She concentrated on the fireman nearest her – a mere fifty feet away. He was concentrating on unraveling the hose, but, as she watched, his head began to rise, his eyes began to shift. In nanoseconds their eyes would lock….
Something wrapped around Claire Holden’s waist. Something curled across her head. Something forced her legs to go flying up in front of her.
Claire Holden fell back, hitting the ground with a air-exploding shock. But even before she could comprehend that, her body was sliding backwards … deeper into the woods, further and further away from the fire trucks.
Claire Holden screamed and writhed and clawed and kicked at the ground until she saw a boney arm smash down, a rock of a fist colliding with her smooth, firm stomach. Claire’s pretty face seemed to inflate, reddening, around the tape mashing her mouth. Her hands fluttered up, only to be caught in two claws by the wrists.
“Hey cunt,” said Dorothy Swanson. “You were expecting Prince Charming?”
Then she jerked her back into the underbrush like a shot putter and fell on her.
Claire Holden fought as she had never fought before. She fought with every fiber of her mind, spirit, and being. She fought with every muscle and bone in her body. Despite the witch’s strength and evil, the teacher was caught by painful surprise as the little golden-eyed girl kicked her in the stomach, slapped her in the throat, and poked her in the eye.
Dotty stumbled back as Claire staggered up, bolting in the opposite direction.
Tearing at the tape still clinging horribly onto her lower face, Claire fled toward the sound of the firemen, screaming with all her might. But even if the shammy had not still stubbornly been stuffed in her mouth, and the adhesive not still clutching onto her creamy flesh, they might not have heard her over the conflagration and their actions combatting it.
It didn’t matter to the pitiable schoolgirl in the anime outfit. In seconds they would see her and run to her aid. No one and nothing would stop her now….
Claire’s boot hit something soft but firm, small but shapely.
She tripped and fell forward heavily, crashing again to the dirt.
In truth, even that might not have stopped her. Before she had fully fallen, she was already scrambling up. But then she glanced back to see what had delayed her.
A beautiful little blonde girl lay there. She was even smaller than Claire. She couldn’t have been more than five feet, one inch. But she was just as shapely. That much was obvious by the way the simple dark red sundress barely covered her remarkable body, and black thigh highs showcased her extraordinary legs. One of her big, firm breasts, reddened with finger marks, lay exposed, and her little feet were imprisoned in dark red high heel pumps.
Her wrists were tied in the small of her back. Her ankles were tied to her thighs. Something dripped under the skirt. Her head was encased in a harness. Her mouth was m.i.a. under a tight, embedded panel. Her eyes were the biggest and lightest blue Claire had ever seen on a human. In fact, she recognized them.
“Gwen?” she tried to say. And then she was on her feet. Power unlike anything she had ever experienced flooded her. Her hands went up. Her fingers snaked into the top of the tape. She ripped the thing from her lips and cheeks as if breaking glass. She spit and tore the sodden shammy from her mouth with one shuddering spasm.
TO BE CONTINUED