Submitting to Cetera by Shayla Ayers Page A

then he flexes up to his full height.
    He smiles a little bit, as he considers his
next actions. The next few moments play out in his mind
repeatedly.
    He feels like a criminal, like a villain...
and to him it feels oddly arousing.
    Silently opening the door, he takes a step
out into the back room. It's a combination office/break room, and
there's a desk, with a computer, a small sofa, and a countertop
with a microwave and mini-fridge on top
    The aroma of old popcorn is in the air, but
it's faint, as he slips through the room and peers out into the
sales floor, the gate has been locked, the lights dimmed.
    Eyes slowly sweep the store's floor in
search of his targets ravishing brown hair, and soon enough he
spots her, locking onto his prey. She is up towards the front,
midway between a few tables and locked gate, re-arranging
silk-laced panties into a display. He can hear her lightly humming
along with the soft, neutral pop music that is piped into the
speakers hidden throughout the ceiling.
    He has always liked her voice, soft and
sweet. His breath catches slightly at the idea of hearing it raised
in tension – hot, sensual moans, or even cries of fear, and for a
moment, he reconsiders the planned course of action.
    Yet, thankfully, the moment fades
quickly.
    Sarah finishes tidying the panties display,
her head lifting, glances around, clearly looking for another mess
to straighten before counting out her cash and heading home for the
evening. She seems to spot something, and turns away, back turned
towards him, he sees his opening and takes it. Without further
thought, the 'attacker' is on the prowl, closing the distance
between himself and the sweet little piece of ass silently and with
haste.
    Just as Sarah reaches out to grab a bra so
she can move it to its proper rack, she feels his presence, a cold
chill of fear rushing down her spine. Before she can turn, he is
pressed up against her, his hard, strong chest pushed against her
back. An arm wrapping around her waist, hand slipping up to roughly
seize her breast. His other clamps down over her mouth, and she can
feel his breath hot and harsh against her ear as he speaks in a
low, almost growling tone.
    “ Don't scream.” His voice
is somewhat familiar, but there's a tone she's never heard before.
It's almost scary. It lacks any warmth, or a calming timbre. His
hand is rough on her tit – squeezing and kneading hard enough to be
almost unpleasant.
    His fingers on her mouth tighten more,
mashing her lips and tugging her jaw with their intensity. She
doesn't scream, but her breathing is harsh and rapid through her
nose. She can feel her nipple hardening under his hand despite the
thread of uncertainty in her subconscious.
    He doesn't say anything else right away.
    Instead, he holds her close and turns,
forcing her to turn with him. She spots dog tags resting upon his
chest that read ‘Cetera.’
    “ It’s him,” she gasps,
body tensing, heart racing, she knows not to protest.
    After a moment's consideration, he decides
where to go – and he shoves her towards the back of the sales
floor. Sarah gasps as she is released, pushed roughly, stumbling
slightly in her heels as she comes upon the table where she had
neatly arranged the panties.
    It's big, made of heavy inlaid marble,
almost altar-like in its dimensions. Bumping into it, she reaches
out to brace herself, barely regaining her footing before he
crushes up against her.
    This time, he presses one hand into her
back, between her shoulder blades. She feels herself being shoved
forwards, cheek pressed into the silky cushion of stacks of new
panties. Her hands clutch for purpose, scattering the new underwear
everywhere – but that's the least of her fears, as a rough, probing
hand hikes her skirt up over her ass exposing her tight fitting
panties.
    His hand disappears from her back.
    “ Don't fucking move...,”
he growls, that unfamiliar tinge of danger making her squirm. She
stays down, fear of the unknown