His thrusts were meeting mine and I could feel by the growing size and firmness of his cock, and by his breathing that he was ready to cum. He broke our kiss and said "Oh fuck! I'm cumming!" I sat upright on him keeping him deeply in my ass while gyrating slightly back and forth. He moaned in pleasure and while holding my thighs and thrusting up into me with irregular thrusts, I could totally feel his warm cum filling what little space his cock left inside my ass. Before his orgasm was totally finished, I reached back and grabbed the base of his cock with my hand and I could already feel his cum oozing out of my ass and on to my hand and there was lots of it. With his cum as the new lubricant, I began a slow fuck/hand job combination to milk the last of his cum out of him. He squirmed and bucked with sensitivity but I didn't stop or let him out until I was sure that there was nothing left in his balls. After that I grabbed my own cock, which by now was aching and oozing. I need more than faith to come to terms with what happened to that child Creepy, and my own faith runs short. I ask myself why, and I don't get a single answer, other than you committed a senseless act, and the understanding of the absolute necessity that you, a sadistic killer, be made to pay. I'm usually against it, the killing of killers Creepy, but my emotions have taken over. I don't like you Creepy, and only your death will offer satisfaction.Without the business card that Kitty had left behind for me, you wouldn't feel the heat you're going to feel. I'm not talking about heat as in police. I mean the outrage of me Creepy, bearing down on you. Without that card I would have been angry, but not so fiercely, not so strong. With that single little card, your act is no abstraction, no mere compilation of facts in some police report. That card gives you a face Creepy, sets the scene, has me disappointed with myself, knowing I should have been there to snatch Kitty back. It is the.
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