The Assassin's Dilemma

Mickey Mod has a job: put a bullet in a dealer. Penny Pax steps into the crossfire. Wrong place. Wrong second. She sees his face, so he can’t leave her breathing. But killing her feels like waste. He hauls her to a motel room with concrete walls and a single chain dangling from the pipe. Her wrists go up, cuffs bite. He strips her fast, no ceremony, just business. She struggles, spits curses; he stuffs her mouth with her own wet panties and drives in deeper. The chain rattles, her throat bulges around his cock, tears streak her cheeks, spit hangs from her chin. He pulls free, spins her, and sinks that thick length straight into her ass, no warm-up, no mercy, his hand clamped over her mouth to swallow every scream. Later he leaves her hog-tied on the floor, ass up, hole gaping, while he cleans his gun. Every so often he stops, adds another stripe with his belt across her thighs, then sinks back in. She learns quick: obey and the pain turns sharp, addictive. He teaches her the tools, the exits, how to cock a gun and how to take him past her limit. She stops asking to leave. He stops planning to kill her. 2013. Rough lessons, tighter knots, and every load buried where she can feel it for days.