Anne's feet skittered on the floor. Her body twisted. But he would not let her go or stop slavering on her lips or squeezing her tits.
She tried to throw her head back, but his big hand on her head was like a vise. She tried to scream for help, but was stunned by the wet, useless sound which emerged. Her shoulders and arms spasmed, discovering her bondage. Beyond his horrid lips, she felt the thing deep in her mouth, holding down her tongue.
She stared through the darkness, seeing blotched, tight skin and wire-like gray hair. To her shock, she finally comprehended that some old bastard had her. Some old man with the wiry strength and leathered skin of a mountain climber had her in his grip, his tongue down her throat, her proud tit in his spasming hand.
He felt her lose, as if they had been arm wrestling. It was not that she collapsed or gave up, but, nonetheless, her muscles loosened, her form unavoidably welding to his. His hand wrenched from her breast, pulling it out of the bra cup, and wrapped around her, drawing her even tighter against him, dragging her up, forcing her back.
He bent her back over the counter, his mouth locked to hers, one hand holding her head tight against his, the other arm forcing her body along his. Drool poured out from beneath their lips, dripping down to soak her exposed tit and shirt. Her pink, engorged nipple rubbed along his front. Her fingers clawed behind her, her shoulders working in vain.
Finally she jammed her knee as hard as she could between his legs.
His thighs clamped down on hers, the steel of his protective cup tight on her leg. Then, with her back pressed hard against the counter drawers, he shoved her jeans down to her knees.
She started to shriek and buck again as he held her close. Only when she managed to bite as far as the gag would let her did he drag her groaning head back by her hair and whirl her around.
To her horror, her exposed breast seemed to sink directly into his hand as if magnetized. His left arm wrapped her torso, gripping her right tit like a balloon. His other hand snaked around to clamp over her mouth, fingers sinking deep into her cheek, like quick-drying cement.
They just stood that way for several seconds, her glorious body writhing, her shirt and pants half off, his hands mauling her tit and sealing her working, slavering lips.
"Anne," he whispered, "Oh, Anne. If only you knew how long I've waited for this...."
She bleated in renewed shock at the sound of her name, then mewed in fear as tears gathered in her shining, golden eyes. She suddenly became acutely aware of her proud chest, her tiny waist, her sleek hips and her white lace lingerie against his all-encompassing form, which was attached to her like a parasite.
He wrenched her t-shirt and bra off her buoyant left breast, then went right back to kneading the other as he inexorably pulled her head to the right by her mouth. Then his teeth and tongue were there by her left ear. It poked through the curtain of her silky hair to plunge and nibble and lick and slobber.
Anne started to cry in earnest, shuddering in his iron grip, her tears rolling over his hand as her saliva drooled under it onto her creamy left breast.
"Your folks are away for the weekend," he hissed. "It's just you and me now...."
TO BE CONTINUED