Leesa’s blue eyes snapped wide and she wailed in despair. She wailed because she recognized where she was, what she saw, and what she was wearing.
She was in Andy Brannigan’s car. She saw what she had seen all those years ago: lover’s lane late at night. And she was wearing what she had worn all those years ago too: the fuzzy pink sweater and the pleated skirt: only now it was holding onto her fully developed body for dear life – her tits erupting out the v-neck and her incredible legs all but exposed by the now tiny pleats.
“Hey, Leesa,” she heard. She swung, wild-eyed, toward the driver’s side to see Andy Brannigan leering at her. “Really, I ran out of gas. I swear.” Then his arms reached for her, his fingers talons. “Only this time, you won’t be able to scream or run…!”
To the other cars in the dark, wooded, glen, the sedan with the blackened windows seemed no different than dozens of others that had used this secluded spot over the years. Even the cops had finally decided to let nature take its course. If anyone glanced at it at all, it was to note just how nondescript it was. But inside, a beautiful girl whose arms were handcuffed behind her clawed at the door. A spectacularly pretty blonde with a ratcheted metal mouth spreader affixed behind her teeth keened, slobber splashing her jaw and front. A tremendously shaped girl barely wearing white thigh highs and ankle strap high heels bounced hysterically in the front of the car.
Then the man had her in his grip and dragged her, kicking and trying to scream, to the back.
He had snuck her out of her own room, and her house, practically under her parents’ noses. He had lovingly dressed her comatose form in the fuzzy pink sweater and skirt after her dad had come home and the two adults had gone to bed. Then he had pulled her along the hall, her arm over his shoulders and his arms tight around her in a mockery of comraderie.
He even stopped by her parents’ door and whispered, “G’night Mr Mendaski. G’night Mrs. Mendaski. Thanks for letting your daughter come out to play.”
Then he had leered at the insensible girl in his arms -- her tits threatening to erupt out of the sweater with every breath, her glorious gams showcased in the stockings and heels – and marveled at what a difference a mere sixty months made before maneuvering her outside to where his car was parked next door. At two am, no one on that street was watching. Even if they had been, all they would have seen is a young man helping his young lady to their vehicle. The handcuffs and mouth spreader were not yet in place.
But now they were and Andy had his “lady friend” on her face across the back seat, one hand plastered on her forehead, the other crushing her right breast, as he rammed into her anus over and over again.
"Tell you the truth,” he grunted as she groaned. “I shoulda used the cuffs and dentifrice to start with … you were pretty hot even then.” His hot breath burned her right ear. “But nothing like now….!” Leesa cringed in agony and humiliation.
Four cars down, in an unmarked police cruiser, Kerry Sherman, wearing nothing but a little, black, spaghetti strap, boob-hammock micromini dress, was strapped and taped in a ball – ankles and shins to thighs, neck and wrists to knees -- sitting on Sheriff Jim’s erection while sucking off Deputy Ted through a padded panel plug ring-gag.
TO BE CONTINUED