THE LIBRARY: The Electrician Part 19

CONTINUED FROM HERE - This is a newly rewritten story, involving "Privateer" - get to know him....

When the inspector had gone, and the other squatters had reappeared holding a schoolgirl uniform and cheerleader costume, they found Brianne "asleep" in one man's molesting arms, and Alissa dazedly impaled off the ground on the other squatter's big cock.

By the end of the week, they had more than eighty-five thousand dollars, but not many more "trustworthy" customers who could afford a thousand a fuck. It was time to move them anyway.

"If the fucker can't come to the girl," the electrician said softly the following Monday morning. "The girl'll have to go to the fucker."

He looked placidly over at the cement cubicles, knowing that the girls were already secured, drifting in and out of consciousness: Alissa in the torn black minidress he had first dressed her in -- with huge tears now across the tops of her tits and exposing nearly everything between her stomach and hip -- and Brianne in a nasty old purple teddy that sunk deep into her cunt crack and scraped at her nipples. Both had awful six-inch hooker high heels jammed on their feet; Alissa in ankle-strapped white and Brianne in scuffed black.

The nose hooks were back in their nostrils, and their mouths were wrapped with duct tape. They crouched, knees bent and wide, heads up, their bound wrists behind them, lashed to their bound ankles. Their thrust out chests scrapped the rough cement of the closets.

To them the day seemed like an eternity, but as soon as the doors were slid open, it was as if no time had passed. Hands gripped them by their arms, hair and breasts, yanking them out. What they saw there made them contort with hormonal nightmare.

The electrician's van was backed up, it's back door yawning open.


The squatters smiled at each other as the lights of passing cars swept over them. Then they looked down. Brianne and Alissa were laying face first on the van's floor, their bodies facing away from each other -- the blonde's feet at the front seats and the brunette's feet at the back door.

Only their faces weren't on the pads the electrician had installed after removing the shelves and drawers. As before, nose hooks and hands over their mouths held their heads up, this time almost ninety degrees from their prone bodies.

The men who held the girls' heads up by their mouths smiled. They had reason to. They were lying on the girls' backs, their cocks between the girls' ass cheeks, despite the fact that the girls wore their abbreviated schoolgirl and cheerleader uniforms. The skirts were so short that only the merest flip would expose their firm round buttocks.

But they had more to smile about, because the girls' arms were no longer sandwiched between their bodies. Now they were wrenched back, wide, and up, so they were cuffed around their gaggers' torsos, their clutching fingers clawing at the air.

Their fingers had reason to clutch, because while the men clamped their mouths with one hand, they were reaching under the girls' bodies to torment their nipples. But that wasn't all. One of the other squatters was also there, breathing into their faces, wrenching at their other breast.

But still that wasn't all. Their legs were spread wide, their ankles wired to holes in the inner metal wall. On Alissa's feet were frilly ankle socks and penny loafers. On Brianne's were pink ankle socks and sneakers. A squatter woman lay between their legs, their fingers stimulating the girls' clits.

The sounds filling the van were better than the electrician had ever heard. They sounded like leaking, wet, sputtering, choking, steam fittings plus the muffled moans of forced sexual orgasm.

He drove as slowly as he legally could, taking the longest route possible, but eventually he had to arrive at the house on the outskirts of the city. The squatters heard low music and looked up to see a lawn party in progress, filled with dim garden lights and shadowy figures. Alissa and Brianne's eyes also pinballed around their sockets in hope.

The electrician parked in front, checking the neighboring houses for any signs of activity, then turned in his seat.

"All right," he said quietly. "You know what to do."

Then he watched as the squatters immediately freed themselves, untied the ankle wires, unpopped the nose hooks, dragged Brianne and Alissa up, jammed them against the opposite sides of the van walls by their chests and mouths, then pushed hard against the girls' abdomens.

Both girls made an agonized wooshing sound through suddenly free and open mouths. Their arms jerked in their handcuffs and their legs kicked.

Then everyone watched as they tried to recover. Brianne was soundlessly gasping for air, her eyes huge and betrayed. Alissa was curled in a fetal ball, soundlessly sobbing.

Then they all heard the two suck in their first clear breath, just nanoseconds from each other.

One squatter slammed his hand over the girl's mouth, while another pressed again as if trying to save a drowning man.

The gagging hand immediately came away and the girls writhed and arched and tried to even moan -- their mouths big round oh's.

It took longer this time, but finally they got another breath. The hands sealed their mouths. Other hands knocked the air out of them again.

They tried to weep, but couldn't. They tried to scream, but couldn't. They tried to beg, but couldn't. With their hands cuffed behind them, they couldn't even block the squatters' arms. Their beautiful legs tried to kick, but all they could do was flop reflexively.

They did it four more times, until the girls were barely moving on the padding, their cheeks, chest, and knees scraping the floor.

Then the hands came back, sealing their mouths with a band of clear tape. Then their knees were cinched with a clear plastic pull-tie. Then long coats were dropped over their shoulders and the van's back door was swung open.

Before they knew it, they were being propelled toward the side of the house, across the grass, past party-goers. They were completely surrounded by the squatters, who dwarfed them with their bodies. Bony hands gripped their upper arms and shoulders while more pressed against their backs. They were mostly lifted, partially dragged, and totally blocked from view -- their heads up, their eyes wide, their expressions fervidly pleading.

They tried to scream, "Help me! Somebody please help me!" But they could make no sound until they were shoved inside, and then the hands were back, crushing their lips, mashing their chests, and dragging them into the in-law apartment off the study.


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