Love and Murder in Checco's Diner

She smiled at me.  Thought I was messing with her.

I worked my forearm under her jaw before she knew what was happening.  Right where the carotid pumps like a fat worm.  You’d have to come right up to me to see me straining every muscle in my arms and chest.  When her eyes bulged, she realized what was happening, she tried to kick and scratch me with her free hand.  I just pressed her into the wall with my body and waited for the spasms to stop.  Sweat beads popped on my forehead.  I didn’t let the pressure up until I was sure she was gone, not just unconscious, even for a pint-sized cum dumpster like Cassie Beausoleil.  I watched her eyes go dark.  It’s such a rush it makes me hard. It has nothing to do with delayed potty-training or any of that FBI profiler bullshit.

Cassie’s five-two, doesn’t weigh ninety pounds, and that’s why I chose her.  I lifted her up like a sack of feathers and tossed her into the dumpster.

I thought this as I bang the lid down on her: Sweet dreams, you dumb bitch.  Let’s see your uncle the cop get you out of this one.

So, so.  That part worked perfectly.

Lady Luck’s rubbing my shoulders, I can feel her sweet tits caressing my back.  I’m going to get good at this. When they find this journal stuck behind the walls in a hundred years, they’ll all know my name.

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