He knew he wished to kill someone. It was effortless. He witnessed her at the market, followed her home, and snuck into her mansion while she was in the bathroom. Now, she was getting dresses as he hid, witnessing, waiting.
She put on her sundress, high heals, then did her make-up. When she looked up, he was there–in the mirror. A gun to her temple.
Afterwards, at his place, she was in some sort of back apartment. He tantalized her with the gun. She did not know what he wished, but she would do anything to live.
He had her get on her knees and she gargled his fuckpole as he restrained the gun nearby. She was so startled.
Back up on the table, he taped her wrists and toyed with her with the gun some more, before forcing his stiffy inwards her. He was in tears as he pounded by force her.
Still afterwards, he coerced her on her tummy, gams arched over the table and entered her booty, nailing her stiff. She squealed in ache.
When he was completed, she back back on her back and he told her how it indeed was. That she was dead from the moment he kidnapped her. She pleaded and cried, but that did not stop him from shooting her in her honeypot climb on.
The anguish was intolerable. He positioned her on the floor where she was bloody out. But it was taking too lengthy, so he put a plastic bag over her head to both shut her up and kill her.
When it was over, he pulled the bag off and observed her eyes frost over. He left the apartment, letting the blood drain. He would comeback afterwards to dispose of the trash.
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