Whitney's all dressed up for your weekly sexcapades. She pulls her panties off and climbs on top of you after getting you hard with her hand. She rolls her eyes as she slides it in, it feels just as good as the first time, and the last time, and all the other times she had to fuck you. This is going to be the last time.
Your heart beats rapidly as your hot young wife rides your cock. You shouldn't have had that cappuccino she made you, your doctor said caffeine was an absolute no-no with your condition. You mention this and Whitney just keeps going, darling, I just wanted you to be able to keep up with me. She grinds away, willing you to hurry up and cum for the last time. She doesn't even pretend to enjoy herself until you've cum . . . and gone. She laughs in your lifeless face as she rehearses what she'll tell the paramedics.
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You come to just as Kelsey finishes wrapping you securely with saran wrap. A full mummification, leaving just your mouth, nose, and eyes exposed.
Your mind races, you remember leaving the bar, just barely. The two girls. But weren't they drunk? How much time has gone by? You feel sluggish, your mind still fogged with alcohol.
Kelsey and Star taunt you. They oscillate between a cold, sober, demeanor and gleeful laughing. They're going to fuck your whole life right up. They laugh as you struggle against your plastic casing.
Star produces a large plastic bag from her purse and demonstrates it before approaching you and pulling it roughly over your head. She stares into your eyes, enjoying the show. Watching you try to regulate your breathing. She's not finished yet. After mocking you for awhile, she takes another piece of saran wrap and winds it tightly around your neck. Now you're really running out of air.
Star & Kelsey sit across the room, observing you. Star explains how all that plastic makes for easy clean up, but sometimes Kelsey likes to get messy. They muse on whether they should make it a clean kill or a have a little fun.
Too late, you're almost gone. The blood pounds in your skull. They watch closely as your eyes glaze over.
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Men like you are so easy. Kelsey teases you, posing in her French lace pantyhose. Are you starting to feel a little woozy? That wasn't water silly.
You just couldn't resist could you? Thought you'd get a little . . . lucky? You can't do anything but stare as the blood rushes to your cock, accentuating your dizziness. This isn't were you thought you'd end up was it? You thought you'd be inside of me, pounding away. Kelsey rubs her legs as she taunts you. You're so confused.
She removes her pantyhose, are you going to get lucky after all? She pulls the silky nylon into a garret.
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I've tightly gagged you and tied you to a chair. I walk away with the cash stuffed bag in hand. You're distracted from the severity of the situation by my assets. I taunt you with my curves & tease you about the visible bulge in your pants.
Suddenly there's a noise. I freeze and my eyes dart towards the door. You begin to call for help, moaning through your gag. I hiss at you, do I need to shut you up?
I retrieve a plastic bag from my duffel and deftly pull it down over your head. You'll quickly learn not to make any loud noises, any unnecessarily deep inhalations. How long do you think you can last with that bag over your head before suffocating to death?
I turn to leave, pick up my things. I turn back and glance down. I smirk. Your cock is still hard.
Does the thought of suffocating to death for me really turn you on that much? I suppose with the way you've
been staring at me this whole time I shouldn't be surprised. You've probably memorized every inch of my body by now haven't you? Big
mistake. Now I have to make sure you won't make it out of here alive. I remove a roll of tape from the duffel and tape the bag shut securely around your neck.
Now you're certain to suffocate and die before they find you. I tease you a bit, talking about your sweat, your breath, the look in your eyes. I should probably get going.
I glance down at your still hard cock, grab it through your pants, turn and sit on it. I grind and moan. It would be fun to stay, torment you, speed up your demise, considering how much trouble you're
having controlling your breathing with me on your lap. Unfortunately I have to leave - getting caught in a room with a corpse is bad for business.
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We're in your office. You think you're so clever. You're pretending to make me an offer - "I'll scratch your back if you scratch mine".
We're both applying for new positions within the company - I've asked for the formality of a written recommendation.
You hold the envelope aloft. You think I'm applying for your soon to be vacated position. It doesn't even occur to you that we are in competition.
You earnestly explain to me what your good word is worth, how the board is giving you the leeway to groom whomever you'd like as your replacement.
It could be me.
Things go more than according to plan. You inhale sharply as I remove my shirt.
You know how hard I've worked, how I would do anything to advance in this company.
I laugh at you, ask if this is your ultimate fantasy come true. You try to pretend it's no big deal, ask if I'm sure I want to do this, as you gaze hungrily at my legs.
I'll even keep my pantyhose on.
Of course I want to be on top.
I ride your cock, gasping and moaning. I reach in my purse for a pair of worn nylons & wrap them around your neck.
Oh you think this is kinky? I tighten my grip, cumming as you gasp for air.
Finished, I stop moving. I don't let you cum. I stay on top, strangling you, berating you, explaining my plan
You stupid stupid man. Why would I want YOUR position. The boys club can't promote you if you're dead . . . they'll have to promote the the most qualified candidate to regional vice president instead . . .
That's right. Look into my eyes. I want to watch you panic & struggle & die.
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