The girl’s scream was cut off by a yank of her head as the trooper’s left hand found her right breast.
Agnes saw the way her leg and arm muscles bunched, trying to close her limbs or pull herself away, but the trooper’s approach was ruthlessly efficient.
They had her sandwiched, her lovely back against the sheriff’s front. That had her spiked from both the front and the back. And whatever her exhausted sinew could do was countered by the sheriff’s pulls on her face.
For a few moments, it looked like an animated sculpture; the trooper unerringly stabbing into her crotch again and again, while kneading her full, round, lactaid-heightened breast, as the sheriff slithered up her ass like a python. The noises in the attic went from a thunking to a groaning, grunting, flesh-on-flesh moistened shlurping.
Agnes was spellbound by it all for who-knows-how-long. Finally she snapped out of it when a shard of memory flashed the image of a blonde with her mouth pried open into her mind’s eye. “Well,” she said huskily in the confines of the attic, “the poor thing is obviously in good hands. I’ll just leave you boys to it….”
Much to her amazement, and even delight, she heard Kerry try to cry out as she was closing the door behind her. “Nnnnnnnnnnuhhh!” came the sound. “Ple….!”
But then the sound-proof portal was shut and Agnes took a moment to take it all in. What did the fool think was going to happen? Her initial captors and assaulters were going to “rescue” her from her “rescuers”?
“Silly girl,” Agnes thought, shaking her head. And then she headed back down to see how the love of her son’s life was faring...
The night was short, and the morning came quickly. “Don’t worry,” Andy Brannigan heard Sheriff Jim say, “We’ll locate her….”
“Shush,” the Brannigan “boy” told the bound blonde bundle beneath him, squeezing her tits tightly. “I want to hear this.” He was laying atop a face-first Leesa on his bed, his front to her back, where she had been for hours.
He had dragged her up here after their “date,” and had his way with her on her back, front, haunches, and even bent over the baseboard -- quickly going from hand-gag to tape to ring gag as her tattered shirt disappeared, then her skirt, and finally her leggings.
Now she was face down, her ankles tied to her thighs, her feet pinioned in pink, six-inch high heels. Her arms were wrenched behind her and tied high up her back, her delicate fingers cramped uselessly between his chest and her shoulder blades. Her effulgent golden hair was in two pigtails on either side of her fine head, and her mouth was now pried to its widest aperture by a cunning combination of a prod and ball gag.
The ball section clamped her teeth and glued her lips to it, while the prod filled her mouth and held down her tongue. His body served as the rest of her bondage; his cock plugging her from behind, his torso heavy on hers, and his hands filled with her prodigious chest. He yanked one hand free now, moving the palm to her lower face. Then the other tightened around her throat.
“Ssssh,” he hissed in her ear.
TO BE CONTINUED