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The drug had worked well. I was too far gone to panic or fight back.
“She ready?” John asked.
“I think so. Pinch her tit.”
I felt the pressure of John’s fingers on my boob. It felt like he was pinching a balloon. It didn’t hurt.
“All right-you want to see what you’re buying?” John asked, standing up.
“What’s the slut’s name?” the Mexican asked.
“Melody Hart,” John said.
I was in a dazed fog as they pulled me off the couch and flopped me onto the long, heavy coffee table. My blouse was pushed up until it bunched under my arms. The bra was stretched and pulled until my boobs fell out and spread across my ribs. The band snapped back. I felt the round jugs jerk.
They rose in steep cones from the pressure.
One of them tweaked my tiny, pink nipples. Hands probed the fatty part of my tits.
My skirt was pushed up and spread over my tummy. I was too weak and sleepy to stop them. I felt my panties and hose being turned inside out. My red-haired snatch was bared. I was aware of my underthings being worked past my knees. I tried to keep my legs locked together. They wouldn’t respond.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.