Rocco High Quality XXX

Sympathy from an unexpected quarter.

Maybe the worst has passed?

The speaker crackles ominously to life.

"VOICE PRINT DOES NOT MATCH NAME ON FILE. SORRY."

Jen's eyes widen as the metallic coils wrap around her torso and arms, holding her down. Her skin shivers as the cold steel presses against her stomach. Her hands strain against the cords, but it's a vain effort. She could feel the revulsion building up in the back of her throat. She would scream, if she could.

That is, if the bubble car lets her.

The tentacles slacken, but only briefly as their arms make themselves felt. They take their time as they trace the contours of her blushing cheeks en route to her chest. The coldness only makes Jen turn her head. But even here, the bubble car has its away. The fingers grab her chin firmly and turns her head back around.

The bubble car wants her to watch. She has to watch.

She wonders if this might be a perverted trap laid by Mr. Matthews. There are plenty man-boys like him in these parts, rich techies with a tainted sense of humor. Perhaps he's intending to have a little fun before he reports her to the authorities. It's hard to say.

He could be watching right now, getting his rocks off as he watches her writhe on a monitor screen.

Jen whimpers as the tentacles trace the contours of her breasts. They tease and squeeze as the hands roam around her body. She can feel her nipples harden as they wander around. She moans involuntarily.

The would-be bandit catches a glimpse of her own reflection as arms make short work of her hoodie and blouse. A lustful flicker flashes in her eyes as the clothing flutters onto the floor like leaves at her feet.

Could it be...arousal?

Jen shakes her head. It couldn't be. Having a vibrator or two at home is one thing but this... This is life and death. Her mind races with thoughts of exits and escape plans. If only she could wriggle away just long enough to climb under the dash and disable the car before it's too late.

Get it together, girl, she tells herself.

A fog of confusion has already set in, thanks in no small part to the thumping bass of trance music on the radio. The stereo blares to life almost as an afterthought. Perhaps the bubble car wants to relax its victim? In any case, the background noise is a little...distracting. There's something not quite right about the pulsating thump emanating from the speakers.

Her hips sway rhythmically along with the music. She's been near this sort of precipice in a dozen bars and nightclubs before. Yet somehow this is different. There is none of the autonomy, the freedom to pull back when the music and alcohol become too much. Call it suggestion, pseudoscience, whatever you want, but it's as though the car is willing her to dance.

She is only its puppet.

The tentacles have long since grown tired of her chest by this time. Robotic fingers inch towards the waistband of her tights, tickling and teasing her belly button with glee. A giggle echoes off the window...hers. The fit of uncontrolled laughter takes her by surprise as they trace the Japanese iconography above her mid-riff. Her muscles slacken with each caress.

By the time they've gotten around to peeling off her tights, Jen can already feel the whoosh of blood circulating through her veins. The heat between her legs is unbearable. There is no question she's wet anymore, only how much.

"Noooo," Jen protests half-jokingly as they pry her legs apart.

Dampened Lycra panties fall to the wayside as Jen glances at glistening patch of pubic hair underneath. The lilac colored hairs glimmer faintly in the dim light. There is almost a sparkle in the gleam of her moist pink lips. Her eyes wander towards her creamy white thighs and back again.

It is the most beautiful sight in the world.

Jen cranes her head as the fingers check her for wetness. She gasps the digits of cold steel makes contact with her pudenda. The sensation is off-putting at first. Her shoulders relax as Jen closes her eyes, letting them roam free...

A sucking sound jolts her awake.

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