“You like it?” he asked stupidly. “I got a lot of stuff left behind in the rooms. Kids’ stuff, and hookers’ stuff too, I guess. But you don’t look like a hooker….”
Claire tried to slide or punch or kick out from all the cords and belts. Her fingers clawed and reached, but she just couldn’t get any leverage. She wriggled around like a hooked worm, mewling in frustration.
“There, there,” he said, kneeling beside her glorious, pinioned, form. He put his hand on her hip and forehead. “Where’d they get you from? School? You really their daughter? Some sort of parent abduction?” She stared up at him in exhausted anger. “Ok, ok,” he responded. “I get it. But…but they already took you, and already … did stuff to you, so I figured….”
His hand slipped into the cheap, plasticky white top and his fingers nestled her beautiful, full right breast as she groaned.
“It’s boring here, ok?” he whined. “Nothing to do. But with you here…?!” His other hand snaked under the skirt hem to find her firm, slim thigh. “Yeah, yeah,” he sighed. “It’s not like I could save you really. I mean, they already did all that stuff to you, right…?”
Claire Holden tried to scream as he slowly, clumsily, heavily, lay on her.
“Hey Gwenny,” Dorothy Swanson called. Gwen Hennessy looked up from the recessed employee’s door of the clothes store.
She wore a black store t-shirt under a maroon zip-up hoodie above a pair of those skintight, super-stretch denims, and white sneakers.
But there was no disguising her amazing face, hair, and body.
A natural blonde with the biggest, clearest, blue eyes the witch had ever seen on a human, Gwen Hennessy couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, but with big, high, ball breasts; a tiny waist; smooth, curving haunches; shapely legs, and perfect little feet.
“Hey, Ms. Swanson,” she replied with a surprised, relieved, smile, stepping toward the van. “What are you doing here?”
Here was behind the mall just after dusk. The store would be open for hours yet, but the managers didn’t let the student employees work more than two hundred and forty minutes.
“Just doing some shopping,” said the teacher. “Wanted to find a short cut out. You off work?” As if she didn’t know.
“Yeah,” said the girl, looking both ways (to see no one). “Just now.”
“Cool,” said the teacher. “What’s the best way out of here?”
There was a breathless moment when the little, power-packed, blonde just stared, but then she shrugged and her face cleared, as if she had won, or lost, an argument with herself. The witch could practically hear it in her mind.
“Relax, Gwenny, she’s just your teacher! What do you think’s gonna happen if you answer her, a pop quiz?”
Gwen Hennessy stepped forward, looked toward the back of the parking lot, pointed, and started to talk.
She only got to “You just go over…,” before Al sildled silently up behind her, pressed the tazer against her back at the same moment he clamped the moist washcloth over her gleaming lips.
TO BE CONTINUED