paygrab3012 copyEVE OF ABDUCTION Part Two
A “Lost” Damsel Tale {Continued From Here}
SPOILER ALERT: This is a story that occurred between the time Kate Lipton, the “heroine” of the Tyler thriller Damsel, was shipped to the middle east, and when her original abductor reclaimed her. Frustrated by the loss, the stalker sought compensation, and used his equally evil ward to seal the deal (careful readers can spot the time line)….Remember, the new novel DAMSEL is out and can be purchased to read right now by going here.....

"The police station nearest east 86th street," she said. "No, it's not an emergency. Thank you...." Then she waited for the recorded number. She started to repeat the electronically communicated number until she felt something odd.

At first she ignored the hint of a breeze behind her, but then her lovely smooth brow furrowed a trifle when she got the distant impression that some sort of insect had flown under her skirt.

She was distracted by the number being digitized in her ear, so she didn't react until it was too late. Just as her head went up and the phone receiver just started to come off her well-shaped ear, she clearly felt it for a split-second.

Something was under her skirt.

Then Wilma pushed the zapper against Eve’s firm right buttock and pressed the button. “Stupid bitch,” Wilma hissed. “Shoulda dialed 911 while you had the chance….”

Eve jerked in place, dancing for a second, before she dropped the phone and fell sideways—half to the mattress and half to the floor. She continued to jerk there, her comely hands spasmodically gripping the sheets and her even more revealed legs rubbing across the floor.

Her torso was down but her face was in profile, her mouth opening and closing like the proverbial beached fish. She made little noises, like "unh, uh, uh-hunh." Wilma thought she'd come in her pants.

The tween quickly put the phone back on the hook on the other side of the bed and kneeled immediately down beside Eve. She didn't know what to do first, but then she flipped back Eve’s skirt. There was her well-conditioned rump, housed in flesh-colored pantyhose.

Wilma made a disapproving sound, then gripped Eve’s left upper arm. With a push, she had Eve on her back, her big, trusting eyes blinking in shock, her mouth still working -- but now only wet sounds were coming out. As she settled, her breasts moved beneath the cloth and the material curled, showing Wilma the very top of her right mammary.

It was so smooth and creamy looking that Wilma immediately reached for the neckline.

Eve's right arm swung up, catching Wilma in the ear. Her strength was surprising, knocking the tween completely over to hit her head on the first drawer of the bureau. Then Eve was on her hands and knees, panting. To Wilma’s stunned disbelief, she could now see down Eve’s dress top, filling her addled mind with the sight of Eve’s creamy round orbs hanging in the demi-cup lace bra.

Then Eve got one scrambling leg under her and she was weaving toward the apartment door.

Only then did Wilma panic. In her inexperience she hadn't pressed the zapper's button all the way down, giving her only 20,000 volts instead of the usual 80,000.

Eve slammed into the door, clutching at it, the 20,000 volts enough to throw off her reflexes and scramble her nerves. She clawed at the doorknob with both hands as Wilma rolled to her feet. She charged her as Eve wrenched open the portal and flailed out into the hall.

Eve sucked in a chestful of air but was horrified to find that she could only make a desperate wheezing noise, her vocal chords still humming from the electric jolt. Still, she slammed on the door across from hers with the flat of both hands. That was when Wilma appeared in the doorway, zapper in her upraised hand.

Eve made a choking screech and lurched toward the stairs. Wilma jumped forward, but tripped on a ragged piece of hallway carpet, giving Eve the time to grab the banister and half jump, half fall down the steps—just managing to keep her feet as she landed on the first floor.

Eve desperately ran toward the front door down the ten foot long hallway. To her it felt like a football field and she was moving in slow motion against a great wind. She kept trying to scream, gathering her strength, feeling her larynx untighten, but sobs of frustration choked her, further blocking any shriek.

She heard the evil tween’s footsteps. She forced herself ever forward, feeling off balance and light-headed. She was used to high heels; she had worn them almost all her life. The skirt wasn't binding. If she concentrated she could make it—even fight the teen off if she caught up.

And there ... there was the front door and the early evening beyond. There would be taxis and pedestrians and doormen down the street. Someone would see ... someone would help...!

And then she was there, pushing the door wide. It slammed back, opening the world to her. She could see it; the trees, the street, the road, the garbage cans, the air....! She had made it. She was out. She was free....!

She slammed into a man coming across the front stoop. But to her horror, he gathered her up into his arms like a long lost lover....

"Darling!" he cried, embracing her tightly, holding her back from the few other passers-by...coming home from work...walking their dogs...looking for a cab....

And then he pressed his lips over and around hers, jamming his tongue down her throat, gripping her waist in a vise with one arm, and locking the back of her head with the other, jamming her face against his. He swung her back inside the entry way.

"Darling," he repeated, sandwiching her tightly between his body and the mailboxes on the wall. "I missed you so!"

She slammed her palms against his shoulders, one leg bending back for balance, but it was too late. She almost got a cry out, but then his sealing, choking mouth was on hers again, forcing her head back, addling her thoughts, gagging her....

Wilma pressed the zapper on her shoulder, her own body blocking the action from the street, and pushed the button.

Eve's torso jerked in the man's arms as her mouth popped open. Then her head lolled back, her eyes smoky, her tongue lolling out.

"Aw, hun," the man said elaborately as if she had made a loving request. "Anything for you." He put her arm around his shoulder, put his other arm around her waist, and started to move her deadened legs back toward the stairs. Wilma went ahead to block her from any other resident's view. They half-dragged, half-carried Eve back up the staircase to her apartment door.

By the time they arrived, she was just getting over the second zap. As Wilma hastily fumbled with the keys and locks, Eve slumped back in the man’s grip, her head weaving toward the hall. She strained to scream or even focus, but could do neither. The man holding her tightened his grip and leered down at her as Wilma finally got the door back open.

“Take a last look, Miss Arnold,” he whispered. “Now you’re mine.”

Then he swept her back into her own apartment, just as Wilma grabbed her shirt front and tore it open.

When the old woman across the hall arrived ten minutes later, she had no idea that her sweet, sexy neighbor had slammed her dainty hands on her door. Nor did she know, as she unlocked her door and went inside, that just a wall away, a prime young example of pure femininity was severely bound, viciously gagged, and being brutally violated.


Eve was blinking in disbelief, still unable to fully comprehend what had, and was, happening to her. She had never even imagined that a man and a girl could have attacked her, locked her in her own apartment, and were doing what they were doing.

When she turned twelve and her body started developing, she never even considered that her breasts would be used to torture her. As she got her first training bra and then continued to contain the growing orbs in underwear that was as much a part of her life as a toothbrush, she had never even fantasized that they would be a source of her own defilement.

And as she looked for happiness and true love, she never accepted that she could be, would be, was being, invaded. Plunged into and engorged repeatedly by two complete, remorseless strangers.

They had half-carried, half-dragged her back to her open apartment, the toes of her blue high heel shoes scraping on the thin worn hall carpet. They had gotten her back inside without pause, the teen closing the door and locking both deadbolts.

The man who had been waiting for her, had fooled the pedestrians, and prevented her escape with a horridly unwanted deception, wasted no time. Eve was unceremoniously dropped onto the couch. His hands flew up her skirt, scratching at and gripping the sides of her panty hose.


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