The first items of clothing I put on her were a pair of hold up stockings and then she sat and put on her make up. After that, it was her panties that...I drew up over her slender hips. They were no more than a wisp of white lace, a frivolous little garment that served only to draw attention to her completely hairless slit. The tiny triangle of lace fitted snugly in between her lips and at the back it was just a narrow string barely wide enough to hide her little puckered hole.It was her dress. She was beautiful, almost as much as Maranda. She was taller than Maranda; as I said, about 5’9”, and looked to be a little younger than me, but not much. I got a much better look at her prominent breasts while sitting next to her; a good four inches of cleavage was visible between her C-or-D-cup tits. I’m not a leg man (I prefer the booty), but, I could say she had nice legs. Long and lean, with muscle definition, but, thankfully not to bodybuilder proportions.She must have caught me looking. I knew she wasn't going to give in too easily. She wouldn't get wet or aroused. This would be somewhat difficult for me. As I tranquilized her so she could be relaxed I dragged her to the bathroom. I kept her white t-shirt and panties on as I got her in the bathtub. She moaned reluctantly as I put my hand in her panties trying to get her pussy wet. At this point my cock was throbbing. My sweatpants were tight against it and my precum was leaving a wet stain. I slid a finger into her pussy. She. Every detail, every taste and touch and lick and moan. The tendrils receded. She was back further, the night before they’d been kidnapped, the last perfect night before the nightmare. Missy and her and a bottle of cheap California wine and a baggie full of weed. God, Missy looked so beautiful stoned. The tendrils came at her again, but she pounded them down now. It was easy, she felt full of fire and rage and adrenalin. Nothing was going to take Missy away from her, not ever. Another memory,.