Calling for help is my only chance, Eric thought. He slowly did as he was told, turning to face the window, lowering his pants and stepping out of them. As he was finishing this motion though, he leaned forward onto his bed, threw open his window and started screaming. "SOMEBODY HELP ME! ANYBODY! CALL THE POLICE! MY GIRLFRIEND'S TRYING TO-"
Before he could get anything else out, his shirt was ripped off over his head, whipped through the air, and covered his mouth as a makeshift gag. He tried to continue screaming through it but was whirled around and pinned to the bed. Lisa straddled him, gripping him tightly with her knees, holding the shirt painfully taut against the sides of his mouth. She leaned in close, face to face, murder in her dark eyes.
"You remember what I did to your mother when she started screaming? You try to pull a stunt like that again, and you're going to have a much worse time. Like, say, we go through with this in reverse."
"Mrrrvrrrs?" Eric grunted, not knowing what she meant. Whatever it was, she wasn't saying. She laid on top of him, seething, whiskers twitching. Eric's labored breathing through his nose stirred the peach fuzz on her chest. Her small breasts heaved up and down, mottled with sweat from the exertion. She was panting heavily, too. Again the stench of cum on her breath assaulted his nostrils.
Slowly, she crawled off of him, and cautiously removed the shirt from his mouth. She bent down and slid his underwear down his legs, his last remaining clothing other than his socks. In doing so, his mostly-flaccid horsecock flopped free, bobbing up and down in front of her face comically. She shot a weary look up at him and he shrugged. He could tell she was still angry, but the tension between them eased, somewhat.
Lisa smirked and shook her head at him. "You fucking dick."