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Keeper #1
by Geoff Merrick. All rights reserved.
Illustrations by DEUCE

Parking near the back corner of the lot was a mistake. Going back to the car alone after the dance class was one also. Staying late was the last. She was pulling on the bulky pink jacket over the leotard top, having already pulled on the dark miniskirt over the spangly flesh-colored leggings. Her three-inch dark red high heels clack-clack-clacked on the parking lot asphalt, accompanying the jingle of her coins and keys as she rooted around her small purse.

She leaned down and put the car key in the door lock, her long, flaming red hair covering the sides of her face … blocking her view of him.

He came up fast and silent behind her. He grabbed her right wrist as he brought the thick, wet pad, around her head and over her face. He did it perfectly. He had practiced hundreds of times in the last few weeks. Although his heart was thumping in his chest he still did it as well as he could hope.

The initial grip was tight; and then, yank back with his left hand, and twist back with his right.

His back hit the wall of the community center, hauling her into the shadow around the corner from the intersecting streets. All he could see was the front of her car and the far left corner of the lot. Otherwise there was only shrubbery and walls around.

He felt her writhe in his grip. He felt her back rub his chest. He felt her perfect, small, round, hard ass cheeks rub his groin. He felt himself getting hard.

He felt her surge in his grip, fighting the hold he had on her. But with her right arm twisted almost all the way up between her shoulder blades, she couldn’t get much balance. He felt her scream into the pad as much as heard her. The thick cloth covered and closed her mouth. He felt it vibrate as she screamed and screamed and screamed in pain, shock, and fear.

He didn’t see her expression because the pad covered it. It blinded and gagged her. It gripped her as much as he did. The aromatic, clinging odor seared to her face and coated the inside of her nostrils, mouth and throat. Already he felt her weakening. Already he felt her tight muscles start to slacken. Already he felt her long, slim, shapely legs, slow her kicks. The clacks of her shoes on the gravel around the buildings grew quieter and quieter.

He felt her sag. He immediately released her arm and wrapped his arm around her waist, still holding the pad over her face. Only then did he stop looking for possible witnesses, and hazarded a glance at her.

Her legs were together, her knees bending. Her high heel shoes were together. She nodded, her left breast peeking out from her coat, her deep, u-necked light aqua leotard looking painted on. He could see the rounded top of her orb, and the way the spandex adhered to the rest of it. He could practically see the little round pink circle of her aureole just beneath the material. He could see her hardened nipple poking through like a nub.

He quickly put the pad in his jacket pocket and reached forward to where the key was still in the door lock. He got the door all the way open, lifted her inside, and climbed in after her.

She was a small girl, hardly five foot, four inches tall. Getting her into the passenger’s seat was hardly a problem. Her tight high heels didn’t even pop off. She drove a Honda station wagon, so there was plenty of interior room. He sat her down, then pulled her head onto his lap. He started the car, pulled out and drove off down the street.

No one else came out of the community center until he had turned the corner onto a suburban street. No one saw him. He kept driving with one hand on the wheel. The other he laid on her flaming red hair. He pushed her head tighter against his hard-on. He imagined her slack, soft, red lips against his pants. He imagined the big blue-green eyes under the closed, relaxed lids. He reached over and placed his hand over her covered right breast. He squeezed.

The tit, like the rest of her, was perfect. It filled his hand as if designed to, and gave just enough, the nipple tickling his palm through the spandex. His hand darted away as she groaned in her drugged sleep. He slipped his fingers over his mouth and tightened them slightly. Her mouth was warm, and wet.

He pulled into the empty parking lot behind a nearby school. He pushed her upright by her shoulder and practically leaped out of the car. He ran back, opened the hatch, and dove in. He grabbed her arm, pulled her between the seats, then hauled her into the rear cargo section. She was as light as he suspected. She couldn’t have been over 110 pounds.

He yanked her pink jacket off, threw it back into the front seat, then pulled her legs around so her head rested near the chair backs. He finally stopped to stare down at his kidnap victim.

He found he wasn’t breathing. It was no wonder. Her face was sweet and serenely beautiful, as only an nineteen year old’s can be. Her breasts had spread, making two perfect orbs high on her chest. Her shape was amazing, as her small waist swooped down into perfect hips and legs. The miniskirt stopped amid the top of her thighs. He wanted to go down on her then.

But she stirred and muttered, so he grabbed for the roll of thick, sticky, dark gray industrial tape in his pocket. He crossed her ankles and, without taking off her shoes, tightly wrapped them. He bent her knees, and wrapped her lower thighs. He took a moment to run his hands under her skirt and over her hips and rear. Then he turned her over. He crossed her wrists behind her, then wrapped them vertically and horizontally, as tight as he could.

He turned her back over again. Her eyelids started to flutter. He quickly reached into his other pocket and pulled out the cotton balls. He placed them against her eyelids, then ripped off two squares of the tape to keep them there. She nodded, seemingly trying to knock the blinders off instinctively. Then her mouth started to open and close slightly. He could hear her gasp. The fast acting drug was already wearing off. That was fine: it had already done its work.

Finally he reached into his pocket and pulled out the big, stuffed, almost rectangular pincushion he had bought from the local sewing center. It had rounded edges and was stitched closed. He pushed it against her lips and teeth. He used his other hand to open her jaw. He stuffed it into her mouth until it was pushing down her tongue, blocking entry to her throat and filling her cheeks. Then, careful to push her fiery hair out of the way, he adhered strips of the tape over her mouth in an X and across.

Melissa bucked, as if waking from a nightmare. He backed up, giving her plenty of room. She sat up, and remained perfectly still, as if trying to see through the blindfold. Then she tried to talk. He heard a little, muffled, mumble. Then she cried out, moving her shoulders, and bending slightly at the waist. She tried to pull her hands forward. She tried to separate her legs. Then she screamed. She screamed and screamed and screamed, contorting for all she was worth.

He went behind her on his knees, grabbed either side of her leotard’s neckline, and pulled down. The cloth slid off her chest like a waterfall. The neckline pulled at her nipples and jiggled her breasts. He filled his hands with them, and squeezed. He put one into each of his palms, and twisted. He held her to him, and pulled.

She screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed, he head going back onto her shoulder, sweat covering her brow.

All he heard was a long “aaaaaaah.” He heard a long “mmmmmph.” He reached over her shoulder, grabbing the hem of her skirt, and yanking it up over her crotch. He grabbed at her cunt, but it was double layered. She screamed some more, kicking and bucking. It sounded as if she were shrieking through a mile long pillow.

He suddenly let go and moved away. She fell back, her scream becoming a surprised screech. He was on her as soon as her back hit the car floor. He dragged her leotard top up just high enough so it cut across her tits and nipples.

“Go ahead,” he said, holding her down by the shoulders. “Scream. Scream all you want.”

Then he dragged her up, pushed her down on her stomach, and pulled up her ankles. He wrapped some more tape around them, keeping them tight against her thighs with his body. Then he attached the ankles to her wrists with more tape.

“There’s a good girl,” he said, leaning down and putting his mouth next to her right ear. “Scream.” He nipped at her ear. She screamed. “Kick.” He put his tongue in it. She turned her head away quickly, gasping. “Fight.” He grabbed a handful of hair and slobbered over her neck.

Before she could react, he threw her head down, and scrambled behind the wheel again. He started the car and drove out of the schoolyard parking lot. She cried, pulled on her bondage, and twisted from one side to the other. He heard her try to kick. He saw her fingers reaching, and her arms twisted, in the rear view mirror.

He noted her mid-length, red-painted finger nails with satisfaction. He imagined their light touch on his cock as he drove. He pulled into the driveway of his mother’s house. He let the car roll all the way down to the garage, then he pulled onto the grass, so the passenger seat was close to the basement door. He quickly turned off the engine, hopped out, closed the driver’s door, opened the cellar door, and went back to the passenger side.

With one knee on the passenger seat, he reached back and grabbed the girl around the shins. She screamed and fought, but there wasn’t much she could do. The ease with which he got her kneeling on the seat surprised even her.

Then he cut loose the hogtie, slit the ankle and knee bonds. He grabbed her by both arms and dragged her out of the car.

For a moment she stood there, wordless, breathing deeply out of her nose — the only thing on her face that wasn’t taped shut. She inhaled and exhaled deeply, her head down, her chest swelling. At that moment, he directed her over to the cellar door. With a push she was inside. She could feel the warmth. She called out in an agonized question. Then the door was shut behind her.

She was gone.

He grabbed her in a bear hug and carried her down the five steps to the basement. All had been made ready for her stay. The windows were painted black. Just to be on the safe side, they were also nailed and boarded shut.

Small rugs were hung over them, in addition. The furnace was in the middle of the room, but all around it was her new furniture.

The mattress was in the left corner. The basic, jail-cell-type toilet was along the left wall. The four rings were set in the far wall. The chair was bolted down in the right corner. The big, square, block of wood was in the middle of the right hand part of the section, just beneath the empty, unused iron pipes running just under the eight and half foot tall ceiling. And the bolted down pole was in the shadow of the staircase, just under the door to the kitchen.

He pushed her down onto the mattress. She screamed again, her legs scissoring for balance. Then she put them tightly together, curling them up. He was on her, pushing down her shoulders. The leotard top had slipped to cut across the bottom of her round tits, and he took a nipple in his mouth, sucking.

She screamed, and writhed and kicked, trying to get a knee under him, but he kept holding her down; licking and sucking her tits. As she started gasping and crying, he grabbed both moistened orbs and ground his palms on them. Her head went back, all the veins on her neck stood out, and she howled in agony. He ignored it, sliding his body across hers and forcing his hips between her legs.

She was young, tight, and strong, but he was much bigger and heavier. She moaned and writhed, but he lay on top of her, his legs between hers. His hands were everywhere: in her hair, over her sealed mouth, across her neck, on her tits, feeling her sides, her hips, her ass, her thighs. Then he was yanking up her miniskirt. Then he was scratching at her cunt, and pushing his thumb against her covered, lower lips.

She started pounding her head on the mattress. He laughed.

“Go ahead. You can’t hurt yourself.” He took her right nipple between thumb and forefinger. “Only I can do that.” He pinched it hard.

She screamed again, her body taut, and stretched as far as she could.

He pushed her down, his hands in her hair, holding her head down. “That’s all right,” he whispered. “That’s all right. Fight as much as you want. Scream as much as you want. No one will hear you except me.” He pressed down on her with his body, feeling every curve. “And I want you to scream.”

Melissa scraped her mouth against the rough wooden bottom of the staircase for the tenth time. Again the coarse wood scratched her face and pulled at the tape adhered across her lips. The cotton balls inside the tape squares over her eyes were soaked with tears. She felt her black, spandex miniskirt adhered across her rump and thighs as if it was another part of her bondage.

At least she felt that. Her hands were as good as gone. She could hardly move them anymore. They just hung limply on the other side of the tightly wrapped tape.

She could still feel her legs, but that didn’t do any good. Her ankles were taped to her wrists again, only this time her thighs were taped together, keeping her legs bent tight. She lay on her stomach, the grit of the dirty floor grinding against her flesh.

Her leotard couldn’t protect her. It was hardly there any more. He had cut the lower part off.

He had started by pulling the band which covered her crotch, and cutting that in two with scissors. To get the tail that made out of the way, he pinched a section at her waist and started cutting around her torso until she was left with a spandex T-shirt which adhered to her tits, but left her midriff exposed.

Then he pinched at her flesh-colored tights, which now looked like second-skin pants. He took a piece between her legs between his thumb and forefinger, knife at the ready.

She had heard the slit at the stitching. She felt the cellar’s warm air across her cunt. It started getting wet immediately, against her horrified will. Then his thumb was there, digging.

She could do something about it, but none of it was effective. She screamed, but no one heard. She writhed, but she couldn’t hit him. Her arms were still behind her, her wrists crossed, sandwiched between the thick mattress and her slim, strong torso. She tried to kick, but her legs were tied down to rings bolted into the concrete floor, set at each corner of the mattress.

He had laid on top of her again, sandwiching her further. He had placed the crown of his penis against her beaver, its head settling between her cunt lips. Then, with a strong, smooth surge, he had inserted the full length of his hard shaft inside her.

Melissa started screaming. She started trying to sit up. She tried to close her legs or kick.

Soon she was crying, with great wracking sobs, as he just kept surging inside her. He held her head, or her shoulders, or took great fistfuls of her wonderful red hair as ballast. His chest squashed her tits, whose nipples had receded deep into the mounds.

Soon all she could do was gasp as he repeatedly pushed. She felt his cock getting bigger and bigger, and warmer and warmer. She felt it vibrating inside her. She pulled and wrenched at her arms, but the tape held. She tried to sit up or wriggle away, but it was no good.

She was sealed inside herself, having to endure the rape without sight or voice.

Explosions went off behind her forehead. Flashbulbs went off behind her eyelids. Her loins broiled. All her muscles tightened to the snapping point. Sweat covered her face and chest.

The smell of sex was almost overwhelming as her blood roared in her ears.

Her back arched and her fingers splayed as he sank all the way in for the hundredth time. Only this time he stayed there. Only this time he held her aloft by prick alone. Only this time he came.

She screamed one long, horrible scream of violation into the thick packing and sticky, heavy plastic gag. The top of her head scraped the mattress, her long red hair flaming out like sunbeams. Then she collapsed.

He lay there, still inside her, as her cunt instinctively lapped up the gooey cum.

He leaned on one elbow, absentmindedly fondling her right tit. “You don’t know how long I waited to do that,” he said quietly as she started crying again, her head nodding. “I’ve been watching you for weeks. Months. I saw you come out of that health food store. I followed you. I found out where you lived. I was lying behind that little mound of grass across the street, behind the motel. With binoculars. I watched you every night.” He smiled, tickling her nipple. “Thanks for keeping the shade up slightly.” She gasped, still for a second, then started sobbing again. “I watched you undress for bed every night,” he said. I watched you get dressed every morning.” He grabbed her head and started slobbering her ear. “I saw you take off your sweaters, shirts, and even your bra. I saw you pull off your pantyhose and panties. I saw you dress up. I saw you go out.

I saw you put on your nighties and teddies. I saw you going to bed in just a T-shirt. I imagined then what it would be like to fuck you.”

He held her head back with one handful of hair and started suckling her throat. “It was just as good as I imagined,” he whispered. “So tight, so warm, so wet, so red.” He leaned up, still holding her hair. “And no ‘you’re not doing this right, you’re not doing that right, that hurts, I don’t feel anything’ shit either. No,” he said, leaning down over her face.

“You just have to lie there and take it, don’t you? Perfect, huh? Probably the best sex you ever had … bitch.”

He threw her head down, letting it sink into the mattress. Finally he pulled his dick out of her and quickly set to work making sure she wouldn’t go anywhere, and wouldn’t tell anyone what had happened.

He had put her skirt back on, after he had pulled her tights off. It just covered her ass and cunt, as the cut leotard just covered her aching tits. He also taped her shoes on, so any crawling would be difficult, and any getting to her feet would be impossible. The only thing he didn’t do was tie her to a bolted ring in the floor. Instead, he gave her the freedom of the cellar, and left with a “that ought to hold you.”

It did. Pull and twist as she might, Melissa couldn’t get lose. She could move around, but only an eighth of an inch at a time, and with great effort — which wasn’t aided by the blockage in her mouth, cutting off half her air. Even so, she managed to find the wall in just an hour or two, and spent the rest of her time trying to scrape off her blindfold and gag.

Her shapely little body was still covered in sweat, making the naked flesh of her arms, waist, and legs shine. Perspiration had also filtered into her red mane, but that only made it shine as well. Melissa grunted and moaned as her limbs rubbed against each other with every effort. She felt his fetid semen inside her every time her thighs moved.

She screamed again in torment and frustration, but nothing came of it. She lay still for a moment, her head down, then started rubbing it against the wall under the stairway again.

It may have been the thousandth time that the edge of the tape finally gripped the wall. Melissa was stunned into stillness. Then she tried again. The grit rubbed her skin, but then the tape held again. She moved her head back, and she felt the tape pulling off her cheek. She was too excited, and too weak, so she pulled her head too far back, and the tape snapped off the wall.

She tried again, but the exposed tape was too covered with grit to stick. Even so, she felt the gag give when she moved her mouth. She started chewing the pincushion furiously and tried wedging it out from beneath her teeth.

Hours later, it started to work. Melissa kept scraping her face against the wall, and chewing, and pushing with her tongue. The more she did it, the more energy she got, remembering he could come back at any moment. But he didn’t come back, and she kept chewing and pushing and scraping until the tape was a quarter off her lips, and the pincushion was halfway out of her mouth.

Choking on excitement, Melissa rolled onto her side, the back of her head and her heels on the wall, shaking her head furiously, and pushing with her tongue. She felt the padding give. She felt it coming out of her mouth like a big, thick, wet, turd. It caught on the tape at the last seconds but with a huge effort, Melissa spit it out of her mouth.

The gag held on, hanging and pinioning one third of her lips, but she gasped, and sucked in breath.

“Help,” she called in a little girl voice. Then stronger and louder. “Help! Help! Someone help me, please! Helllp!!”

Melissa kept screaming until she heard footsteps. It seemed like a full minute of solid screaming. Then her words froze in her throat for a split second as the fear it might be him covered her. But then she heard a door open and a voice say, “Who is it?”

Melissa almost fainted in relief. It was a woman’s voice. “It’s me,” Melissa said. “I’m down here. I’m tied up. Someone … kidnapped me. Help, please!”

She heard more footsteps, heavy ones, and the woman say “oh my god.” Then the woman was standing over her. Melissa could tell by the proximity of her voice. “Are you all right?”

Melissa ignored the question. “Untie me,, please!” she begged.

“Of course, of course,” said the woman,, and then Melissa felt her strong, fat fingers tearing at the tape around her ankles.

“My hands…,” the redhead started.

“Of course, of course,” the woman repeated, still tearing at the tape around her legs, and making quick work of it. With strong, certain movements, the woman tore and ripped the tape off Melissa’s ankles. By making one tear across the back of the tape cinching her thighs, Melissa’s legs were completely free.

The woman sat the girl up. “I can’t see,” Melissa said. “Please…”

“You were making quite a racket,” the woman said quickly over her. “I thought it might be a cat or a siren, but then I heard the words ….”

“Yes, yes,” Melissa gasped. “I can’t feel my hands….”

“Don’t worry,” said the woman. “We’ll take care of that.” Then she was sitting beside the girl.

“What are you ….?” Melissa started, but that was as far as she got. That was when the woman started grabbing handfuls of her hair and plunging bobby pins along the back of her head.

“What, what, ow!” Melissa cried, her head down, her hair being affixed on the top of her head, Then the tape was ripped entirely off her mouth. And something else was plunged in.

Melissa’s new cry of pain was cut off by the shaped plastic prod that went between her teeth. She bit down, but it was too late. The prod was all the way in, a padded leather band crushing her lips. Then she felt straps tighten at the back of her neck, unobstructed by her long hair. The prod gag was cinched so tightly that it felt as if she had been born with it in her mouth,

“Feel that, dear?” the woman said as she pulled out the bobby pins, letting the red hair fall back across her shoulders. “Recognize the shape?”

Melissa screamed again, her head going back, the sound once again muffled, twisted, and obstructed. Yes, she did recognize the shape as her tongue went all over its underside and it bulged against her upper palate. It was a big, thick, short penis.

Melissa tried to pull away when she felt the woman’s hands curling around the hem of the miniskirt tube. Her fat fingers rubbed against Melissa’s thighs, holding her close by as she yanked the spandex to the girl’s waist,

“Too much noise,” the woman said. “You make too much noise, so we’re just going to have to occupy you with other things.” She put a small black belt around Melissa’s waist and cinched it as tight as she could with one hard, sudden pull. Melissa was yanked against the woman’s padded side.

“So cute,” the woman cooed as she worked. “So slim, yet so firm.” The belt had another belt at the back, going down. The woman slipped it between Melissa’s weakened, but bending legs, then took the nine inch dildo with its own loop at the base and slipped it on.

“So long,” the woman commented, looking at Melissa’s agonizingly slow legs.

“So smooth and shapely.” She took a handful of Vaseline and coated the dildo with it. Then she ran it along the short second strap until the tip was just under Melissa’s cunt hair.

“So thick and red,” said the woman, ramming the dildo inside the girl.

Melissa dropped onto her back, shaking her head wildly, screaming, and kicking, but it was too late. The dildo was all the way inside.

The woman tightened the belt immediately, putting the end into the buckle affixed specially for it in front. She tightened it as far as it would go with another pull (knocking the air out of the teenager) then clamped it in place. With a quick flick of the kidnapper’s knife, she cut off the remaining tongue of the belt, and quickly pulled Melissa’s miniskirt back down, neatly covering the invader.

“Now, now, now,” said the woman, gathering up Melissa’s legs in one arm. The girl flopped around the mattress like a fish out of water. “Mustn’t have you hurt yourself.” Then, with a roll of tape in one hand, she pressed the button on the bottom of the dildo. Its’ batteries went on, and the dildo started to vibrate and surge.

By the time Melissa realized what was happening, the woman had retaped her thighs and crossed ankles. She dropped the long, perfect legs, and moved back on her knees as the girl sat up, rubbing her head wildly on her knees.

Melissa fell onto her side, bending and straightening her legs repeatedly, bleating behind and around the new gag. Her fingers reached agonizingly for her crotch, but the painted fingernails could hardly reach the miniskirt hem.

Her wrists twisted in the iron hard tape as she pulled with all her remaining strength. She kept saying “ah, ah, ah, ah, ah.” She started to shake in place on the mattress.

“That’ll keep you,” said the woman, standing up. Melissa tried to scream at her, but the penis gag pried her jaw apart and filled her saliva-filled mouth. Melissa tried to remain still, but the surging, vibrating dildo was scraping her nerve ends. Melissa tried to explode, but the tape held her together. She sat up, and rolled, and kicked, and flailed with her head and torso — her hair flying around her.

The woman watched her contort for a few seconds, then spied a length of cord still tied to a ring at the corner of the mattress. She nimbly grabbed Melissa’s legs and cinched the rope tightly around one ankle.

“Don’t want you rolling into the furnace,” she commented, then let Melissa continue her contortions.

She watched in amusement for a few more minutes, smiling at the nineteen-year-old redhead’s bondage and sexual torment. She watched her back arch, and her pull on the ankle rope. She watched her curl up into a little ball, and stretch out to the snapping point — her leotard and skirt just about to snap off her abused tit and cunt. She imagined what it would be like to be fucked in the cunt and mouth while being unable to scream, fight, or run.

“That’ll keep you,’ the woman repeated, heading for the stairs, “nice and wet and soft until my boy gets home.”

He watched her get out of the car. As always, she was a colt; longer than Melissa but just as sleek. Instead of a fiery mane of red hair, Dana had a short-cropped shield of dark, rich brown around her head, styled so it stopped and curled in at her shoulders. Instead of round mounds high on her chest, Dana had thick, strong sacks that bounced beneath her silky white shirt.

He watched the strong legs beneath the tight, short, gray flannel skirt, move her unerringly toward the back door of the duplex. Getting in had been no problem for him. Dana, so full of life and energy, never thought anyone would take advantage of the lousy security on her place. Half the time she forgot to even lock the back door.

She was a young businesswoman, fresh out of college. She didn’t have enough stuff worthy for a thief to steal. Except herself. And that never even occurred to her.

He had been in there lots of times. He had already gone through her clothes drawers and her closets. He had already searched the house from top to bottom. He knew more about her than she did.

Dana came into the kitchen without a care. She immediately turned on the radio, letting the dance music fill the nearly empty home. Fine with him. Even if he messed up, any cries for help might be camouflaged.

She took off her suit jacket and threw it on a chair as she passed. She checked a hanging plant, and decided watering could wait until after she changed. She started up the stairs, humming and singing along with the radio.

Halfway up she realized she should have kicked off her three-inch dark gray high heels at the bottom of the steps, and decided to kick them off as soon as she got to her bedroom. She hopped up the rest of the stairs on her toes, feeling her stockings swish against each other as her legs scissored.

She stopped at the top of the steps and looked at her bedroom door quizzically. She didn’t remember closing it that far this morning. The momentary delay reminded her how bad her eyes felt. She shrugged, made a sudden decision, then headed for the bathroom.

Dana quickly and efficiently took out her contact lenses. He watched from the hairline crack in the ajar bedroom door. He saw her clean the lenses, and put them away. He saw her head back toward the bedroom. He saw her strong, elegant hands, with their red-painted nails, gripping the doorframes and walls as she went. He carefully watched her dark, deep, brown eyes narrow.

He realized she was nearly blind. He already knew her glasses were on her bed table. She was coming for them. He smiled, not feeling nervous. After all, she was helping him. She was making it easier.

He watched her approach, feeling the excitement welling up in him. Look at that tiny, belted waist. Look at those long, firm, shapely legs. Look at that strong, big, chest bobbing in the frilly bra under that tight white shirt. Look at those lips: full in the center, curving up in a secret smile at the tips. Look at the straight, small nose. Look at those unfocused, unseeing, big brown eyes. Look at the silky hair, riffling across her head.

Then her hand was at the door. Then it was swinging in. Then she turned left, and reached for her glasses case.

He came out from behind the door and tackled her. One arm around her waist, the other arm around her head — the thick, soft, wet pad in his right hand over her mouth.

The scream was muffled as they fell on the bed. He sandwiched her between his weight and the filly beige bedclothes. They landed, bounced, and settled. She must have thought that she had tripped and fallen deep into the pillows because she didn’t move for a second. It took a moment to sink in that she was being attacked.

By the time she started fighting it was too late. She had already breathed in the drug. But she got a couple of seconds in which to flail with her arms and try kicking. She screamed again, cried out, and then bleated. But then her out stretched arms only flopped on the covers, and her legs bent at the knees and dropped.

It was over in a few seconds. He felt her smooth clothes and skin beneath his. He felt his hard-on between her firm ass cheeks.

He reared up on one elbow and looked down at her thoroughbred form. He appreciated her stylish gold earring, her two gold rings, and her elegant gold necklace.

Then he reached around on either side of her torso, gripped through the shirt and bra, and picked her up by her tits.

Dana’s eyes snapped open. She lay on her bed, unable to see. She looked around her room wildly, realizing she didn’t have her contacts in or her glasses on. She dimly remembered falling, feeling a weight, and sinking into her many small, square pillows atop the bed — but that was all.

She tried to get up. only her legs and shoulders reacted to her brain’s order. And even that was strange. She looked down at her legs, but all she could see were fleshy blobs beneath a gray haze. She could see out her small bedroom window, across the street, fine. Being far-sighted, she could see into the distance, but everything close up was an indistinct mist.

She concentrated. Her middle thighs seemed to be stuck together. She tried getting up again, but only her shins and feet moved. She tried to sit up on her elbows, but all she did was jerk in place. Finally she felt the pain at her shoulders.

Dana made a noise. All she heard was a muffled grunt. She said “what the fuck,” but all she heard was a distant mumble.

He smiled as her eyes got very big and stared down at the obstructions just under her nose.

Finally she felt all of it: the pain at her shoulders the strain at her elbows, the fire at her wrists, the pressure around her head, the obstruction in her mouth, the pinch across her thighs, and the imprisonment of her feet.

He had been impressed. He discovered that her elbows could touch in back. He had tied them together with rope right off. Then he had tied her wrists palm to palm. He had lifted her skirt even farther, and tied her legs together at mid-thigh. Then he had smoothed the skirt down again. He had taped her shoes on.

He had stuffed a beanbag in her mouth, so her jaw was pried wide. Then he had tightly circled her head with an absorbent, stretchy flesh-colored ace bandage. Finally he had tied another swath of thin white bandage across the middle of that, to keep the beanbag tight behind her teeth.

Dana felt it all. Her back arched, her head went all the way back, and she screamed.

She screamed for help again and again, but the sound hardly left the room. It certainly didn’t get through the closed windows. And since she was on the second floor, no one from outside could see her — even though more and more executives were coming home on the suburban residential street.

She kept her wits about her; he certainly gave her that. Almost immediately, she turned toward the wall dividing the duplex. If she could alert her neighbors to her plight, she could get help. Dana stopped screaming, but not before beads of perspiration started appearing on her brow.

She threw her legs off the side of the bed, and tried sitting up. It took her three tries. She then scrunched her ass around, and sat. She leaned down, moaning, trying to pull her hands free or dislodge the gag. She seemingly begged the wall for help, but that didn’t do any good.

He watched with amusement as she tried standing up. She fell back. She tried to kick her shoes off, but they wouldn’t go. She shook her torso, like a frisky colt, but nothing gave. The buttons of her shirt were tight around her chest, but they didn’t give either. He could make out the heaving mounds beneath. He almost stepped toward her then, but resisted.

She finally managed to get to her feet, by carefully placing her shoes and anchoring her legs. Then she pushed off with her hands while snapping her torso upwards.

She teetered in place for a moment, then regained her balance. She pleaded with the wall. Then she gingerly, carefully, and purposefully started walking toward it.

She had to take tiny little steps so she wouldn’t topple over, and had to bend down to divide her weight. Her breasts were the biggest danger, since they were disproportionate with her small, belted waist, and long, strong legs. So she had to let them hang in the bra for ballast.

He saw what she was going to do. If she got close enough, she had enough legroom to kick the wall, or maybe pound it with her shoulder.

9) He let her get within six inches, then grabbed her arm, giggling.

She screamed in surprise. She had not seen him there. She wrenched and pulled against his grip, but he didn’t let go. He didn’t want her falling and maybe hurting herself.

“Oh no,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere.”

She backed away from him, heading for the bedroom window, bleating. Her eyes moved wildly, trying to find and focus. Her shoulders strained. She continued to bend from the waist, asking all sorts of questions which couldn’t be heard.

“Oh no,” he said again, regrabbing her. He pulled the struggling, babbling girl toward the door.

He let her step out, then pushed her against the wall. She hit it with her back, then froze in place as her fuzzy vision was filled with his form.

“Where are you going?” he asked quietly, leaning on the wall next to her, pinioning her between him and the bedroom door. “Where do you think you’re going?

She begged through the gag, her eyes pleading.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said.

She pleaded louder, with more desperation.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Her eyes began to get glassy and wet.

“No,” he said, reaching for her shirt. “You’re going to stay here. With me.” He let his thumb and fingers meet around her hanging tit. He let it slip off his closing fingers in a smooth, teasing pinch.

She jerked back, making a stunned sound. Then she started pleading again.

“Stay here,” he said, doing it again. She pushed herself back against the wall with an audible thunk, making her tits jiggle. “Good, good, good,” he said, reaching for the same breast tenderly. “Stay here.” He gripped it tighter this time, feeling its heft.

Dana started screaming and banging the back of her head on the door.

He immediately grabbed her by the arms and waist, and whirled her around in the narrow confines of the hall. Her screams became a shriek, and then she was frozen again, on the opposite wall of the hall. The one not connecting the duplex.

He pushed her in that corner tightly with his body, squeezing the tit in earnest now. “No, no, no, don’t do that. Don’t do that,” he chided. “I don’t want to share you with anyone. Give it all to me.”

She cringed as he squeezed, trying to slip down to the floor. Her eyes squeezed shut and tears started dropping out.

He suddenly yanked her up by her tit, making her eyes snap open as she gasped; then he grabbed both sides of her shirt and yanked it open, buttons flying.

She started to scream again, and tried to rush past him, but he pushed her back hard against the wall, his hand flat on her exposed chest. He felt her smooth, brown, freckled skin beneath his hand, then let the fingers move around until they slipped under the lacey, scalloped sides of the bra cups.

He filled his hand with her pendulous, full left breast, feeling the brown knob of her nipple tickling his palm. He squeezed and pushed, nailing her to the wall. “That’s good,” he cooed. “That’s nice. Now just take it easy, dear, take it easy. You and me have to get along for quite some time now. Make it easy on yourself. Just relax. Relax….”

She continued to cringe and cry. Her knees bent, but she could go no further. She almost stood there, letting him play with her left tit like a lump of clay.

She stood there, feet as wide as she could get them, high heels anchored as much as possible. Her elbows were still together behind her, as were her wrists. Her fingers curled in, tickling each other palm, as she tried to grip the rope which bound her.

The gag was as tight and secure as ever, adhered to her head -her silky short hair not obstructing it in the slightest. She tried to chew the bean bag, but it rested securely on her tongue, behind her teeth, filling her cheeks — held there by the white bandage running through the wide, muffling ace bandage.

Her skirt might as well be more rope, the way it gripped the bottom of her thighs, just above her knees. She stood as straight as she could, trying to find a way out.

But every time she moved, she could feel her chest jiggle.

He had opened her shirt to the waist. He had kept it tightly tucked under the wide belt and skirt top, so it made a V to her shoulders. Then he had cut off her bra.

Her tits were held by the sides of the shirt opening. They hung, like perfect, flesh-colored water balloons, the tips slightly elevated, the big brown aureoles surrounding the nubs of her erect nipples.

And every time she moved — even just to gasp or groan — they jiggled. She blushed for the hundredth time, and bowed her head.

He watched her from the top of the stairs, just to make sure she didn’t go toppling down them. He didn’t want her breaking an arm, a leg, or a neck. Not when he had other plans for her. Not when she was about to move in with him. But first he had to wait until the neighborhood was quiet, and everyone was asleep.

Dana stood in the narrow hall, blinded, gagged, her arms and thighs bound. She leaned against the left wall, almost motionless save for her breathing. There was nothing she could do. She couldn’t plead, or cry for help, or run away. She couldn’t fight. She just had to stand there and let him look at her.

And look he did; at her wonderfully smooth skin, her hanging, quivering orbs, her lovely face, the waist whose slimness was accentuated by the tight wide black belt, and those great legs, which were accentuated by the high, severe heels.

He sighed and stood. “Sooner or later we’ll have to move,” he said while walking toward her and digging a hand in his jacket pocket “And you’ll have to be nice and tired when we do.”

That’s when he grabbed her arm and slapped the moist pad over her nose again. Her head reared back, but it was already against the wall. Her legs shook, but with her thighs cinched she couldn’t run, and with her heels taped on her feet, she could hardly kick. She had to stand there, her entire body vibrating, and take it.

She wasn’t really aware of the drug covering her brain. All she remembered was the sensation of her naked tits quivering.

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