The calm before..

He released her wrists and immediately brought his hands back to her breasts. He cupped them, his liver-spotted fingers digging into the soft, yielding flesh. The sensation was electric. To Pete, her skin felt like warm silk, impossibly smooth and taut. To Sally, his touch felt like sandpaper, a coarse, invading presence that made her skin crawl even as a confusing heat began to bloom in her stomach. He began to knead her, his thumbs circling her nipples through the fabric. He watched the way the flesh jiggled and swayed under his grip, the heavy mounds undulating with every movement. He leaned in, his face inches from hers, his breath smelling of old coffee and decay.

"You're so soft," he whispered.

"So wonderfully soft. I bet you've never had a man touch you like this, have you?"

Sally's head lolled back, her eyes fluttering. She didn't know what to think. The world had ended an hour ago, her family was gone, and now this man—who had saved her—was touching her in a way that felt wrong, yet dizzying.

"It... it feels strange," she whimpered.

"Strange is good, sweetheart. Strange is the only thing left in this world."

Pete slid his hands beneath the hem of her underwear, his fingers brushing against the underside of her breasts. He felt the weight of them, the way they hung heavy and full. He squeezed them together, forcing the cleavage to deepen, creating a tight ridge of flesh that he pressed his face into. He inhaled deeply, sucking in the scent of her skin. His hands wandered further, sliding down the smooth plane of her stomach to the waist of her overalls. He began to fumble with the side buttons, his fingers trembling with an urgency that bordered on desperation.

"Let's get these off you," he grunted.

"All of it. I want to see every inch of this beautiful skin."

He slowly wriggled the fabric down her body agonizingly slow. The denim loosened, sliding down her hips with a soft, frictional hiss. Sally didn't fight him; she was paralyzed by a mixture of shock and a strange, hypnotic submission. As the overalls pooled at her ankles, she stood before him in nothing but her snug, white cotton underwear. Her body was a masterpiece of youth. Her hips were wide and curving, her stomach flat and dusted with a faint, golden glow of light from the window. But it was her chest that dominated the view—huge, rounded, and trembling with every sob that escaped her lips.

Pete knelt before her, his knees popping. He didn't look at her face; his gaze was locked on the junction of her thighs and the swell of her breasts. He reached up, his rough palms sliding up her inner thighs, the contrast of his weathered skin against her luminous flesh creating a visual of profound corruption.

"You're a goddess, Sally. A little, golden goddess."

He leaned forward and pressed his mouth against the side of her breast. He sucked the skin, his teeth grazing the softness, leaving a red mark on the pale surface. Sally let out a small, sharp cry, her fingers clutching at his thinning hair.

"Does that hurt?"

He asked, pulling back to look at her, a string of saliva connecting his lip to her skin.

"No... it just... it's too much," she sobbed.

Pete didn't listen. He was consumed. He reached for the waistband of her underwear, his fingers hooking into the elastic. He began to pull them down, slowly, savoring the reveal. He watched as the fabric slid over the curve of her buttocks, exposing the smooth, unblemished skin of her backside. He pressed his face against her belly, his tongue darting out to lick a trail of sweat from her navel. He could hear her heart hammering against her ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. The sound only fueled his hunger. He moved his hand downward, his fingers finding the damp heat between her legs. Sally gasped, her legs shaking.

"Mr. Pete... p-please..."

"Shhh," he whispered, his voice a wet growl.

"Just let it happen. I'm taking care of you. I'm the only one who can protect you now."

He began to rub her, his calloused fingers creating a friction that was both harsh and stimulating. He felt the wetness, the natural lubrication of her arousal and fear mixing together. He worked his fingers in a slow, rhythmic motion, watching her face contort in a mixture of pleasure and confusion. He shifted his weight, standing up and pressing his body against hers. Sally could feel the hard, insistent shape of his erection pressing through his trousers, a rigid contrast to the softness of her own body. He grabbed her breasts again, squeezing them with a bruising ****, his nails digging into the pale skin.

"I've wanted this since the moment you walked through that door,"

Pete confessed, his voice trembling.

"The way you bounce... the way you look at me with those innocent eyes. I can't stand it anymore."

He began to fumble with his own belt, his breath coming in short, jagged gasps. He was **** to feel her, to sink himself into that luminous, youthful heat. He pushed her back onto the bed, the quilt bunching up beneath her. Her blonde curls spread across the fabric like a halo, her heavy breasts heaving with every breath. Pete stripped off his trousers with a clumsy haste, revealing a shriveled, veiny cock that looked alien against the backdrop of Sally's perfection. He hovered over her, his shadow engulfing her small frame.

"Now listen here lil Sally.."

he whispered, his eyes dark with greed.

"If you scared or something, just close them eyes.. it'll be over in a jiffy~♪"

He moved to enter her, his hand guiding himself toward the wet heat of her core. He paused for a second, the tip of his member brushing against her clitoris, sending a jolt through both of them. Just as he prepared to thrust, a booming voice ripped through the silence of the house, shattering the moment like a hammer through glass—

"POPS! POPS, GET DOWN HERE!"

The shout came from the cellar, muffled but unmistakable. It was Carl. The volume was so great that the floorboards seemed to vibrate. Pete froze, his body locked in a state of **** tension. He looked toward the door, his face twisting into a mask of rage and panic.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT, BOY?"

Pete roared back, his voice cracking.

"THERE'S SOMETHING IN HERE WITH ME!"

Carl screamed, his voice now laced with genuine terror.

"THE VENT! SOMETHING CAME THROUGH THE VENT! IT'S BITING ME! HELP ME! POPS, HELP ME!"

The sound of a violent struggle followed—the crashing of crates, the sound of heavy furniture being overturned, and then a scream of such visceral agony that it made Sally shriek and curl into a ball. Pete stared at the door, his cock still twitching, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked down at Sally, who was trembling violently, her breasts heaving, her eyes wide with a new, sharper kind of fear.

"Stay here,"

Pete hissed, his voice devoid of any warmth. "Don't you move a fucking inch. If you make a sound, I'll throw you to those things myself."

He scrambled to pull up his trousers, his movements frantic and clumsy. He didn't look at her again as he bolted from the room, his heavy footsteps thundering down the stairs toward the cellar.