A grab in the dark

You slip silently into the room, staying out of the dim moonlight from the window, waiting for the figure to rise. When it does you move with ruthless speed, wrapping one arm around their throat while the other pinions their arms as you seize their torso. There's a panicked squeak of alarm and the petite figure writhes in your grasp, struggling for freedom.

You quickly realise that whoever this is, it isn't Tamara. Your little rape-junkie has a prime set of ripe tits, whereas your captive is relatively flat chested, and much more petite. She's struggling frantically, squealing in terror, her struggles arousing you. She's wearing some kind of hood or balaclava that covers her head, and with a savage grin you grab it and twist it to the side, effectively blinding her as you pull the holes away from her eyes. She squeals in redoubled panic and your strong forearm constricts her throat, throttling her as you other hand explores her.

"What have we got here?" you rasp as you grope the squirming girl. Her hands flail, tugging at your arm around her neck and trying to stop your groping hand as she sobs in panic.

"Let me go!" she pleads, her voice muffled by the balaclava. Your only answer is to tighten your arm and lift her off the ground, cutting off her wind as her legs start to kick and flail desperately.

"Stop fighting or I'll break your fucking neck," you growl. She ignores the warning, struggling desperately with a strength born from terror. You squeeze your arm against her throat harder, letting her feel your strength. "I will kill you," you snarl. "Calm down and you have a chance of living."

She slumps, whimpering, her hands holding your arm, finally surrendering. You release the pressure a little, then push her to the floor, putting your knee in her back and pulling her hands behind her and cuffing them. She's sobbing brokenly, her body slumped and shuddering, no longer resisting.

In the dim moonlight you see a flashlight on the counter nearby. Switching it on you see that your captive is slight, wearing a long sleeved black t-shirt and tight black leggings, with canvas sneakers on her feet. An open backpack stands nearby and when you carefully dump it out you find a bottle of vodka stolen from your kitchen, as well as a few tools, a small wallet and a cell phone. Using your weight to hold her down you look through the wallet, finding a student card for Amber McLean from the town high school. The picture on the card shows a pretty, elfin young redhead. According to the card she's in grade 12 and she turned 18 two weeks ago. You smile coldly as you look down at your prisoner and consider what to do with her.