Claire Holden was parked in front of a small, screwed-in, vent with slats that opened onto the outside.
She lay on her stomach in a fierce hogtie that included her pony-tailed hair so that her head was forced up.
She still wore the cupless corset, stockings, and ballet boots, but now her head was in a nasty panel-gag harness that brutally buckled behind her head, on the top of her skull, and under her chin. From his vantage point at the trap door in the second floor hall ceiling, he could also see a belt running from the girl’s waist down between her legs and ass cheeks. It was from behind it that he could hear the hum.
He reached out and grabbed Claire’s knees, then slid her toward the square opening. She groaned in dread, recognizing the feel of the hands. As she tumbled through the opening and unavoidably into his arms, he saw that the teacher had added crosses of black tape over the girl’s aching nipples – containing either salve or grit or maybe both.
She tried to look away, but when the hogtie wouldn’t let her, she screwed her eyes shut, shuddering.
“Aw, don’t be like that,” he admonished. But once he lay her face-first on the hall carpet, drinking in her shape and desolation, he changed his mind. “On second thought, go right ahead.”
Muffled exclamations of agitated relief escaped the tight leather panel sunken into her face flesh when he undid the savage hogtie and her lovely legs fell free. Her right cheek rested on the shag as he unbuckled the belts around her waist and through her legs.
The whirring, gyrating, dildo emerged slowly out of her cunt like an alien invader. It thunked onto the floor and throbbed like a dying fish.
“Aw, you poor girl,” he pseudo-sympathized, crawling onto her back. She squealed, her still tied hands scratching and pushing at his torso, but it didn’t stop him from kissing her cheek, grabbing her left tit, and replacing the vibrator with his own hard-on.
Claire howled as best she could as he began to rut her from behind.
“Did da mean widdle wady hurt your sweet widdle nippies?” he cooed as he squeezed her magnificently round mounds. “Don’t worry….daddy’ll make it alllll better.”
Claire’s head and upper body rose, trying to squirm away, squeeling with the effort. He merely held her tit tighter and jammed even harder up into her. “Dere…dat feels better than dat mean ol’ plastic dick, don’t it?” he teased.
Claire collapsed, weeping unreservedly, as he continued his arching.
He just eased in and out of her for awhile, lying face first in the middle of the second story hallway, light coming in from every window and door. He kept kneading her spectacular chest while tonguing her ear and neck. When she just lay there, he decided on a slightly different tact.
“Talked to the cops today,” he chatted amiably while still steadily runnelling and squeezing. “They classified you as a runaway.” Claire jerked in place, making a negative sound. “I know!” he fake-commiserated. “I said no way. Mommy supports your dreams of stardom and daddy didn’t even diddle you or anything.” The girl’s head rose, wailing in wretchedness.
“Now, now,” he consoled, patting her head. “What else could they do? Hot little piece like you … babe everybody wanted to nail … just goes into an audition and disappears? Had to runaway. If somebody grabbed you….” He grabbed her tits even tighter. “…someone would see, right?” Claire froze. “If someone snatched you, you’d scream, right?”
He twisted her chest as if trying to tear them off, slamming into her cunt. “Right?!”
Claire reared back and howled in defilement.
TO BE CONTINUED