The Lesbian Fetish Killer

An excerpt from The Lesbian Fetish Killer

The projector light flickered and flashed. The film clacked noisily as it rolled. Bolgerton didn't notice.

On screen, the dominant girl saliently jammed a down down the throat of the gal security guard and was groping her ample tits. Bolgerton unconsciously squeezed her own. The dominant girl pinched and prodded, and the security guard took it like anyone else would with a gun to their head.

The big, black strap-on dildo the dominant girl was sporting bounced up and down when she moved. It mesmerized Bolgerton, made her self-conscious—her body was responding to the scene. She understood people who bought this smut. It was filthy porno, but it was turning her on like a two-drink slut.

The dominant girl had the girl guard's top off now, stripped to the waist to get a better grip on those gorgeous tits. She kept the gun pointed at her victim the whole time, hardly letting it stray for a moment. And the poor girl kept her eyes on it every second.

"Jesus," Bolgerton thought, squirming in her chair. "She's really gonna fuck this girl."

The scene cut to the girl guard tied up securely on her security office desk—spread-fucking-eagle. And the dominant girl started to mount her, that big black cock swinging between her legs like a cannon....

The poor victim pleaded in 8-millimeter silence as as the footage streamed by. The desperation in her eyes seemed real, the ropes tight enough to bite into her soft flesh. But Bolgerton knew it was all just an elaborate game put on by sickos and perverts for the benefit of others like them.

Wasn't it?

She couldn't really be sure any more. But she didn't like what it was stirring in her.