Her blurry eyes tried to focus as she slowly realized he was standing no more than two feet away, going through her wallet.
“Hey there,” he said, looking up from her i.d. “Claire Holden.”
Not even waiting for her to react in shock and dread, he dropped the purse.
Then, to her dazed horror, his arms snaked around her, his hands crawling under her shirt and waistband.
"Now what do we have here?” he murmured as his fingers dug under her right bra cup and into her panties. She stiffened in his grip, her anesthetized mind paralyzed. His fingers kneaded her tit and found her slit as she finally began to undulate.
It didn’t seem to matter to him. He rode her like an unbroken pony, his fingers spasming. “Are you really that old?” he whispered. “Lucky me.” He clutched her breast again. “To get my hands on these….” Her head went back, a moan escaping her distorted lips.
It was muffled, it was distant, but it was unmistakable. They both heard it. A woman’s voice, from out in the lobby.
His hand was clamped over her padded mouth before she realized it. His other arm was wrapped around her torso and cuffed arms like a boa constrictor.
“Claire?” the voice came again. “Where are you?”
“Uh-oh,” he grunted as he forced the girl down to the floor on her back. Bringing pull-ties out of his pocket, he quickly lashed her ankles to her thighs, leaving her lovely legs totally bent and her skirt drifting toward her waist.
He immediately lay across her, locking her to the floor, his right hand cemented over her mouth, his left forearm on her throat. “I guess mommy’s come looking, huh? Let’s give her something to miss, shall we?”
The girl didn’t hear the next call from outside because her mind started roaring as soon as he pressed his hips between her flayed-out legs.
His chest mashed her tits. His arm was off her throat. Those fingers now tore at the panties. She started trying to heave and scream.
He chortled. She must have thought she was struggling and shrieking, but the drug had done its job. All she was actually doing was trembling and humming as he ripped the underwear away.
Claire shuddered and surged against him, her lightly waved mop of silky hair shaking. He watched as her sleepy eyes alternately bulged and then squeezed shut, her cool, unpainted fingers clawing at the air beside her waist.
“Shh, shh, shh,” he admonished, finding his zipper. “There’s no need for that.” She heard her name called again, more quietly this time, but it was drowned out by the sound of pants opening. “Mom’s getting colder,” he sighed, and then she felt the cock crown at her lower lips.
TO BE CONTINUED