The movement of his right arm was enough to tell me that he was wanking at the sight of my wife and the feel of her cunt. I, too, was throbbing hard at the sight. After a couple of minutes, he threw his head back and grunted. He had come. I quickly stood back and went into one of the k**’s bedrooms, closing the door behind me. I listened intently at the door until I heard the footsteps going down. Pausing a minute, I left the small bedroom and entered ours, closing the door behind me. What a sight. Margaret lay there flat out on her back, legs apart, one knee raised. Her pants had not quite returned to cover her, and a set of labia lips were visible to one side. And there was cum over her thighs and the bedcover. Moreover, I’m sure there was more than just the one load. I tentatively touched the drops on her inner thigh and rubbed into her flesh. I must admit I was tempted to lick her legs clean but I worried about the door opening with another drunken sailor wanting to cop a feel.. She sobs with each ragged breath she takes, her lungs and throat burning from exertion and the freezing cold.The girl was pretty once, with long, blonde hair and nice clothes. Now there is a knife wound on her face, one of several cuts she received only moments earlier. Her hair is dirty and unkempt from her month-long captivity and the snow and mud she flees through in her mad flight to freedom. What clothing she has on is torn, dirty, wet and cold; not suited to winter weather in upper New York or to the treatment it receives as she flees, terrified and desperate, through the dark, silent woods.She staggers across a clearing, her feet crunching down through the snow and turns around, exhausted, desperately fearing that her pursuer is right behind her. Not seeing anyone, she stands unsteadily for a moment, hands on knees, breathing raggedly and trying to catch her breath. Her blouse is torn and bloody where she was stabbed when she surprised her kidnapper and finally overpowered him.
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