THE LIBRARY: Trying Out The Conclusion At Last!

TRYING OUT Part Forty-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}

“Oh, how you must feel,” the witch hissed as she cemented Claire’s lower face with ring after ring of flesh-swelling adhesive. “So close … twice!” She leaned down to give Holden’s prodigious breast a mean squeeze as the girl cringed miserably. “But no cigar, sweetie. You’re way too fuckable to get away.”

Swanson looked over to where Al was pushing his fetid log up into the blonde’s ass as she shuddered within the dirty sundress.

“Really?” the witch said. “Now? Give it a rest, would you? There’ll be time for that if we pull this off.”

Begrudgingly, the deliveryman removed his crank from the blonde, patted her on her perfect ass, and took the proffered roll of thick tape. He did the honors for Gwen, sealing the panel gag harness with an extra coating of face distending epoxy.

With that, they quickly untied her legs and abruptly stood them both up – the deliveryman holding the blonde and the teacher holding her prize brunette student by their arms.

“Okay, girls,” the witch said quietly, producing thin, hooded, coats from her bag. “Time for the walk of shame.” They covered their gags and bonds from sight with the outerwear, each captor making a proud showing of it as their victims stared disbelievingly up at them with their huge, wet, eyes.

“That’s right, cunts,” the deliveryman jeered. “Wave to the nice firemen if you wanna.”

And, with that, they half-guided, half-dragged the straining, balking, recoiling, unwilling girls to where the van was parked on the other side of the wood – all the while aware of the fire fighters toiling just a half-football field away from them.

Al leered at the way Gwen’s huge blue eyes shone inside the hood and the way her breasts heaved in the sundress’ bodice.

Dorothy did likewise to the way Claire’s chest surged, barely back in the anime covering, and her wonderful legs flashed in the gathering gloom from within the shrouding coat.

And they listened: both to the sound of the fire fight as well as the noises the girls made: muzzled, muffled pleas for rescue and freedom from their nightmarish sex slavery. It was music to Al and Dotty’s ears as they urged their imprisoned pupils on with tugs, pushes, hugs, squeezes, pinches, and embraces. The girls squealed, struggled, and stumbled, but were forced to go where their captors wanted.

Finally they all stood behind the van: two “responsible” adults with their protectively clothed young charges. The girls couldn’t believe that just one sheet of cloth was preventing the entire neighborhood from seeing the horror of their situation. By seeing each other, they saw what any onlooker would see: a middle-aged couple with what looked like raincoated kids. Despite their concealed spectacular shapes, they were hardly taller than five feet. Only if anyone looked down would they spy the absurdly sexy shoes strapped to their feet.

But the two stalkers wouldn’t give anyone time. The two schoolgirls were unceremoniously impelled into the vehicle and Al quietly but firmly sealed the door shut.

Dotty quickly filled her fists with blonde and burgundy hair and happily held the two squirming, mewling figures on the floor by their manes as Al neatly pull-tied their ankles.

Finally he got into the driver’s seat and carefully drove the van onto the street and toward the motel driveway entrance. “Here it comes, cunts,” he called back. “Your last chance!” He casually turned on the radio to his favorite heavy metal station, then slowed by the traffic cop and rolled down his window. “What’s up?”

“You blind or something?” the cop retorted. “Keep moving.”

“Just wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help.”

“Best thing you could do to help,” the cop said, “is keep moving.”

“Gotcha,” said Al, rolling up his window.

“Fucking rubberneckers,” the cop muttered, and kept urging the rest of the motorists on … while considering how freaky heavy metal was nowadays. The high-pitched squeals during that song were stomach turning. The deliveryman laughed and looked into the rear view mirrors to see Claire on her knees, her fingers clawing, her tits swinging within the tight white T shirt, while Gwen had managed to twist onto her back, howling at the ceiling as her chest heaved with wracking sobs … as Dotty tightly held her heads down onto the padded floor. Both girls were covered in sweat and tears.

Al pulled over at the first rest stop he could find. Then the two nasties really went to work with an even more frightening fervor.

When they leaned back to survey their handiwork, the classmates lay on their sides, back to back, ass to ass.

Their wrists were wrenched back and wired together just under each other’s exposed tits (which had been freed from the white top and sundress, respectively) – another wire attaching each wrist to each other’s nipples. Snaking under their hems was a shared butt plug. Tight around their throats were attached collars. Each ankle was lashed to the other’s.

“Okay, girls,” said their ex-teacher as she strapped on a nine-inch dildo. “Better play nice.” She lay in front of the brunette as Al freed his hard-on while laying in front of the blonde. With their wrists wired to each other’s nipples, chokers attached to each other’s necks, and the butt plug deep in their asses, all the girls could do was stare in wet, eye-widening, dread and shock.

The witch and the deliveryman filled their hands with the girls, slowly impaled them with the cocks, and the worst hours of Claire Holden and Gwen Hennessey’s lives truly began.

THE END

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