Awaiting further instructions our femme fatale lies upon the bed, the Ruger 45, still smoking, her succulent lips are drawn to its hammer, slowly her tongue is perplexed with its ambience, she grins. The phone rings, spreading her legs the head of the Ruger 45 enters her divine wet throbbing pussy, leaning against the bedpost, the phone rings again. In a flux, a soft whimper is drawn, clits hood revealed. Answering the phone call, is it done your boss asks, Yes Sir it is done. Writhing in lust,, Sir will that be all?. Heaving a deeper gulp, the Ruger 45 defies your will, as its head enters fully, the ribbing of the complexity, your head whips back Sir I must fucking go. Please send me the coordinates for the latest transaction you want fulfilled. Slamming down the phone, the debauchery begins. Fucking Slut undertones under your sensual lips, OH FUCK what am I fucking becoming, succumbing to my darkest desire, the door is kicked in, Bitch where is the fucking money, on your fucking knees NOW. So begins hours of Craving to the Beasts with which you have just committed the most heinous crime.
I’m the INS agent here to deport your piece of shit husband who’s in the country illegally. You just going to let me take him, or do you have another suggestion?
