The Mad Scientist had stood and brushed himself off. He'd left Jodi bent over the liftgate and made his way over to Tiffany, where he lowered himself again and stared at her bosom unflinchingly for a long time. He watched her chest expand and contract as she breathed. The fabric between the buttons of her blouse parted when she inhaled, exposing the furrowy shadow of her tanned cleavage and the thin bow stitched into her bra between the cups. Every so often Tiffany mustered a little whimper that bounced off the street pavement and the light posts in a hollow echo. But for the most part the only sounds were the wind through the leaves and Tiffany's deep breaths.
The Mad Scientist fumbled at the girl's collar, then began to unbutton her blouse. "You're such a pretty little tease," he said. He untucked Tiffany's blouse and fluffed out its flaps, then undid the second-to-last button. Her cleavage was exposed now, and the inner hemispheres of frilly white nylon that cupped the melonous curves of her tits. He practically rubbed his eyes on her chest. The rise of her breasts was defined in the seam that traversed her bra cups, describing the equator of each ample mammary.
"Looking is a disease. It is also a discipline." The Mad Scientist worked loose the last satiny-thin buttonhole and brushed the front of Tiffany's blouse to her sides. The realization sank in that she was being undressed without any concern for her will and she let two mewling whines, turning away from the Mad Scientist. She was oblivious to everything but her own plight and the invasive presence of the horrid, leering old man who barged in on her most guarded personal space with such undisguised lasciviousness, who so flagrantly violated her privacy, the modesties of her body. So she hardly noticed that her melodramatic turn of the head gave her the sultry lassitude of a girl in chains on the cover of a science fiction novel. Her pouty, dry sobs and fussy, trembling trepidation only reminded the Mad Scientist of girls he'd seen in magazines who he'd wanted to possess.
Unfortunately for Tiffany, she poorly understood perversion of the Mad Scientist's sort. She believed her only hope to be that he would see her misery and take mercy on her (although she also hoped once she remembered how to talk to plead with the scientist and convince him to exert most of his sickening lust on her friend, Jodi). So in a gamble for pity she transmitted as much of her suffering into her body and expression as she could, given the paralyzer that coursed through her veins and hobbled her. But this just made her enticing to the Mad Scientist, more the pretty, helpless damsel. It enflamed him.
"I've been watching you for a long time," he told the inert Tiffany. "I've memorized your body," he stared transfixed at Tiffany's nearly naked breasts, "by looking at you through the corner of my eye." He raised up to study her face. "You've seen me, haven't you?"
She looked back, desperate to know his intentions. Under the scientist's cruelties she had indeed waxed fretful: her brow was terraced with worrylines and her lips pulled into a tremulous frown, a girl afraid of monsters from the underbed.
"Haven't you?" the Mad Scientist repeated. "I've been halfway down the aisle at the grocery store." Tiffany sniveled, confused. He leaned in even closer, pressed the bony tip of his nose to Tiffany's cheek. She smelled of drugstore perfume and chewing gum. He groaned with pleasure; a cloud of foul breath settled in Tiffany's nostrils and covered her face with warm droplets.
"Behind you," he murmured, "in line," he groped one of her legs at the thigh and lifted it, "at the ATM." He played under the ornamental belt around her waist, still holding her leg with the other hand. He found the waistband of her skirt and tugged at it, pulling the silky petite apron down to the front of her legs. He glanced at her lap. Under the decorative belt she was wearing snowy white panties, bunched over the fresh little cherry of her pube.
He raised to a crouch and and clutched Tiffany at the ankles, pulling her legs and lower waist into a line. She slumped down the tree. Her blonde hair gathered over both shoulders, her chin slouched to her chest. With a stretch and a yank at the waistband the Mad Scientist drew the girl's skirt along the length of her legs and left them gathered at her feet.
He spread her knees apart and nuzzled up to her lap. He held his eye against her crotch. "Tracking you as you bounce and twitter through your college co-ed life, looking when I can, staring when I can through the corner of my eye." He gave her pussy a sniff. Cotton and laundry, a touch of sweat, a touch of musk. "Enjoyable, but the real pleasure is when the stalking pays off and I catch you and then I can look, and touch. All. I. Want."
The two sleepy sprites in the back of his station wagon had rocked in time with the humps in the road as he'd driven them back to his secluded country house, and had been light and obedient as he'd conveyed them to his lair. Jodi had hummed obliviously, slurring the first two bars of a simple pop song over and over, while the Mad Scientist dragged her—legs trailing behind, ankles tangled up in the denim shorts bundled around her feet—to the rack nearer the door. He draped her over it face down but upright, and strapped her tight at the arms and waist.
"Are we going for another ride?" she had asked vacantly.
The Mad Scientist had threaded Jodi's feet through her wadded shorts, then tossed the dinky garment aside. Her legs dangled passively over the stout metal trunk of the rack to which the scientist was fastening her, and he guided her ankles easily to the leather straps, binding her calves a few inches apart.
