THE LIBRARY: Rebound Part Thirty

{This story originally appeared on BDSMARTWORK and features some amazing art by SteveWe thank them for letting us share it with you here}

“Well, li’l darling, I guess you can guess how this is gonna work by now, huh? Face it, babe, you’re lost in ‘the system’ now….”

Wallace laughed as he brutally tightened a strap around the sexy brunette’s elbows.

“Gonna hafta keep you in solitary confinement, I reckon. But don’t you worry, you won’t be lonely….”

Wallace snorted as he strapped the girl’s sweet legs.

“And you won’t be cold, neither. Naw…you’ll have all the stuff we confiscate offa every hooker we bust….”

Wallace chortled. “Bust,” he leered, giving Kerry’s right tit a nasty, twisting squeeze.

The poor girl tried to scream, but the sheriff had her by the chin, forcing the cock and balls gag back deep in her choking, semen-coated mouth. “And you better be grateful,” the sheriff warned. “If you don’t do right by your town officials, you might wind up sold to that biker gang after all….”

Kerry Sherman lurched in their grip, but it wasn’t nearly enough. She was secured back in the patrol car trunk, desperately gulping the cum that was trapped in her mouth, by the time they pulled up to the Mendaski house.

At the same moment, Andy was standing the missing girl in his parents’ rustic living room. His mother was mockingly faking weeping to the side, while his father stood before them with an open book. Leesa stared in disbelief, overwhelmed by what was happening to her. She wanted to howl, she wanted to run, she wanted to collapse, but she couldn’t do any of it.

Her hair was the most beautiful it had ever been -- cascading down her back. Tiny flowers were wedged in it. Around her throat was a stiff white collar attached to a lower-face-clamping pear-gag buckled beneath her mane. A ring was in the center of the collar’s front. A white strap attached to it went down through her cleavage and attached to other straps which ran along the underside of her breasts, serving as a bra to her naked, heaving chest – her nipples tightly tied with wire-enhanced ribbons.

A white whale-boned corset crushed her waist. A white strap affixed her elbows behind her while cunningly sewn white gloves affixed her hands in front of her navel. The glove fingers were likewise sewn together so she was forced to clutch a small bouquet of white roses. A silken white train flowed from her hips behind her. An impossibly tight, white, open crotch, ankle length, skirt adhered to her long and shapely lower limbs. White high heel boots took it from there.

“Now,” Tom Brannigan was saying. “do you take this girl in health, for better, for richer, as long as she’s a good fuck?”

“I do,” said his son, as tears streamed out of the girl’s bright blue eyes.

“And you,” the man said to the radiant, terrified blonde. “Do you take this man to keep you hidden and helpless, silent and stilled, dressed in the tightest, lowest cut, highest hemmed slutwear, available to take his cock in your holes any time he fucking wants to?”


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