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Disclaimer: This story contains content that should not be read by people
underneath the age of 21. It is 100% fiction and has no bearing on reality
whatsoever. 100% fiction means real life rape is WRONG. The author does not
condone illegal and immoral actions described. If you feel rape in the real
world is a good thing, bend over in a prison and whistle dixie. While I'm
disclaiming, racism, homophobia and other bigotry of any kind are also really
fucking stupid. I don't own any of Kenichi Sonoda's characters and make no
profit from this story. Please read the story codes above to ensure that you
are not going to be offended by, or otherwise dislike, the content.

Additional Credit: You're reading this because I did a character exchange
with the writer Sethite; I requested of him a story about Lord of the Rings'
owyn, and he requested of me a story about Gunsmith Cats' Rally Vincent.
This is that story.

Description: Rally killed a V.I.P. without even knowing. A cute Irishman
drops by Gunsmith Cats to even the score.

Content Codes: MF, rape, anal, rimming, bond, tort, necro, snuff, scat/gs,
+1FV - chemical burns, decap



Gunsmith Cats: Gunsmith Cunt
by JD ([email protected])

Though Chicago became known as the Windy City thanks to political hot air,
there were times when the weather proved it true. While the mercury had
hovered around 20F for a few days - well below average in January - the wind
chill made it feel like it was much, much colder. Blizzards had come close to
closing down parts of the city; many people just wanted to stay indoors.
`Rally' Vincent to run the Gunsmith Cats gun shop alone, when Minnie Hopkins
rang in sick; literally vomiting during the call.

Colder than the tits of a witch's corpse as it was outside, in the small shop
it was toasty warm thanks to a relatively decent heating system. Rally was
dressed in crimson leather pants, belted at the waist, and a tight white long
sleeve top. Like the pants, it was practical and comfortable, and showed her
figure without being overly revealing. Her Pakistani father, though
relatively liberal in matters of fast cars, guns and women's rights, had
instilled in her some conservative senses of dress. Not to mention that as a
19 year old claiming to be 21, dressing like trailer trash wouldn't be a
great move if the licensing officer pulled a surprise inspection.

She wore a dark leather underarm gun holster over her top although the CZ 75,
which normally filled it, was within easy reach just under the counter rather
than holstered. She retained a less powerful semi-automatic pistol in her
ankle holster, because down there it wasn't going to alarm any little old
ladies who dropped by for ideal home defence. Sensible black boots finished
off her look, low cut so as not to brush the holster. Running in heels was a
bitch, and as a crack shot part time bounty hunter Rally was always ready to
run.

The gunshop was another inheritance from her father, along with the dusky
colour of her skin - though that was paled a little by her English mother's
genes. The racial mix gave Rally an exotic beauty and cultural outlook that
was close to unique in Chicao. She looked through dark blue eyes at a ratty
gun catalogue, wondering why she even bothered to open up on days like this.
Minnie May had the right idea, calling in sick. The atrocious weather seemed
to have ground even criminal activity to a halt; there weren't any bounties
to collect!

She yawned, covering her small mouth out of habitual politeness, and turned
the catalogue page. There were some really nice weapons in there for special
order, and she was considering getting a couple in to display around Gunsmith
Cats. A few of the items that had previously been displayed for the same
reason had been brought up; no doubt little old ladies all over the greater
Chicago area were defending their cats and knitting with finely made
instruments of Death.

The shop door opened and snow whipped around the well-wrapped figure who
stood there before he pushed it closed against the insistent wind. Rally
shivered a moment, feeling her nipples poke against her bra in the sudden
chill. The moment passed as the shopper stamped snow from his boots, and
pushed back his hood to reveal a kind young face. He was a white male who
looked to be not much older than Rally. His skin was pale and freckled
beneath neat red hair pulled into a ponytail, compared to Rally's Dark hair,
which bounced freely at shoulder length.

He wore a large backpack that seemed to weigh down heavily on his shoulders,
though he gave no indication of straining. He was almost six feet tall,
having around six inches on Rally's compact body, and paused to take off his
gloves and push them into the left pocket of his greatcoat before stepping
further into the store.

"Mornin' shopper! Do you know what you're after or are you wanting to
browse?" Rally paused, then "or maybe get out of the wind?"

When the red haired man replied it was with a lilting Irish accent,

"I know exactly what I'm after. It's maybe the second most dangerous thing in
this whole city, and that's saying something!"

Rally chuckled, "Well everything in here is safe if used as directed - that's
my ubiquitous warning, I say it everywhere! So what are you wanting?"

The man dropped his hands into his pockets, burrowing one into the wet
gloves. He whistled a few tuneful notes and looked around the store before
turning his gaze back on Rally. The young shop owner was still leaning over
the counter, but her hands were up resting on the edge. She thought about how
cute he looked and idly considered inviting him to a cup of tea and maybe a
kiss. Her skin darkened at the thought and she coughed into her hand to hide
embarrassment.

"Well, it's very accurate in pretty much all conditions. It's small but packs
a heavy punch. It's mind blowingly sexy."

Rally chuckled again, slightly more forced. The young man didn't seem like
the kind of creepy gun fetishist she occasionally had in the store, but it
took all kinds. She'd kicked a fat man out for asking if he could get a Hello
Kitty pump action shotgun once. The day had been so quiet though, so she
didn't mind him dragging out the conversation and asked,

"Where's it made?"

He smiled, making Rally blush more and replied, "I was just getting to that,
because this is where you'll guess. It's made from Pakistani and English
parts, and two weeks ago it killed a high ranking official of the United
States government with a stray bullet."

Rally's sense of danger was suddenly itching; she reached along the counter
but before she got half an inch the Irishman had pulled a gun from his pocket
and fired from the hip. His aim might not have been as good as Rally's, but
he was above average and put the dart in the girl's neck. She reached up with
one hand to pull it out but the drugs in the dart tore into her almost
instantly.

The Irishman watched her wobbling against the counter as she tugged at the
dart with fingers that felt like rubber. He knew it wouldn't do any good by
now. Rally felt her other hand close on her CZ 75. The weapon felt too heavy
to lift; she strained, but only managed to send it clattering to the shop
floor where the safety prevented her shooting her own foot. Rally's pupils
were hugely dilated as she slumped onto the counter.

"Funny thing, see. People go out and fire those big old guns around, they
almost never stop to think about where how some of those rounds'll go right
through a wall. You wouldn't even have heard about this fellow on the news,
but he was having a quiet piss in a men's room when a round from a CZ 75 came
on through the shoddy material they built that shack out of. Crying shame.
Messed up Uncle Sam's plans for him that did, not to mention his suit."

The backpack thunked against the floor as the Irishman slipped it from his
shoulders. He set about bringing down the shop shutters and closing the door,
even though he had to step outside. He could hear Rally's heavy breathing and
knew she wasn't quite unconscious so he made sure to keep an eye on her. He
kept talking,

"So Uncle Sam thinks it's an assassination job. Everyone would love to
believe that there's some great old worldwide conspiracy going on with the
agencies running everywhere and everyone, but that isn't the case. Everyone
has enemies these days - even Uncle Sam.

Now, I've been doing what I do for years. I started off shooting drunken
Proddies in the back in Belfast when I was 8 years old. I got in with some
patriotic boys and since Uncle Sam and the good people of Boston have funded
our lads in the old country for years it wasn't no great step from there to a
green card and working for Uncle Sam direct."

The shutters were soon down, while the door shutter was down but not locked -
the lock was outside. Anybody unfortunate enough to be passing in the harsh
weather wouldn't notice anything out of the ordinary with so many surrounding
businesses shuttered for the day. Rally drifted into warm darkness with the
counter pressing up into her tits.

"I dreamed of being the best hitman that ever there was you know, fat chance
of that kneecapping pornographers in Belfast. Turned out I've a better talent
for investigation, interrogation, torture and that. Especially Torture.
That's why I'm here, see. Rally, my name's John."

Weighing in somewhere between 115 - 120 lbs, Rally felt light as the Irishman
walked around the counter and lifted her hips from the floor. He saw she had
slipped into unconsciousness while he talked. John estimated she would be out
for about thirty minutes based on body type and dose. She slumped further
forward onto the counter as he lifted her, and then slid back off into his
arms when he released her hips. He patted her body for guns and removed extra
clips of ammo hidden in the small of her back, and the ankle holster with its
semi automatic.

His cock stirred as he rubbed his hands up her leather pants and felt the
toned curves of her athletic legs. It seemed a shame to have to do what he
did for a living to something so physically perfect. If he'd met her in
Molly's Olde Irish Pub he'd have bought her a drink, and if any of the eejits
had tried that good old fashioned Irish racism he'd have done `em in for her.
Broken their skulls right quick. He nuzzled his lips against the rich dark
leather of Rally's pants and sighed. If he didn't do her, Uncle Sam'd have
someone do him.

Nature of the beast, that; a dark side of the American Dream.

He stood up behind the slumped over girl and reached down and around to
unbuckle her belt. He pulled it gently from the loops on the pants, and then
dropped it to the side. Next, he slowly unbuttoned the fly of the pants, and
tugged them down to reveal black thong panties and the dusky skin of Rally's
rounded buttocks. The panties followed her leather pants to hang around her
ankles a second later. His cock was hard now, and he took a moment to
unbutton his greatcoat and drop it over Rally's discarded belt.

He unzipped the fly and pushed down his jeans and boxers to reveal an average
and more than adequate seven-inch cock with a thick bush of red hair to match
his head. Irish curse be damned. He stood behind Rally and pushed her further
forward onto the counter to get a better angle. He stood for a moment with
his shaft resting between her buttocks; his pale skin seemed paler and her
dusky skin darker in comparison to each other. The Irishman thrust his cock
between her buttocks for a few moments, feeling the valley rubbing his shaft.
He couldn't quite get over the beauty of Rally's skin tone.

The Irishman knelt down again. He left his hands on Rally's buttocks to hold
her on the counter, and leaned forward to prod his tongue against her
rosebud. He licked Rally's anus hungrily, tasting the sweaty tang of her skin
before pushing the tip of his tongue into her tight bung. He rimmed Rally
appreciatively for a couple of minutes. The skin around her anal hole
glistened with his saliva by the time he licked a finger and pushed it gently
inside. He moved it in and out, feeling her hot tight grip - even in sleep
Rally's ass naturally resisted intrusion as it held in her shit. Soon he
pumped two fingers inside her, then three, then two from each hands as he
stretched her open.

He rose and spat onto his cock. He jerked his hand along the length, and then
hawked phlegm from his lungs and added it to the slippery shaft. He checked
his watch, and then pushed slowly into Rally's ass. He groaned quietly as he
slid inside, watching intently as the darkest skin around her bung slid along
his pale shaft. Rally shifted slightly in her drugged sleep; the Irishman
paused, his bush tickling her buttocks.

The limp bodied girl lay still over the counter. John reached around under
her body and felt her breasts under the stretched white material of her top.
They were firm, and warm, and felt good in his hands. He began an in and out
pelvic thrusting against Rally. Sinking his cock deep into her hot ass, then
pulling out until only the head was inside, before stroking back into the
unconscious girl's rear.

He moved one hand from groping Rally's breasts and used it to pull her hair
aside. The girl's face was pressed sideways against the far end of the
counter, and with each thrust it jutted forward over the edge. Only the white
of Rally's eye was visible below her half closed lid. John kissed the smooth
skin of her neck, then the line of her chin. His humping sped up as he kissed
the side of the unconscious girl's unresponsive mouth. He swore she smiled in
her sleep. Rally's arms slid forward off the counter on either side of her
head. John had moved both his hands to her hips as he sodomized the pretty
girl as hard and fast as he could.

He reached his peak and his whole body stiffened up. The Irishman came first
deep inside Rally's rear, before pulling out and jerking his twitching cock.
His creamy cum rained down over the dusky skin, staining the rucked up hem of
her top as it splashed off target, before begin to dribble down into the
valley of her buttocks.

The Irishman panted, looking down at the mess that coated his shaft. He
pulled Rally from the counter until she was on her knees. A firm grip on
Rally's hair held her up, while her jaw dropped slackly. He pushed the
sensitive crown of his cock in, letting Rally's tongue clean it off as he
twisted the base of his shaft with his fingers. He moved his cock against her
lips, cleaning as much as possible into Rally's mouth. He ran a finger along
the harder to reach bits and then rubbed the digit into Rally's teeth.

He left her slumped forward on her knees as he tugged up his pants.

When Rally awoke it was to pain in her shoulders and her ass. There was a
foul taste in her mouth but the ball gag strapped in prevented her spitting
any of it out. Her arms were lashed together at the wrists, and the expertly
knotted rope was threaded over a ceiling display rack. The rack had
previously held one of the heaviest weapons in the shop, and was currently
empty awaiting restocking by at least two strong guys from the delivery firm.

Rally's feet dangled a foot or so off the floor, where the bucket she used to
mop the place now sat. There were leather cuffs on her ankles, and a solid
separation bar between them kept her legs wide. The stepladder from the back
of the shop was on the edge of her field of vision, and had obviously been
used in getting her where she was. Rally was surprised to see that her top
and bra had been removed, along with the rest of her clothes, and then her
underarm holster had been strapped back on. The leather felt a little rough
against her bare skin.

The ball gag wasn't going anywhere. She tried pushing out with her tongue,
and chewing through it. The little red ball seemed impervious - no matter how
hard she bit, she made only the barest impression. The ball gag straps ran
around her head and two also up the sides of her nose to become a single
strap that went over the top of her skull and joined at the back. Rally's
dark hair bulged around the straps, and she was sure if she could just get
her hands on them, she would be able to unfasten it.

The ropes were unfortunately as secured as the ball gag, and she only managed
to rub her wrists painfully against the rope. They burned her skin and
increased the ache in her shoulders. She managed to swing her legs a little,
but only managed to hurt her shoulders more. She felt a burning ache in them
from the pressure of her weight being put unnaturally on the bone and muscle.

Rally groaned with frustration and impotent anger. She felt humiliation too,
to be naked and have her legs forced so wide. There was no point being the
best damn shot in the world if you didn't have a gun to shoot. The redheaded
bastard was clearly taunting her by strapping the holster back around her
torso before he suspended her. She hung quietly for a while, having no other
option. When she heard the door to the back room of the shop she tried to
turn her head around.

"Back in the world of the living are ye? As I was saying before, my name's
John and I'll be your torturer today. I expect you can already feel a little
strain on your shoulders, Rally. A pain in your bottom too, right? Oh, and
that'll be your fine little bottom you can taste."

Rally couldn't get her head around enough to see the Irishman. She had a
fleeting vision of getting loose, grabbing her CZ 75 and pushing it between
his teeth. The terror in his eyes before the back of his head was spread all
over the wall in great bloody chunks. Failing that, she wished he didn't love
the sound of his own voice so. The cute little Irish accent was really
starting to grate.

"So Uncle Sam's golden boy took a bullet while he was taking a piss. Those
bullets of yours though, they're pretty rare - like that model gun. It didn't
take all that long to find a few other matches. The other witnesses to your
battle were also pretty helpful, and so were the boys in blue. They see you
as one of the good guys generally, and they had no idea about your little
stray round."

Words muffled by the ball gag, she suggested John get to the point or perhaps
engage in carnal acts with himself. He couldn't really make it out, but was
slightly surprised that it didn't sound like the usual pleas for mercy. Rally
was obviously a tough nut to crack. It was a damn shame he fancied her so
much, he decided, if only because this job might trouble his conscience for a
while.

He stepped around in front of Rally, and she saw that he held three metal
alligator clips. Cables ran from the back of each to join into an even
thicker cable, which disappeared out of the suspended girl's line of sight.
John's red hair was still in a ponytail, but he was now naked apart from his
boots. He reached up and clipped one of the sets of alligator clips onto
Rally's dark left nipple. She tried to pull away and failed miserably.

She grunted around the gag, fighting the urge to scream, as the little metal
teeth dug into her sensitive flesh. Little specks of blood appeared around
the clip as the urgent pain throbbed. John waited a few seconds, and then
reached up quickly and clipped the other nipple. The grunt was higher pitched
this time. The two clips clung onto the pointed nubs of Rally's breasts, and
trying to shake them off only made them hurt more. John tugged on the wires,
stretching the shape of Rally's tits, and checked the clips were secure.

The third alligator clip was on a longer cable. Rally's big dark blue eyes
widened as she realized where it was going to go. She tried desperately to
pull her ass and legs back. John lifted his foot and put pressure on the
restraining bar. Pain shot through Rally's shoulders as the weight increased.
John looked deeply into Rally's eyes. He saw fear and panic, and tears at the
edge. The anticipation of what was coming was worse for her than the clamps
on her nipples or the ache in her shoulder.

John upped the pressure on the restraining bar with his foot. Rally had no
slack at all; her shoulders burned as though they would tear and dislocate
with much more weight. The dusky skinned girl screwed her eyes shut and
shouted muffled abuse and defiance. The Irishman slowly rubbed the end up the
clip up the smoothly shaven lips of Rally's pussy and then clipped it onto
her clit.

There was no grunt about the high-pitched scream that followed. The gag was
almost useless against the intensity of Rally's voice. The pain from the
alligator clip teeth biting into Rally's most sensitive nub blew everything
else away. Piss sprayed from her urethra as she lost control. John lifted the
bucket up under the acrid yellow stream and caught almost all of Rally's
waste matter until her bladder had nothing more to give. Tears streamed down
Rally's cheeks as she swayed and juddered.

John sat the bucket of remaining piss down and walked to the side. He came
back with a small sponge, which he dipped into the bucket. He applied piss
wetly to each nipple and clip; it stung painfully, although again this was
nothing compared to the stinging when he sponged and squeezed out piss all
over and around Rally's clit clip. Rally felt her stomach flop and bubble as
the Irishman stepped back out of sight with the sponge, and came back with a
small and simple remote control.

"So, Uncle Sam has to make a stand sometimes. You killed a very important
person, never mind that he had a couple of kids, a wife and a boyfriend. You
screwed up a lot of delicate intelligence with your little stray round. A lot
of good people will probably die as the dominos fall. We can't help them! Are
you listening Rally?" he paused, met her eyes.

He saw fear and pain in equally large amounts. She was still moaning softly
as her nipples and clit throbbed.

"My orders are to torture you to death in retribution. You're the most
beautiful woman I've ever seen. Your eyes and your skin, hell your whole body
and your attitude - The most amazing package y'are. But orders are orders and
there's a couple of cameras been set up since you were napping to make sure I
don't skimp on ye. The man's wife will get a copy to help her sleep at night;
sound edited of course. Oh, and by the by that piss I rubbed on you'll help
conduct the electricity."

The Irishman pressed a button on the remote and suddenly the throbbing got a
whole lot worse. The electrical surge into Rally's erogenous zones felt like
the alligator clips were being tightened while knives drove in through the
middle. She jerked her wrists in the binding rope and kicked her restrained
legs back and forth. Rally spat drool around the ball gag as clips heated up.
She screamed like an angel forced feet first through the tight strings of her
own harp.

The button was released after ten seconds. Rally hung still. Sweat coated her
dusky skin in a fine sheen as it dripped into her eyes and ran down the
valley of her breasts. Her head dropped forward with her dark hair falling
around her face. Her nipples and clit tingled painfully in the aftermath.
John let her get her breath before,

"This here's level three."

The next jolt jerked Rally so hard she felt her arms tear inside. The
alligator clips heated fast, glowing red as electricity surged through them
and into the gagged girls body. Little plumes of smoke rose from every one as
they burned agonizingly into each nipple and her swollen clit. She would have
done anything to end the pain - kill her friends without hesitation, blow a
stray dog's diseased dick until it came in her mouth or even vote for gun
control. She couldn't see or even breathe; all she could do was shudder and
scream as electric agony consumed her.

The small wires melted through at almost the same time and dropped to the
floor. The three alligator clips were left sizzling on Rally's flesh, cooking
quickly. John looked up at Rally's fluttering eyelids. Her face was darkly
flushed and twisted with the agony that had come so close to unhinging her
mind. He dropped the remote and reached a finger down into the piss bucket.
Rally's waste smelled foul when he flicked it over her burned and swollen
clit; it evaporated against the cooling metal. The flow of tears was constant
while Rally's nose ran in a slimy trail down to her ball gag. He gazed upon
her rapidly moving breasts as she drew in air around the gag and through her
runny nose.

"I think, Rally Vincent, that you hate me more than anyone else in the entire
world right now. Nod your head if you can?"

Rally didn't move her head. She smelled the rich sweet smell of her own flesh
as it hung in the air. The strain on her arms was so much more intense with
them gently tearing deep inside.

"No? Well, you shouldn't. When I looked into all of this mess I made sure to
go the extra mile and prove beyond all doubt that your friends Minnie-May
Hopkins and Becky Farrah weren't involved except in the most tangential
sense, see? If I hadn't done that, they'd be down for the same as you.
Instead I just gave Minnie a three-day virus to keep her out of the way.
She'll be purging from all her holes for a wee bit, but she'll be right as
rain before you know it."

John had a root around in his bag until he found his anal speculum. It was a
heavy-duty metal instrument and shone under the shop lights. He picked up the
piss bucket as he walked up behind the suspended girl. On close examination,
Rally's anus had proved durable despite the earlier penetration. Her shit was
held in well during the previous torture. John held the bucket underneath
with one hand as he slid the anal speculum deep inside Rally.

She wiggled as the cold metal slid far inside her warm rectum. She felt the
long screw pressing into her right buttock. Rally tried to twist her head to
see what was happening but once again she couldn't get a view. The twisting
of her neck hurt her shoulders more so she resigned herself to slumping back
forward and waiting her fate in pain. John worked the screw and the speculum
forced Rally's ass open. Her loose waste dropped through the stretched hole
and splashed into her piss as he kept cinching the screw tighter.

The strain on her tight sphincter was incredible. Soon the muscle was on the
verge of tearing like those in her arms and shoulder. Her near constant
whining took on a more urgent tone as John opened up the petite girl's ass
until he would be able to fit his entire hand and forearm through the solid
metal ring of the speculum. Rally's shit still oozed down to mix with the
piss, although John felt able to sit the bucket on the floor beneath her.

"I bet you fifty bucks you wouldn't believe how far I can see inside you
Rally! You smell like Sinead O'Connor at low tied back here, though nobody'd
be surprised at that. Now, this next thing I'm going to do is I'm going to
get a small container of white phosphorus and a nice chemical liquid and
crack it. It's kind of like a grenade, in a way. Then I'm going to put it
right up into your bowel and yank out this old hunk of metal. The liquid
around the white phosphorus turns to gas in the body heat, an there'll be
enough air up there to keep it burning bright long enough."

As the Irishman's words sank in the pain in Rally's arms ceased to matter.
The pain in her nipples, even her poor roasted little clit, could go hang. If
John put white phosphorus inside her she would suffer like no woman since at
least the battle of Fallujah. John watched her struggle like a demon as he
reached back into his bag and came out with a grenade sized object. He
cracked the seal and the chemical, which kept the white phosphorus from
igniting, began to leak out down one side. Careful not to spill any on
himself he pushed the evil device far up into Rally's rectum and wedged it
around into the opening of her twisty bowel.

He withdrew quickly and yanked the speculum loose. Rally's anus tore bloodily
around the smooth metal and began to slowly close. Her wrists were bleeding
freely as she tugged and tugged. John watched as he moved the bucket off to
the side. He was sure her left shoulder was dislocated and figured her right
wouldn't be much longer. The wrist blood running down her arms made another
fine colour contrast with Rally's skin.

Sitting in the foetid air trapped inside Rally Vincent the white phosphorus
ignited. Her bowel was instantly shredded as the thin membranes burned right
through, and then stomach gas helped fuel the fierce chemical as it stuck to
and burned Rally internally. The shock was to her system was awesome. White
smoke puffed from her twitching anus, while a gentle hand on the small of her
back revealed an intense internal heat. John wondered how much air there was
to keep it burning.

Rally wasn't even struggling now. Her body was shutting down in a massive
tidal wave of shock and agony. John located his best knife inside his
backpack and unsheathed it. It was more like a machete in length, and
wickedly sharp. He liked to boast he could cut his hair with it. He pulled
the step ladder up to Rally's twitching legs and climbed high enough to slice
through the rope on her arms.

She was beyond feeling the additional pain of a twisted ankle when she hit
the floor heavily. John got down quickly and picked up the filth bucket. He
emptied over the shaking girl's crotch and chest. Rally Vincent died in agony
lying in a spreading pool of her own filth. He belly had swelled with gas and
smoke and her skin stretched up in shades of red and purple. John moved
quickly, pushing the sharp edge of his knife into her neck. Blood pumped
around the metal as he worked it through skin, muscle and spine to pull her
head free.

Copious blood drained heavily from both stumps as John reverently lifted
Rally's face to his and kissed her on the red ball gag, and then on her
cheek. Rally's blood painted his shaft crimson as he lowered he severed
esophagus down onto it. He groaned as he slid deeply inside, deep throat in
reverse. He admired the softness of her hair and the size of her dark blue
eyes as he thrust up to the back of her mouth. He guessed what his dick would
look like behind the gag, the fat head of his seven inch shaft popping up
behind her purple tongue as he pumped into her neck.

"Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph! I'M COMING!"

He sprayed his seed into Rally's ruined throat. It quickly slid back down
around his shaft as he pumped. John's seed mixed with her blood and saliva
until he had none left to give. He felt fatigue in his arms as he pulled the
beautiful girl's throat from his shaft and set her head smartly on the
counter. It sat in its own growing pool of blood and cum. Rally's dusky skin
was now unnaturally pale, but he still saw her beauty in it. John favored
Rally with one last kiss before he set about gathering his equipment.

The DNA tests the police ran were tampered with at the labs, of course. They
came back to show beyond any doubt that the brutal rape, torture and murder
of Rally Vincent was carried out by a 20 year old Japanese-American male on
police files as Ken Takizawa. With no alibi and a history of violent acts the
jury had no hesitation in convicting him.

The Irishman smiled when he thought of that faked DNA match- the freak looked
like some kind of pedophile.

End.

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