Bridget zoomed down the street, made a long sweeping turn into the driveway, and locked the brakes on her bike at the last possible moment, leaving yet another long black skid mark among the scores of others, stopping with the front wheel a bare two inches from the closed garage door.
She hopped off the bike and quickly punched in the code to open the garage door. She stripped off her helmet as the door rumbled up its tracks, and wheeled the bike inside, slapping the button to close the door as she passed. She tossed the helmet on the workbench, toed the kickstand down, and headed for the kitchen door.
She shook out her long blonde hair as she walked to the fridge. She pulled open the door and grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filled it exactly halfway with milk, and downed it as the door to the fridge drifted shut.
Taking the back stairs two at a time, Bridget headed for her room, anxious to get out of her work clothes and into something more comfortable. Rounding the banister post at the top of the stairs, she started down the hall to her room.
Then she stopped so suddenly she almost fell. She turned and looked into her Mother's bedroom through the open door, and saw again what had made her stop so fast.
On the floor, just inside the door, were the torn remains of a blouse, a skirt, and a bra. Something was not right with this picture. Mom would never, but never, leave her clothing on the floor like that. When she undressed, she folded her clothes neatly, ready to wear again, or dumped them into the hamper in the master bath. And why were they all torn up?
Bridget walked down the hall and into her Mother's room, her eyes going to the big king-size bed. The bed was messy, sheets rumpled up, and that was another thing that was not right. Her Mom always made the bed as soon as she got up for the day, without fail. She heard the toilet flush in the ensuite bathroom and called, "Mom?"
Then the biggest man she had ever seen stepped out of the door to the bath. He was naked. Bridget stared.
"Hello baby," the strange man said, he grinned and wiggled his hips, his huge, hard cock waving at the stunned girl.
The sound of his voice galvanized Bridget. She spun and broke for the bedroom door, her long blonde hair flying out behind her. She screamed when a big beefy arm wrapped around her waist and easily snatched her off her feet, tossing her into the air as if she were a baby.
He caught the girl by the waist and held her so they were face to face, noses almost touching, her feet more than a foot off the floor, his huge arms hugging her to his broad chest, and his thing between her legs.
She drew breath for another scream and he said, "None of that, Babe." and squeezed her suddenly, her breath whooshing from her lungs. Then his mouth was on hers, his lips hard and demanding, and his tongue deep in her mouth as his hand pressed the back of her head, not allowing her to pull away. His tongue explored her hot, wet orifice as he moved towards the bed, Bridget beating his rock-hard shoulders weakly with her fists as she struggled to breathe through the long and torrid kiss.
Then they were on the bed, and she was lying on top of the stranger, her lush young breasts crushed to his chest, her face still pinned to his by his big hand. She could feel his hard cock, still between her legs, as his other hand rubbed up and down her back, from her neck to her ripe, rounded ass. Finally, his hand released her head, and she lunged back weakly, gasping for air.
