She could have taken you out when you stopped her car, but we decided to have some fun with you before turning you in.”
I tried to tell the police that I had been kidnapped and sexually assaulted but they seemed to take it as a joke. I squeezed harder till she gasped in pain. I only do it when necessary. She cried out. A slow killing is my art form. “Just what I would expect from a whore bitch in heat,” I said, and made her lead me to her bedroom on her hands and knees. He left her hands tied and proceeded to comfortably fuck her; though he was rough, and every time he slammed into her pussy, I could see the waves of pain pass through her and come out of her mouth as sound. An older man was sitting nude on the bed looking down at me. The cunt was too much of a slut to wear a bra. But killing quickly isn’t fun. A slow killing is my art form. I am willing to admit that the cop as well as the cop’s wife and children may disagree with me about what is or is not necessary, but I was the one with the gun.
