You're shocked to find me on your living room couch. Frantically, you beg me to leave before your wife gets home, beg me not to wreck your marriage. You'll give me anything. ANYTHING.
I'm not going anywhere, don't you think the three of us should have a little chat? I'm sure your wife is already well aware of what is going on, she gets the bank statements doesn't she? Besides - your marriage was over the moment you decided it would be a good idea to start spending all that money on me. I'm sure she won't mind at all once I tell her that you haven't gotten anywhere, that we've had absolutely zero physical contact.
You look like you could use a good stiff drink. I bring you one & you toss it back in one gulp. I chastise you for not savoring it.
The drug slowly begins to take hold as I explain how I've been in contact with your wife, that she hired me in fact. You were willing to throw it all away for a perfect pair of legs, a perfect body. So willing to drain the retirement accounts, to spend it all on me. Silly man, I don't need you to buy me expensive clothing, jewelry, 3 star meals. I'm perfectly capable of making my own money, and soon half of what's yours will be mine.
It's too bad you drank your poison so quickly, I'm sure your wife would have wanted to say a final goodbye, but I don't think you're going to last another five minutes before your heart stops.
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What does one wear to a meeting with the CIA? Good thing I went with pantyhose. I was a little worried it might be a trap, but it seems that even the CIA have a thing for long legs and nylon feet. Apparently they are aware of my services, and they've enlisted me to take you out in the ultimate cam show, use your fetishes to make you kill yourself.
Returning to the studio with my briefcase full of cash, I send you a quick message, detailing my plans for the ultimate cam session. You bite immediately , so eager.
We start the session the usual way, with you drooling and begging to see my nylon feet. I taunt & tease you - we both know that the second you see my nylon soles you'll be begging to bag yourself. I mock your desire to suffocate yourself for me, to play such a dangerous game. I make you beg to suffocate yourself to death, to pull that dangerous bag down over your head. Finally I allow it, but only once you've agreed to keep the bag over your head as long as I keep a nylon stocking mask over mine.
So eager, so willing to stupidly suffocate, starve your blood cells of oxygen. It's a fine line between heightened orgasm and total organ failure. I produce the rubber band, make you beg me to allow you to place the band around your neck, making this game even deadlier. Finally I taunt you, pulling the camera close, breathing laboriously through my nylon mask as I watch your face discolor, the bag suck into the bag of your throat as you suffocate for me. I mock your deadly stupidity as the game goes too far, my nylon mask remains on until you have suffocated yourself to death.
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You thought a woman like me would actually marry a man like you for love? You thought I'd let you defile my body with your DNA? You should have listened to your friends.
You come home from work to find me waiting for you in a sexy little black dress. I model it for you. I bring up the elephant in the room - we haven't had sex in six months. I'm shy about it, looking down a lot, pausing to find the right words.
I open the box next to me and pull out a pair of handcuffs, a ball-gag. Suggest we spice things up.
You're surprised when I gag & cuff you - you thought it would be the other way around, but hey, anything to get laid after this dry spell.
To your surprise, I sit back down on the couch, making no move to touch you.
You should have listened to your friends when they said I was only interested in your money. You will never touch me again. Two years is just long enough not to draw suspicion.
I produce a syringe, a special compound -part of the lethal injection cocktail. I tell you how it's supposed to make your blood boil. I wonder what will go first - your heart, or your pain receptors. I plunge the needle into your neck, emptying the contents into your blood stream.
Perhaps I will have sex with you one last time - in a fashion. Didn't you always dream of this, going out during sex?.
I stare deep into your eyes, watching you writhe in pain, my hitatchi pressed up hard against my panties. Gasping along with you as you take your last breaths.
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I arrive. You're seated as instructed. I sit, glancing at the black bank bag.
I'm surprised you showed up. It's a dangerous fantasy you have. Most men are all talk.
You shouldn't take it so lightly. I certainly don't.
Don't you think I chose this location for a reason. In case something goes wrong? There's just the little matter of your tribute.
I arch my eyebrows, look at the bag, lift it & feel it's heft. I peer inside.
This is more than we discussed.
10,000 pounds. In small notes. How dramatic.
Shall we begin?
I walk over & handcuff your hands behind your back.
Funny how a little metal bracelet can make a strong man like you so helpless. Show me how much you can move. It's a heavy chair isn't it. You really should work on that core strength.
Shhhhh - the cuffs should be the least of your worries.
Breathplay - such a playful euphamism.
I remove the bag from my purse, slowly unfurling it.
Bet you haven't seen one of these before - Turkey Bag, an American invention. Strong enough to withstand a roasting oven for hours on end.
Now the safe way to do this, would be to poke a couple of holes in - right around nose level. But that wouldn't be any fun now would it?
I pull the bag over my head, just to demonstrate, this is 100% hole free. I breath in & out.
Now beg me.
Beg me to put this simple, innocent, plastic bag over your head.
Beg me to suffocate you for real. Until you're unconscious.
Beg me to suffocate you to death.
Convince me.
As you wish.
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You invite me into your living room. I apologize for the hour, explain that there's been an issue with your accounts. You're such a big account that we want to get this resolved before the markets open in the morning. I ask to sit down, I remove my high heels. I'm talking about the SEC, trading regulations, your investment accounts. You're not listening. You stare at my legs. You begin to feel drowsy as I suggest we finish this conversation at my office.
You wake up to the view of my bare nylon feet under my desk. I notice you stir and begin to taunt you. I stick my panties in your mouth and tie them in place with a pair of worn nylons. I tell you what's going to happen to you. You protest loudly through the gag. The more you struggle, the faster the substance coursing through your blood will take hold. The view of my soft nylon feet and your subsequent erection aren't helping matters any.
Your phone begins to ring. You've been expecting a very important business call. You shout through your gag, desperate to answer, but I just wave it in your face as it rings and rings . . .
You miss several calls, becoming more and more desperate. Finally MY phone rings. It all makes sense as I accept the contract. You begin to fade as I call a colleague. I ask her to help dispose of you & promise celebratory drinks.
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