Plaything 7



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Justine couldn`t run. The skirt was constricting her legs. The shoes would only
let her balance. She couldn`t punch. The eraser was still in one hand, and the
cotton shirt scraped across her bra and flesh.
Look at her chest strain against its constriction, Oswald thought. He judged her
to be about a hundred and twenty pounds of solid woman. She had the body of a
slut, the legs of a dancer, and the face of a sweet Midwestern girl. She was
even better looking clothed than the pictures he saw of her naked. The nudity
would come soon enough, however.
Outside, the principal was walking to his car. He always enjoyed that because he
got to walk past Miss Grayson`s room. Bless her heart, he thought. She always
stayed late to tidy, affording him a lovely view of her figure. He looked over
nonchalantly. Disappointment rushed through him as he saw the venetian blinds
closest to the blackboard closing.
What a shame, he thought. Miss Grayson must have gotten wise to the faculty`s
shenanigans. Doubly unfortunate, since the glimpse he got just as the shades
closed seemed to show that Miss Grayson was especially active in her cleaning
tonight. Still, it might have been a trick of the setting sunlight.
The principal got into his car, reached for his keys, then thought better of it.
He sat behind the wheel, thinking. Why else would Miss Grayson close her shades?
She didn`t seem overly prudish or vindictive. What did she care if people went
out of their way to glimpse her? Was she doing something illegal, or against the
rules? Maybe she wasn`t feeling well. In any case, it was something the
principal should look into.
He got out of his car and started to retrace his steps as Justine Grayson bucked
against Oswald Rowland`s muscular grip, and screamed into the drug-soaked cloth.
"Miss Grayson?" the principal called. He opened the door of her room and looked
in. "Miss Grayson?"
All the lights were off and the blinds were closed.
The room was empty - The principal shrugged. His favorite third-grade teacher
must have gone home early.
But she hadn`t. She was in the bathroom with her captors. The drug Audrey had
created at the hospital had worked well. Justine lay against Oswald as he
crouched down near the toilet. Her eyelids were fluttered and her mouth hung
open, tiny moans emanating from her slack pink lips. Audrey calmly reached over
and pressed her palm against Justine`s jaw. The nurse`s fingers and thumb dug
into the teacher`s soft cheeks.
Oswald held her tightly. Her legs began to move, rubbing against each other.
Audrey used her other hand to push down on a skirt-covered thigh. Justine sighed
again, stilling, her shirt filling. The brother and sister looked at one
another.
The principal shrugged and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Fifteen minutes later, Justine awoke. Her eyes snapped open and awareness
flooded through her like an opened dam. That was how Audrey mixed the drug. It
was to sap the subject of their strength, render them semi-conscious for a
limited time, then dissipate with no side effects. It had worked perfectly on
its maiden run.
Justine had been dimly aware of her body being propped up, her arms moved
around, constrictions at her joints, and a strange, luxurious scraping along her
upper legs. But the only time she had struggled was when she felt her mouth
being pried open. It was the same feeling she had gotten when her tonsils were



about to be taken out.
But now Justine was awake and immediately gasping and quaking. She was in the
small bedroom, on, her knees. Or, more properly, on the side of her knees. Her
skirt had been pulled up to the very top of her thighs. Her legs had been bent
and her ankles had been strapped to her thighs with two inch-wide belts. Her
legs had been separated so almost her entire body weight pressed down on her
crouching limbs.
She couldn



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