He had her routine down to a science, she would leave the ice go to the changing area and take off her skates and put on her shoes, and then she would grab her bag and leave out the only exit that was open for her. The same exit led to a dark corner of the parking garage. Not very adept at driving, she always parked in the same spot, just past the dumpsters. Martika parked there because it was the easiest to get out of, and she had already scraped against one of the pillars when she parked closer.Today, though, she would not be leaving in her car, but rather in his van, which he had parked on the other side of the dumpsters, but moved his van right beside her car after she arrived. His van was ready for his mission, he had soundproofed the entire inside, he had an air mattress in the back, and various cuffs/gags, duct tape, a stun gun, and chlorophyll.During the night before the big day, he swiped several different articles of clothing to use on his soon to be sex toy.Martika left. As if by his mental command, her hands drift along black lace and then above it. She is cupping herself, squeezing and releasing while her hard nipples trail between her fingers. She hisses and moans as she pinches and twists, inflicting more pain on herself than he would have dared, once upon a time, before he knew her.Her head is hanging back, her long neck and supple throat exposed as she abuses herself with exquisite pain, and then her hands are moving, falling, sliding down her torso and along the line of her stomach to between her legs.Her skirt is there, almost short enough for him to see beneath, but not quite. Her hands don't stop but continue down to where red cotton stops. There is no stopping, no hesitation and in one smooth motion, as if stripping were a form of yoga, she has pulled the pencil skirt up to her waist. She has to stand briefly for this, but that, too, is smooth and well-practiced, and then she is exposed to him.He is looking for black lace to match that.
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