THE LIBRARY: Trying Out Part 8

{This story originally appeared on BDSMARTWORK and features some amazing art by SteveWe thank them for letting us share it with you here}

He filled his hands with her generous tits and started making her rise and fall on his sodden log.

She was making sounds he could discern now; combinations of moans, grunts, cries, and sobs. She tried to scream, cry out questions, or make any words that would help her understand what was happening.

That was okay with him. Her confusion only added to his excitement. It had been her torso as well as her smile that did it ... not just her tits, but the way her sides were so sleek, so long, and so smooth. He held those wonderful sides now, watching those tits bounce as he surged inside of her for the second time in less than a half-hour.

Her beautiful back arched, her beautiful neck stretched, her beautiful head went back, she made a sound like a drowning kitten, and then she was refilled. Before she could completely comprehend it, he threw her down onto the van floor on her back. She quaked, gasped, and started to cry.

He ignored it, quickly tying her into a little ball instead. She was still crying when he finished, but now her neck was attached to her knees and, except for some shreds of shirt, skirt, boots , she was all but naked.

He made it three more miles this time … to the street where Claire lived. He parked down the road from her house and, through binoculars, watched her mom talking to the cop. He watched her mom pounding the ceiling of her car in frustration.

He watched Ted drive her away. He watched it all through the tinted, one-way windshield of the van while fucking Claire from behind.

Her eyes were still taped shut, so she didn't know the awful irony of their location. All she knew was that, while her legs were untied, her arms were still corded and that awful thing was still clamped to her head so she couldn't scream, couldn't fight, couldn't run, and his log was pumping back and forth inside her again.

Grabbing a breast while jamming her head back onto his shoulder, he rammed into her with brutal fervor as the cop car came toward the van. Groaning with malice and stimulation, he raped her all the more relentlessly as her beautiful little body writhed against him in the small space.

The cop car came alongside. He achingly came into Claire Holden again. The cop car passed by, obliviously.

Claire wailed and cringed; sounding, looking, and even feeling like a frightened, trapped fawn. He sneered malevolently, holding her down on him while pumping up his hips once, twice, three times more. Finally, he sat back, wheezing. “Yeah, darling, that’s the way I like it…!”

Claire tried to get her balance, but sagged against him, dizzy. “Aw, poor baby,” he cooed. “All tuckered out, are we?” Tenderly fondling her strapped-in head and bulbous breast, he slowly moved her off his stiff, fetid, spike. It emerged from her moist, tender cunt like a snake.

He pushed her to the passenger side of the van’s cab, admiring the smooth sheen of her legs, the firm round breasts erupting, and the overflowing hair curtaining her muzzled mouth and sealed eyes. She was insensible within seconds.

“There, there now,” he breathed as he brought out his cell phone. ”Let’s get you presentable, shall we?” He waited as the call was connected. “Hey, it’s me. Yeah, all done.” He looked over to where the despoiled girl lay in her violated stupor. “You could say that,” he replied. “Do me a favor, would you? The poor thing’s all tuckered out … and so’s her outfit. Could you…yeah that’s right. Wouldn’t do for me to be seen buying a bunch of stuff in her size right after her disappearance … and tell you the truth? I don’t think I could wait for mail order….”


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