THE ELECTRICIAN Part 10
CONTINUED FROM HERE - This is a newly rewritten story, involving "Privateer" - get to know him....
He studied her as he continued to fuck her unconscious form. He still had some of the stolen lingerie and her own clothes left. But she was getting used to his frustrating and fucking her. It was only a matter of time now. Either she would become virtually catatonic or totally dependent. He didn't want either one. It was time to up the ante.
She gasped when she awoke. She instantly knew something was different ... and worse. It was the way her nearly naked body was covered in electrical wiring -- the ones at her arms, torso, throat, mouth, and ankles covered in rubber coating ... the ones at her legs and hips, not.
She surged up in the kitchen chair, crying in horror. The wire sank into her flesh, holding her down, setting off lightning bolts in her chest and crotch. She collapsed, choking in agony.
Her eyes bulged wide, trying to comprehend her new position within this suburban prison. She was in the kitchen, light flooding in from the gauzily-curtained windows behind her and over the sink. The chair was wood, with thin metal supports. It was a semicircular seat with the back coming just up to her shoulder blades.
And he had wired her to it as if she were an electronic component.
Her arms were wrenched behind her, wires at her shoulders, upper arms, elbows, and wrists. Wires went from there to encircle her upper body, then under her tits -- bulging her flesh balls even further out. More wire encircled her waist, holding her to the seat. Then more wire sank into the grove of her hip bones and disappeared between her vaginal lips.
Alissa moaned again, saliva soaking the microfiber sponge he had stuffed her mouth with. He had sealed her lips with special electrical tape, then wrapped them with insulated bandage so tightly her cheeks bulged above it. Her hair was wired to the chairback, pulling her head up. And a wire around her throat didn't help her communication skills either.
Then there were her legs. Her legs were separated, wrenched on either side of the chair, her splayed toes just barely touching the tile floor. Wire wrapped, intersected, and twisted down her thighs, over and under her knees, and down her shins to her ankles -- sinking into her skin like an insane high heel's strapping.
She could hardly breathe. She could hardly move. Pain lanced at her scalp, chest, neck, waist, and between her legs. Her jaw, shoulders, arms, and thighs ached. She hardly had time to notice the newspapers across the kitchen counter, tiny TV tuned to a news channel, and the phone on the table right in front of her before he was there...his hand slowly moving across her head, to her shoulder, and then down to her chest.
Laying his hand over her bulging right breast, he lifted the phone receiver and pressed out a number. Alissa stiffened in dread.
He slowly placed the receiver against his ear, then waited, his hand not moving.
"Mrs. Barnes?" he said. He squeezed Alissa's tit reassuringly as the girl started.
He identified himself. "I was just reading that your daughter is missing...."
"Mom?" Alissa tried to cry. "Mom!"
"I just wanted to know if I could help...."
The gag was too thick, the padding too tight. She sounded like a humming refrigerator.
"Well, after she went upstairs, I hardly saw her...."
The girl wrenched in the seat, her wrists twisting, her muscles bunching, sweat popping out on her forehead, upper chest, and thighs. The chair barely creaked and the sound of her spasming, choking desperation could have been the noise of a dishwashing machine.
"Yes, well, she did seem preoccupied...."
Alissa threw her head back, sobbing and struggling with all her might. "Mom ... please ... help ... MOM!!!"
But he gently raised his hand to cup her chin, then press his meaty fingers over her already thoroughly gagged mouth.
"No...I can't say for sure whether she went toward the front door.... Excuse me, would you? I'm having some brunch...."
He carefully kneeled beside her and, with a purposeful smile, suckled her right teat.
Her fingers clawed uselessly as she gargled in frustration deep in the back of her throat.
"There. That's better," he said as if finishing a satisfying snack. "Yes, of course, Mrs. Barnes," he said directly into the phone, her daughter's mucous-soaked tit bobbing beside his ear. "I'd be happy too. This afternoon?" He looked up to see the girl's eyes wrenched all the way over in their sockets, staring at him with hate and fear from her flush, sweat-soaked face. "Well, I have a little job to finish, but how about sometime this evening?"
He listened as his head slowly lowered back toward the girl's shivering chest, his mouth opening to silently suck in her tit again, his free hand reaching up to press tighter on her lower face. Alissa managed one drowning mewl before he said, "That'll be fine. I'll see you then."
She screamed and screamed, wrenching forward in the chair, her collar bones almost ripping from her flesh, veins pumping on her throat, and her face a deep, dark, blood-infused red as he slowly lowered the phone on its cradle. Alissa threw her head back, weeping bitterly as he chided her.
"There, there," he said, swinging his leg over to sandwich her legs between his. He gripped her breasts like melons, then sat on her lap, facing her. "You know they suspect daddy or your little cherry-popping boyfriend," he said into her hysterical face. He started mauling her tits rhythmically. "Either way, they figure you're somewhere, smiling, shopping and getting your cunt waxed."
He leaned down to suckle her neck. "Well," he said as he rose from her new hickey. "One out of three ain't bad."
Then a drug-soaked washcloth plopped over her nose. She cried and jerked and screamed as he held her bound body to him in the small, bright, light, dirty kitchen.
TO BE CONTINUED