it off, and easily carried her downstairs. He lay the bundle by the back door and went to turn off the kitchen tap, where the hot water had been erasing any sign of the drug remaining in the sink.

He checked his watch. It was well after midnight. Carefully checking out the windows, he saw all the other houses on the block were dark. He carried the bundle out to his car, dumped it silently into the back seat, locked the door, got behind the wheel, and drove away.