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Extreme Sex And Fetish Forum => Fantasy Snuff BOARD => Snuff Story => Topic started by: dreadstar on October 04, 2009, 10:03:00 PM

Title: hanging rory gilmore
Post by: dreadstar on October 04, 2009, 10:03:00 PM
hanging rory gilmore
(MF, bond, ncon, necro, oral, $nuff, slow)

I knew I had to hurry. Not necessarily rush around like a madman, but time was definitely of the essence. Which was why I was willing to forego the blonde requirement if I had to. And as it turned out, I did.

I saw a few possibles as I cruised around the college, but ultimately none of them panned out; they were either with someone else or just getting on the bus or, when I got closer and got a better look, not attractive enough. Or too old. Or too tall. Or their asses were too big. It was getting late in the day and I was starting to think I'd run out of time, but then I spotted the girl, not around the college, but at a coffee shop downtown.

She was sitting by herself and sipping coffee while she worked in a notebook, completely engrossed in whatever she was working on. She had dark glossy hair that spilled down just past her shoulders, a very nicely shaped body, and while I could tell her tits weren't too big, they looked nice and round and firm in the white button-down blouse she was wearing. She had on a dark blazer over the blouse, and wore a dark, fairly short skirt; oddly conservative clothes for a young woman, but what the hell. I guessed she was probably twenty-one, twenty-two years old; either in her last year of college or just recently graduated. She wasn't exactly what I was looking for, but she was close enough. She'd have to do, anyway.

I went to the coffee bar and bought a tall mocha, then picked a table for two in her line of sight. She glanced up at me, and when she did I made sure she could see that I was looking right back at her. She gave me a small shy smile, actually sort of a disinterested one, and went back to writing in her notebook.

This pi$$ed me off; did the dumb bitch think she was too good for me?

The idea of ambushing her in the parking lot flashed through my head, but I dismissed it; that had always been my last ditch option, and so far I hadn't had to resort to it.

I waited a few minutes but she didn't look up again. Finally, I got up and went over to her table. She noticed me approaching and looked up at me with a curious expression, but she didn't smile. I did, though, even though in my head I was imagining beating her with a hammer.

"Hi," I said. "My name's George. What's yours?"

"Hi, George," she said, and now she did smile, just a small one. "I'm Rory. I'm also really really busy right now."

Of course, I ignored that last bit of sh!t. I sat down across from her, gave her my most winning smile, and said, "Rory. That's an interesting name. Scottish for 'red,' although you don't look very red to me. Or is it short for something?"

Rory turned her thin lips up at the corners, not really a smile, and said, "My name's actually Loreli. When I was little my mom wanted to call me Lori, but I couldn't pronounce the Ls correctly and it came out Rory." She shrugged. "It stuck.

"Loreli," I said. "A siren's name. In German it means 'an alluring song.' " I knew names.

She still had her notebook open, and her pen poised above it. Still ignoring me, the sloppy slut. I nodded toward the notebook and asked, "What are you working on, Rory?"

"Oh. This is just a feature article. For the Obama campaign."

"The Obama campaign?"

"Yeah," Rory said, the slightest hint of sheepishness on her face. "I'm a journalist. I'm on a crew, following Senator Obama on his Presidential campaign. It's been a very exciting year so far."

So she wasn't a college k i d after all. More than likely a little older than I thought; maybe twenty-three or even twenty-four. Almost an old hag. And not only that, she was apparently a dumbass liberal too. If I'd had even a little bit more time I would have told her to go fuck herself. Then again, who would deserve what I had planned for her more than this stupid little cunt? I forced myself to smile.

"Sounds like you've been working pretty hard," I said.

Rory sighed and rolled her eyes. She had nice eyes.

"I've been working my tail off," she said. "But I've just about got the article finished. Right now, I'm just adding some personal observations and opinions." Suddenly she shut the notebook and met my gaze with her own very direct stare. "But you know what? It can wait till the morning. That is, if you wouldn't mind getting a drink with me?"

I almost laughed; the bitches always ended up making it easy for me. Like lambs to the slaughter.

"I have a better idea," I said. "I've got a six pack of beer and an incredibly comfortable bed at my place. You can get all the rest you want there." I gave her my most winning smile, and she smiled back, though I could still see a hint of reluctance in her face. What was it that was holding her back?

"Gee, I dunno," she said. She actually said gee. "I mean, I usually don't sleep in a guy's bed within minutes of meeting him." I knew that was a fucking lie. "The sex life of a cub reporter isn't everything the tabloids say it is."

For an instant I could see my fist flying across the table, connecting with her tiny nose, breaking it into bits. Then I happened to glance down and saw the top portion of the page she was writing on, saw the byline, by Rory Gilmore, and just like that a new idea occurred to me.

"Okay," I said, "I confess."

Rory's eyebrows went up.

"You confess? To what?"

I feigned mild guilt as I said, "I knew who you were before I came over to talk to you, Miss Gilmore. I, um, already knew you were a reporter."

"You did? Then why the games, James?"

"The name's George," I said even though I knew she was just playing with words. She was going to find out about games, that was for sure. "And to be honest, I, uh, I wasn't sure, up until this moment, whether or not I should tell you what I want to tell you."

"And what is it you want to tell me?"

I looked around, as if I suspected spies all around us, then leaned toward her and locked my gaze onto hers.

"I have certain evidence," I said, "about that missing girl."

Rory Gilmore's expression changed from slight skepticism to confusion.

"What missing girl?" she asked. She flipped her notebook to a blank page and held her pen over it.

"A girl named Erica Derry," I said. "I can't really explain it all here. But she's been missing for a few days, and I know where she is."

"Really. Where is she?"

Just hanging around, I thought to myself, and had to force myself to keep a straight face.

"I can't tell you that here," I said, shaking my head. "Even if I could, it's kind of hard to explain. Complicated." I looked around for spies again. "She's in hiding."

"Hiding?" Rory said, her eyebrows going up cynically.

"She was working for a city official, and she found some things out about him, and now she's afraid for her life. Miss Gilmore, I can't really say anything more. Not here, anyway."

Rory had been writing in her notebook this whole time, and she was still writing as she asked, "So, why didn't she go to the police?"

I paused dramatically, then said, "Let's just say that the police already know."

Finally Rory Gilmore showed some genuine surprise.

"The city official's a cop?" she said. "Is he the chief? Like that David Brame guy?"

"I really can't tell you anymore," I said; I was getting tired of saying it. If we weren't in a public place I would have just clocked her and carried her to my car. I got up from the table and headed for the door, and sure enough, I heard her voice behind me: ""Wait, George, wait up, wait up."

I glanced back at her as I opened the door of the coffee shop and saw her gathering her notebook, her purse, and some kind of black vinyl satchel; maybe it was one of those bags people carried their laptops in. I only waited a second before going out the door and heading straight for my car. I got in and almost had the door shut when she came running out, again calling my name and telling me to wait. Her tits bounced nicely inside of her blouse and I wondered if she was wearing a bra. I was pretty sure I'd found out soon enough.

"Where is she, George?" Rory Gilmore asked. "Can you take me to see her?" Without waiting for an answer she hurried around to the other side of the car and opened the passenger door. She dropped into the passenger seat, her satchel and her purse flopping into her lap, and shut the door. "Where are we off to?"

Okay, so it wasn't the most fun seduction in the world, but it would do. She wasn't going to get away now.

"You can write down the address when we get there," I said as I started the car. "But I'll warn you right now, you get on your cell phone and I'm pulling over and kicking you out."

"Fine by me," Rory Gilmore said, trying to take her hand out of her purse without me noticing. "Just as long as I get the scoop."

I expected her to annoy the fuck out of me with her chatter, just like any other dumb bitch, but she stayed relatively quiet on the drive out to the house. Probably thinking about "the scoop," or about sucking Obama's big nigger dick. I didn't care; as long as she kept her stupid mouth shut.

It took about twenty minutes to get to the house. I used the remote to open the garage door, then drove in. She didn't seem to think it was so unusual that I'd park in the garage like this, or that she might actually be in any kind of danger, but then again, the last one didn't either. Not until it was way too fucking late.

"What's funny, George?" Gilmore asked. I was surprised she didn't have her notebook and pen out, ready to take down my answer.

"Nothing," I said. I put the car in park and shut off the engine, then looked at her, tried to give her a serious expression. "Before we go any further, Miss Gilmore, I have to be sure that you'll leave my name out of this. I got enough problems without having to worry about some pigs coming along to break my legs."

Rory's eyes got wide.

"Wow," she said, "is it really that big?"

"Trust me," I said, "you're gonna be shocked."

Which wasn't a lie at all.

We got out of the car at pretty much the same time (Gilmore, like all modern girls, lacked the manners to wait for me to come around and open the door for her) and I led her into the house. I turned on lights as I went through the living room and into the kitchen and Gilmore followed, looking around like a nosey little bitch.

"Nice place," she said. Lying through her teeth, of course. Not that I gave a fuck whether she liked it or not.

"Thanks," I said as I got two beers out of the fridge. "It's modern American bachelor. Completely devoid of the feminine touch." I held one of the beers out to her. "Here you go."

Gilmore looked at the beer for a moment, as if I'd just committed a social blunder and was trying to hide her embarrassment.

"Don't worry," I said, "it's not drugged." This was true, and for a second I wondered why I hadn't thought of that.

"Thank you," Gilmore said, taking the beer. She twisted the cap off and took a big swallow; obviously not the first time she'd swilled booze. Probably did it all the time. Just before she let her entire news crew fuck her brains out. Then smoked crack and let Senator Jungle Bunny fuck her in the ass.

A fucking nigger running for President, for God's sake. My country had finally gone into the sh!tter. Planet of the Fucking Apes.

I opened my beer and took a relatively small swig (compared to the booze whore). Gilmore asked, "So, where is Erica? Is she here? Can I talk to her?"

Yeah, I thought, she's here, alright. And you can talk to her all you want, but she won't be talking back.

"Relax," I said as I suppressed a chuckle. "We'll get to Erica soon enough. There's other business we need to attend to first."

"Oh, right," Gilmore replied, acting like she'd forgotten that she'd come here to get laid. She took another swallow of her beer, then set it on the counter. She smiled a thin-lipped, closed mouth smile. "Listen, George. I think you're a very attractive guy, and I'm sure being with you would be awesome? But I'm only going to be in town till noon tomorrow, and I think it would be best to get Erica's story done first. So, let's say we get that out of the way, then, you know, we can have fun later?"

For a few seconds I couldn't say anything, I was so goddamned mad. The twat had played me. I wanted to grab her by her tits and throw her on the floor and kick the sh!t out of her. Beat her with a baseball bat, then tie her up and set her cunt hair on fire. I was gripping my beer bottle so hard it could have shattered.

"I'm sorry if I misled you," Gilmore went on. "I didn't mean to, really. It's just that Erica's story is, you know, time sensitive."

I almost smiled at that; time sensitive. More time sensitive than you know, you fucking cumbag.

"Sure," I heard myself say. "No problem." Now I did smile, my fake charming smile that worthless tramps like this always fell for. She'd get Erica's story, alright. And she'd be the star of her own. I set my beer down on the counter next to the fridge with a slightly loud clunk.

"Great," Gilmore said. She visibly relaxed and gave me an uncertain smile. "So, you said Erica is missing? That she's in hiding? And didn't you say you know where she is?"

"I do know where she is. And I can take you to her right now."

"Great," Gilmore said again. "Just let me get my notepad and a pen." She turned around and rushed over to her satchel, rummaged around in it, brought out the items she needed. Or at least thought she needed. She bolted back over to me. "Okay, Bernstein, I'm ready."

I wanted to ask who the fuck Bernstein was but decided not to. Instead I tilted my head in a "follow me" gesture and said, "This way." I led her back into the garage to a door that opened on to a set of descending stairs.

"She's in the basement?" Gilmore asked.

"No," I said before I could stop myself, "she's up in the fucking attic. I just thought we'd take the scenic route."

"Okay, sorry," the twat said. "Mr. Touchy."

Man, I wanted to punch this bitch. Hit her right in her cocksucker.

I switched on the bulb that lit up the stairway and started down, Gilmore right behind me. When I got to the bottom I switched on another bulb, this one hanging from the ceiling of the basement. I stopped there, right next to the doorway, giving Gilmore enough room to get by. She took the bait, going ahead of me a few steps before stopping and looking around.

"Where is she, George?" she asked. "Erica? Erica, are you here?"

"I know this will sound strange," I said as I reached for the damp hand towel sitting on a tool chest, right where I'd left it a few hours ago, "but she's behind that sheet."

"Behind the sheet?"

I could tell by the way Gilmore reacted that she hadn't noticed it until I mentioned it. She looked back at me, confused, then, apparently intrigued, she stepped closer to where I had a bed sheet suspended from the ceiling like a curtain. She reached out for it and I got ready. She grasped the sheet and pulled it to the left, revealing Erica Derry, nude, hanging from a noose. Gilmore gasped in surprise, dropped her notepad and pen, then turned and looked at me again. This time her face registered shock and horror. It was both funny and very very sexy.

I didn't stop to savor the moment, though; I immediately moved forward, brought the damp hand towel up and clamped it over her nose and mouth. At the same time I stepped around her so that I ended up behind her. I brought my free arm around her body, pinning her arms to her sides so she couldn't struggle too much. She did struggle, but she was small and weak, and the chloroform I'd soaked the hand towel in did it's job quickly. In less than thirty seconds she was out cold and limp in my grasp. I let her fall gently to the floor, then tossed the hand towel back onto the tool chest. I could take my time now, at least to a certain degree.

I left Gilmore on the floor and went over to where I had my video camera set up. I looked through it to make sure I had the angle right, then turned it on. Next I stripped her naked, starting with her black leather ankle boots and her socks, then her blouse and her skirt. She was wearing matching bra and panties, both a bright devilish red; the kind that nigger-loving white whores wore. I took them off of her and tore them to shreds.

Once Gilmore was naked I could see the real contours of her body. She was slim and well-shaped, though her hips were just a little bit too wide for such a small girl. Her tits were small, but slightly pointed, and firm; in fact, she had tits very similar to Erica's, though Erica's were about one size larger. Her nipples were tiny and dark pink; her skin was smooth and soft, pale as milk. Her pubic hair was as dark as the hair on her head, trimmed to a strip that only covered the lips of her cunt. And she looked just as fragile as I'd expected her to look; easily breakable bones.

I had to seriously resist the urge to just stomp the sh!t out of her, to hear those fragile bones cracking inside her body.

Instead, I settled for just running my hands over her tits, squeezing them appreciatively, sticking my finger in her cunt, then spreading her legs and fucking her. She just lay there like a rag doll, her body moving in tiny jerks with each of my thrusts. I didn't come inside of her; instead I pulled out, stuck my cock into her unconscious mouth, and fucked her that way until I came. I let all of the come shoot into her mouth, and even though some of it pooled there, after I pulled out a lot of it dripped back out, past her lips and down the side of her face. That was okay, though; when she woke up she'd still have the taste of me on her tongue, and she'd know what it was.

I grabbed the hand towel again and wiped the come from her face, then tore off a strip of duct tape and put it over her mouth. Next, I went to a cabinet, opened a drawer, and took out a short, black lace babydoll nightgown. With practiced skill (I'd done the same thing with Erica just before I hung her) I dressed Gilmore in the nightgown. Once that was done I picked her up and carried her over to a spot next to Erica's hanging body (she was surprisingly light, which actually shouldn't have been much of a surprise; these cunts tended to starve themselves so they'd be thin and sexually attractive to the highest possible number of men). The chair that Erica had stood on just before I'd kicked it out from under her was there, and I carefully set Gilmore down on it in a sitting position.

I left her there, went over to a cabinet and opened a drawer, took out two short lengths of rope. I brought these back and quickly tied Gilmore's hands behind her back, then tied her ankles together. Then, finally, I lowered the noose that was already hanging from the ceiling, worked it over Gilmore's head and around her neck, and cinched it up, snug but not too tight. Once that was done I went back into the house, got my beer, then returned to the garage and my next work of art. And waited.


It took her about half an hour to come around. The first thing she did was moan, not her typical whore's moan but a moan of confusion, disorientation. Then her eyes fluttered open and she looked dazedly around. She saw me, focused, then realized she couldn't move. She jerked her arms, then her body, then looked down to see that she was tied up. I think she noticed the noose around her neck too. She looked at me again, her eyes wide now, with surprise and fear. She said something urgent-sounding through the duct tape and I laughed.

"Hey there, sleepy head," I said. "What do you think of Erica? Quite a work of art, isn't she?"

She probably didn't want to, but now Gilmore looked up and over at Erica's hanging body, then shot her gaze back at me, made another urgent-sounding noise, this one more emphatic, maybe even panic-stricken. She strained at her bonds again.

"Don't go jumping around too much, slut," I said. "You're not tied to that chair, and if you fall off you'll choke on that noose."

Gilmore made a whimpering, pleading sound that got my cock hard. I'd been smoking a cigarette but was finished with it now; I dropped it on the floor and stepped on it, making a mental note to myself: next time, burn the bitch with cigarettes before you kill her.

Gilmore's pathetically helpless sounds turned to sobs, and tears began to spill from her eyes, which I thought was a nice touch.

"Fucking sh!tbag," I said, almost to myself.

I approached her, stopped next to her. She looked up at me with a beseeching, terrified gaze. I kept my eyes locked onto hers as I reached over to where I had the mechanism set up that would raise the noose. I started to turn it and, slowly, the noose tightened around Gilmore's throat. It pulled, and she had to stand up in order to avoid being choked. That obviously wouldn't do her any good in just a few moments, but she was desperate to live and so grasped at even the last chance she had. It was funny.

She continued to cry and bleat behind the duct tape, until finally the noose began to lift her off the ground. She couldn't breathe anymore, and now her eyes got huge and wild, full of terror as she began to strangle. Her body shook and trembled, jerked around, swayed back and forth as it dangled from the noose. She put up a pretty good fight, but oddly enough, she didn't last as long as Erica had; within maybe fifteen or twenty seconds her struggles lessened, then subsided altogether and she just hung there, her eyes blank, her body motionless.

"Well, Gilmore," I said, "you got the scoop."

I busted up for at least two minutes.

I let her hang there for a while and just looked at her, studying every curve and contour of Gilmore's body, but mostly just loving the way she was hanging there, her head canted to one side, her eyes blank and staring. She was dead. The only good cub reporter...

Finally, just as I did with Erica, I got up on the chair and untied the rope, hefted Gilmore's tiny body onto my shoulder, and brought her down to the floor. And, just as with Erica before, I had a painful hardon.

I undressed, then pulled the top of the black nightgown down to expose Gilmore's small but perky tits. I played with them a little, then pulled the hem of the nightgown up to her waist, spread her legs, and lay down on top of her. I stuck my cock into her and bluntly fucked her, holding her dead body close against me as I repeatedly shoved myself into her again and again. As could be expected, since fucking a dead girl is the most intense turn on I've ever known, it didn't take long. Maybe a minute, maybe a little longer than that. I came with a long wolfish grunt, my semen pouring into Gilmore's dead but still warm pussy. I got off so hard that, as I was coming, I grabbed a hank of her dark hair and pounded her head against the cement floor.

Once I was done I pretty much collapsed on top of her, breathing hard and luxuriating in the immediate memory of what I'd done.

Eventually, I repeated more of my previous actions with Erica; I stripped Gilmore's body and hung her back up with the noose, then took pictures of her. Then I stepped back some to widen the view and took pictures of both Gilmore and Erica; my two lovely pieces of art.

Of course, it was time now to dispose of Erica's body; she was going to start to rot soon. I had a plan, though, and I was pretty confident that I'd be able to get her buried and still have time to lure my third "living sculpture," if you will, back to the house before Gilmore too started to go bad.