THE LIBRARY: Trying Out Part 21

Trying21TRYING OUT Part Twenty-One {CONTINUED FROM HERE}
{This story originally appeared on BDSMARTWORK and features some amazing art by Steve. We thank them for letting us share it with you here}

He imagined Claire’s huge, wet eyes over the sopping wet sedative pad Dotty was no doubt clamping over her nose and mouth as she lay under Swanson on the king-size bed just above them.

“Uh … on my rounds?” he stammered. He listened intently. “Um … no.” He looked down at the worried woman with a sickly attempt at assurance, secure in the knowledge that the surely the girl was unconscious by now.

“I’m very sorry, Mrs…?” said the delivery man as he showed his unknowing captive’s mother to the front door.

“Holden.”

“I’m sorry Mrs. Holden. But rest assured that if I do see her, I’ll tell the sheriff right away. You have nothing to worry about on that.”

“Thank you, Mister…?”

“Call me Al,” he suggested, opening the door for the woman. “Everybody does.”

“Thank you Al,” she said, stepping outside. Turning around she held a small white rectangle in her hand. “Would you like a picture of her to remind you?”

As if hypnotized, the delivery man reached out and took the proffered photo. It was Claire at a dance recital … probably unaware that her mother was sneaking a shot of her.
The girl was wearing a white, v-necked leotard under a filmy white jacket and short dancing skirt. She was looking longingly at the stage, her eyes and lips moist, her hair in a tight ponytail.

The mother obviously thought this captured her daughter’s innocent lovliness … but all Al saw was her spectacularly fuckable body and lustable face.

Al moved the door so it blocked any view of his raging erection. “Uh, thanks,” he said. “I’ll be sure to let Ted know if I see her … on my rounds.”

“Thank you,” said Mrs. Holden. “I’m sorry to disturb you.”

“Not at all,” the delivery man demurred, staring at the photo. “No problem.” He slowly closed the door, and locked it.

He turned to see Dotty at the top of the stairs, holding Claire by the hair.

The girl was splayed across the steps. The ring gag was no longer in her mouth. Instead, her lovely, thick, rich lips hung lax and open, drool puddling across her chin and throat. Her big, beautiful eyes were rolled back into their sockets. Her sweet summer wrap dress was flung wide, revealing all her magnificent chest and legs. Her breath was ragged and rasping.

Swanson was half-expecting a “what did you do to her?” But instead, the deliveryman simply walked stiffly toward her, carefully undoing his belt while reaching for his zipper. The hard-on emerged as he reached the bottom step, then he carefully kneeled down, tenderly took the girl’s mottled face in his hands, planted his mouth over hers, and stuck his tongue down her throat.

Claire began to involuntarily convulse, but he simply crushed her left breast in his right hand as his left gripped his stiff cock. He bore the insensate beauty down onto the carpet and impaled her on the stairs while suckling her face and grinding her chest -- the photo of her at the recital lying by her smooth, shapely hip.

His thrusting matched her shuddering as he fucked her.

TO BE CONTINUED