It’s like she was baiting me. I mean, she wasn’t. Not unless it’s taking a week for the other shoe to drop. No, I think I got off scot-free. A girl like *that* was leaning over the front of her mother’s shopping cart, wide hips and firm ass on full display for everyone present, apparently in pure innocence.
I suppose she couldn’t have known there’d be someone like me there.
As soon as I noticed, I started low-key checking my surroundings, making sure I didn’t have anyone looking directly at me, or at her. As soon as I verified the lack of overt witnesses, I took my chance. Paused everything. Stopped time. That’s a thing I can do. No idea why or how, but is that really important?
The girl had been rocking back and forth a little bit, but my pause was perfectly timed. She was ready.
With time no longer a factor, I inspected my prize more closely. Typical teenage girl casual dress: light blue jeans, impossibly tight. Thin grey off-one-shoulder t-shirt, black bra underneath. Her breasts were large enough to make a generous handful. Brown hair, pretty green eyes set in an attractive face locked in a silly expression, aimed at her mother.
Her mother was a product of the same mold: brunette, bland but pleasant face, adequate chest, wide hips. Having her there in that position gave me an idea. I reached into her mind then, not to snoop *(who cares about these people, really?)*, but to leave instructions.
The girl’s mother was to be locked in place, unable to move, unable to speak. She could watch her daughter, and only her daughter. Her right hand--she wore her watch on the left, so she’s right handed--was free to touch her erogenous zones, but the left had to remain on the handle of the cart. Once I resumed the flow of time, she would dismiss the upcoming episode as nothing but a fantasy.
The daughter got a similar treatment. Couldn’t move the slightest bit under her own power, thus couldn’t look behind her. Couldn’t break eye contact with her mother, in fact. She could vocalize all she wanted, though. Talk, moan, shriek, scream... anything.
Both women also recieved a massive boost to their libidos. I may be a rapist, technically, but the violent aspect of rape isn’t what I’m here for. I just want to pluck any fruit I see, without jumping any of the social hurdles. Mother and daughter would both enjoy our activities, ultimately, and maybe the subsequent “fantasies” would lead to them having better understanding of each other. As sexual entities, if nothing else.
Both women were experiencing the flow of time, just as I was, but an observer wouldn’t know it. Neither could move, and the daughter wasn’t saying anything yet.
Which changed when I started working on the fly to her jeans.
“Hey!” She exclaimed immediately. Her body ‘jumped’ a fractional inch, which was all my programming was going to give her. “Wha?”
“Shhhh.” I said softly, while I peeled her pants down. It was rather difficult to slide them over her hips in that position, but I managed. “What’s your name?” I asked.
“Who are you? What-”
I spanked her bare ass before she could could keep asking pointless questions. I say “bare” but she was wearing panties. Cotton flower-print ones, not quite a thong but they showed a *lot* of cheek. With her jeans pooled around her ankles, shucking those was my next objective.
I hooked a finger under the waistband on either hip.
“Stop!” The girl shouted.
“Maybe if you tell me what your name is.” I offered.
“Claire Harmon. Please let me go.” She pleaded.
I made a show of my silence, ‘considering’ for quite a few seconds with my hands still upon her hips.
“...Nah. We should see this through.” I declared.
“What?” Claire demanded, as I slipped the last barrier away from her most private place.
“Ooh, no hair. A little stubble, though. You should shave more often.”
“What are you-”
I spanked her again. As with the first spank, she stopped talking. Promising. I didn’t want to have to escalate the force I was using, but sometimes it was necessary.
“Claire, why don’t you...you’re looking at your mother right now? Why don’t you tell your mother, to her face, why you’ve been shaving your pussy?”
“But I h-”
“I’m looking at it right now, Claire.” I stroked her puffy outer labia with my hand. “I can feel it.”
Claire sighed. “Austin wanted me to.”
“Austin is your boyfriend?” I asked.
.... There is more of this story ...