He grabs my blouse and rips.
Buttons scatter across the pavement. My bra-clad breasts are exposed to the cool night air, n*****s hardening instantly.
“Nice.” He cups my breasts, squeezes roughly. “Real?”
"f**k you – ”
He slaps my tit. Hard enough to sting.
“Wrong answer. Are they real?”
"Yes – ” I gasp. ”Yes, they’re real – ”
“Better.” He pulls down my bra cups, exposing my n*****s. Pinches them, twists. “Sensitive too. This is going to be fun.”
The driver appears beside us. He’s older up close – weathered, experienced, with hands that look like they know exactly what they’re doing.
“Bring her inside,” he orders. “I want more room to work.”
The passenger grabs my arm. Drags me toward the warehouse door.
I stumble, fall, scrape my knee on concrete. He yanks me back up, doesn’t sl
