Lisa struggles valiantly as you unbutton the fly of her jeans. She's hardly more than a girl; frightening her isn't even a challenge. She's terrified, and you haven't even gotten started yet.
That's how you like it: a face so young, wet with tears of fear; a fragile, supple mind whose contours are easily molded through the judicious application of pain and terror. You're glad she's fighting. It's always better when they fight.
She is, of course, doomed anyway. Her wrists are cuffed quite securely behind her back. It's amazing what you can accomplish with a few ounces of steel.
The cuffs go around a girl's slender wrists, and as of that moment she's dead. There's no escape, no parole, no pardon. The bracelets click shut and her young life ends.
Simple. You lick your lips as you peel tight blue denim off sleek, pubescent hips. Beneath the jeans are standard-issue teenaged girl's white cotton panties.
You notice she's wearing a pad, but that presents no problem. You're planning an immersion, after all, and women stop menstruating when submerged. You shuck the pants down over her skinny legs, then peel back the panties. There's almost no blood: it's a light day for her. In a way, you're glad she's having her period; it proves that your victim is a woman, not a little girl. Your heart quickens at the sight of her sweet puss.
It's very small, quite hairless and undoubtedly tight--you can almost feel it around you, squeezing your cock with the desperate expertise which comes only to the dying woman!
You leave her tank top. She looks cute in it, firm proud breasts pressing insistently against tight, white cotton. And you know it'll look even more fabulous once it's wet.
Thin, soaked, translucent cotton clinging to hard, round teenaged breasts.the idea is too beautiful to bear. You carry her half-naked body to the tank. She speaks, begging for mercy, describing in detail why she needs to live. You strap the weight belt around her waist. You advise her to take a deep breath; when she complies, you drop her into the tank. She has good, strong lungs, so you figure you have several minutes.
Calmly, you lift your oxygen tank and slip the straps over your shoulders. You take the regulator into your mouth, pull the mask over your face and begin to breathe.
You appreciate breathing more than usual, knowing that for Lisa, it is now an unattainable luxury. Naked except for your tank and mask, you dive.
The cold water feels strange on your cock, but it does nothing to diminish your erection. The thought of the beautiful, helpless teen struggling and drowning below has given you an indestructible hard-on.
Only Lisa's tightness can quench it. You reach the bottom of the tank.
Her eyes lock with yours. You can see in her eyes that this girl is beyond terror. She feels so many darkly magnificent things: the unendurable certainty of her own death, the horror at having been murdered and yes, the fear of rape, even here, even now.
You take a moment to assess her body. Her breasts are everything you'd hoped they would be. You've never seen better nipples: huge and pink, they've been made viciously hard by the cold water. You grab her waist roughly. There's barely anything there; teenagers are so beautifully skinny!
You pull her towards you, seize her hips, guide her down onto your throbbing, aching member. Inside her you find paradise. She's wonderfully tight; you can't move inside her at all, but then you don't need to.
You relax and let her dying body do the work. Her spasms and convulsions are incredible. It's so much better than willing flesh. You caress her taut young breasts through the wet fabric of her top. You can feel her pain, and it is vast. They say that drowning is an easy death, but you know that's a lie. You see that her lungs are burning, that they're about to explode. She's dying. It's too soon; you're not ready. You remove the regulator from your mouth and force it into hers.
It's easy; her lips are already parted, and she's too weak to resist. She drinks the oxygen down gratefully, without stopping to ask why you're doing this for her. You let her draw a few good, deep breaths. Then you pull the air supply out of her mouth and return it to your own.
This breath of canned air has rejuvenated her, and now she fucks you with renewed vigor. Her body is perfect, and the pleasure you draw from it is immense. Her soft, brown hair floats lazily around her sweet face, forming a halo in honor of the angel she will shortly become.
Brows arched, she begs with dark eyes: please, another breath!
Just one more! You shake your head. No. One respite is all she gets. Now you're ready. The seconds tick by, each one an eternity of ecstasy. The two of you are alone in your silent aquatic world, tender lovers untroubled by the conceit of consent. You feel the pressure build within her, in her lungs, in her belly. She needs so badly to breathe, but she can't. And it hurts. With each passing moment, it hurts more.
The pain is starting to overwhelm her. She tosses her head frantically from side to side. Her turgid nipples quiver.
She can feel it coming. She knows that any moment now she will draw a lungful of icy water, and then it will be over. You strive not to come. Not yet, not yet.her spasming meat is exquisite, and it's almost impossible to resist, but you must, for she's not quite there yet.
She plants her bare feet firmly on the floor of the tank. Arching her back, she thrusts her firm breasts out, tosses her head back.and tries to breathe water.
You feel her body rebel against it. And then comes the best part of all: you feel her strong, supple young body begin to die. She convulses in response to pain too astonishing to believe.
You feel it all. And at last it's time: you shoot into her, letting her dying body drain every last drop of semen from your relentless cock. As you withdraw from her, you remove the weight belt from her waist and let her corpse float freely for a time.