7a PROM NIGHT Part 2 {Continued From Here}

He had watched Bridget completing her senior year—enjoying her busy schedule, her weekly boyfriends, her excitement about going to college, and her prom plans. On that fateful day, he watched her finishing some sport events and her finals, before rushing home, where she changed for the prom.

Now he rushed home because her fingers beginning to twitch. He quickly drove to his step-mother's garage. She was away—either on a job or back in the hospital -- so he pulled into the one-car enclosure, stopped short of the mattress he had put there years ago, re-tapped the garage door opener on his visor, hopped out of the driver’s seat, ran to the passenger side, and dragged Bridget out.

Within seconds, he had uncuffed her elbows and legs. Seconds later, she was on her back on the mattress. The panty was sweet but it would have to go. Then, there in the darkness, her soft blond tuft was exposed. Just to be on the safe side, he quickly reinforced her taped mouth with a special rubberized muffler which enveloped her lower face and anchored, knotted, around her throat.

Then he jumped atop her, yanked his crank free, and forced his shaft deep into her.

Her remarkable body snapped straight, her head craning back on her neck, but he gripped her naked, shapely shoulders, started slobbering down her cleavage, and began to rut away between the car and the garage's back wall.

Her high heels kicked the dirty mattress, one nipple popped out, and she started to twist and shake hysterically. He merely pinched her nose shut, still thrusting, until she dropped heavily onto her back, her chest heaving. He did that every time she got a little too feisty, completely enjoying the sensations of his shaft in her. He looked down to see her eyes glowing in the darkness, unable to fully comprehend where she was and who was doing this horrible thing to her.

She tried to talk, then to beg, then to scream, but it was what the tape and muffler was doing to her voice that finally drove her to frenzy. He let her thrash. His weight and the mattress prevented anything from escaping the enclosure, until he erupted. The girl felt it, cringing in horror, then contorting, tears streaming out of her eyes. Taker collapsed atop her, then started to grunt out humiliating barks of laughter.

“Hey Jet,” he growled, using her family’s nickname for her, and grabbing her jiggling left breast. “Great to finally meet you in person.”

Before she could completely digest the words, he suddenly dragged her up, then slammed her face first on the hood of his car. There, he forced his body between her arms, and rammed back into her from behind. Her shoes left the dirty cement floor, her back arched, and a moan of misery emerged from the skintight muzzles.

“Yeah,” he grunted. “Been watching you awhile. “You were the cutest tween, but I knew you’d be a knockout teen.”

He felt her stiffen, and imagined the growing horror infesting her face, then concentrated on the task at hand. Her dress was still on, albeit barely. He squeezed his hands into her top’s stiff breast cuffs, filled his fingers with her milk-dough, and slobbered in her ear. She kept trying to scream and slither away, but it was no good; he had her pinned and impaled.

“Yeah,” he hissed into her ear. “Do you see what I saw? How your body shaped, how your face got even cuter, how these things inflated?” He squeezed her chest like pizza dough as she recoiled. “Yeah,” he continued, grabbing her mane like a leash. “I’m your non-fairy godfather, baby. I been watching out for you forever. I’m the one who’s gonna save you from all those sloppy, immature assholes….”

Bridget bawled in terror as he dragged her back, plopped the drugged cloth over her nose, and held her shaking little body against his.

“Yeah, breathe, dear, just breathe it all in. Daddy’s sending you off to sleepy-bye so we can get you away from all those nasty, lusting boys and bitchy girls….” He felt her  shudder, and, eventually, slump.

Carefully molding her breasts back into the cups, and smoothing the skirt down just over the exposed, dewy, cum-dripping cunt, he cinched her elbows with clear tape, and lay her on the back seat. There he taped her knees and ankles, then used the seat belts to hold down her legs, waist, and neck.           Regretfully covering her with a blanket from mane to shoe, he returned to the driver's seat.

He only got a few miles down the road before he couldn’t resist fucking her again. Pulling into a dark section of the train station parking lot, he crawled into the back seat, undid her legs, slipped between the lace-topped thigh-high stockings, wrapped his arms underneath her shoulders and rammed his erect cock back into her.

He might as well have been an alarm clock. Her head went back, screams strangled by the thorough gag, and then her left tit was popping into his scooping, waiting hand. He kneaded it intensely while thrusting hard, ignoring her muffled shrieks and the high heels kicking at the door and windows.

The claustrophobia in the back of the car was heady—a gorgeous blond teenager gripped spasmodically to him, unable to fight off his assault or elicit rescue. No, she was no further away from freedom than a sheet of windshield glass and a car door, but for all the strong, young girl could do, his cock was still scraping her inner-most sanctum and his fingers still crushing her proudest gifts.

They both froze when they heard the commuter train coming.

The engine's headlight actually raked through the car's windows, but, much to his delight, the glass was fogged, blocking any commuter's view of the rape in progress. Bridget shrieked at the light and tried desperately to crawl past, around, or over him, but his cock still plugged her, and he was still using her luscious tit as a restraining handle.

She stared at him in horror and hatred. He simply reached around with his free hand and grabbed her luxurious mane of yellow hair from behind. Slowly, with building strength, he pulled her sobbing head inexorably back, under the bottom of the car windows, as the commuters streamed from the open doors of the momentarily stopped train.

Her breasts shook from her despair, her body wracked with sobs, but he just kept rutting, faster and harder, pounding his meat all the way inside her. His hand came off her tit and pressed down on her gagged mouth...hard—his torso pressing down on her soft, shapely whiteness like a granite slab.

People were getting into their cars all around them as he came inside her again; trapped beneath him, her legs uselessly flopping around.

She screamed in agony, her head snaking from the seat toward the floor, every muscle taut, but no one heard and no one saw.

Then he simply punched her in the stomach.

She doubled over, then slammed into the side of the seat. Before she could react with anything more than shock, he slammed the drug-soaked pad back over her nose, pressing her even tighter into the corner—her bright, wet blue eyes pinballing around their sockets, staring in disbelief at the assault and the shadows of the oblivious business people all around her.

He crushed her in the corner with his body, the pad tight over her nostrils, his free hand grinding her right breast. She turned her pained, disbelieving gaze on him, weeping  in agony.

Then her eyelids fluttered, and the sound diminished to a soft, despairing moan. The moan lengthened as he slid over, grabbed her wonderful hips, and slid her to the seat. She lay there, across the back seat, eyelids fluttering. Then, keeping careful note of the movement around him, he started tearing off her gags.

By the time the last commuters were in their cars and starting to drive away, his cock was in Bridget's mouth, his hands crushing her tits.

He used her lax, drooling mouth like a cunt, sliding his cock across her tongue and down her throat. He watched the businesswomen getting into their Volvos and Lexuses as he leeringly abused a hostage beauty that could have been any of their daughters.

He came into her mouth and onto her face, neck, and cleavage as the last of their cars drove away.


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