Broken

I attempted to stand and protest but found my legs didn’t seem to work. Neither did my vocal cords. Confused by this, I silently watched as in slow-motion, the hand on her belly slid upward until it grasped a nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently between them. The puckered nipple looked small and frightened through her cotton shirt, when compared to his large fingers. Susan didn’t respond. She was still staring into space and taking shallow breaths through a half-opened mouth. My mind was clear as a bell but everything happening around me seemed sluggish, and my body didn’t seem to be working properly either.

I was suddenly shaken out of my fog as I realized that through the fabric of my trousers, Carman’s hand was squeezing my soft penis under the scrapbook. I turned my head to tell her to knock it off, but my mouth would not even form that one simple word. It came out sounding like a caveman’s grunt.

What was worse, I felt my cock reacting to her touch. Thrill after thrill shot through me as it grew firmer in her fingers, until my own pleasure was fighting with any alarm I might have felt for Susan’s welfare. By then Raul was alternating between rolling her nipple between his fingers and forcibly tugging on it. The hand on her knee moved higher between her thighs, the short dress pushed up to her waist, her black silk panties visible. My body felt sluggish, drugged, but oddly enough my mind was still clear. It was as though the world was moving through a molasses-thick environment and all movement had slowed to a crawl.