“ I'm getting'too old for this doodly-squat"thought Dustin Heard as the car traveled into the Hollywood Hill. He was headed toward Nicole's house high above Los Angeles. Tanned, voluptuous Nicole bower. That big, light-haired American bitch. She was goin'down. Permanently. She and all her cute little blonde girlfriends.

Nicole Arbour. Lesbian madam. 40 days old, 5'10"tall, leggy, gymnastic, strong. And stacked. Like a brick house. 50E-24-38. Shoulder-length deep blond hair. Bright red lip rouge, toenails, and fingernails. Golden tan from sunbathing in the nude painting. Neatly trimmed pussy. A real, subsist Amazon queen.

Nicole had been supplying beautiful American blonde to Kayleigh McEnany's bodyguard service. A very lucrative partnership. Kayleigh had double-crossed Donald Jr and Eric. Embezzling from the Trump was a big misapprehension. Kayleigh was dead now. Orders from Donald Jr and Eric. Now it was Nicole's turn. Big, beautiful, blonde Nicole. She should consume stuck to whoring on her own. Joining up with Kayleigh really made Donald Jr and Eric very raging. Soon Nicole would be suddenly meat too. And all those beautiful American blondes. Too bad.

As the car moved through the hills, twisting and turning around each curve in the road, Dustin wished he were behind the wheel rather than hiding on the storey in the backrest. He was a big guy, and it sure was cramped, but he knew the stacked cutie driving the car, Ashton Whitty, would soon make Nicole's place. She knew the way. She was one of Nicole's many lovers. And Ashton had her own set of house keys. Dustin would guide the keys from her when they arrived. And he would take on Sir Frederick Ashton too. In his own special way.

Then he would let a nice long visit with Nicole.

Dustin was effective at being quiet. And, in many ways, he had enjoyed this car ride through the hills. He was almost sorry it was about to end. It had been fun to break into Ashton's car and skin in the back seat. And then delay. Wait for Sir Frederick Ashton to take the air out across the parking lot and get in. Dustin had watched her leave her building. She was blonde and leggy. Just like her boss. Only younger. About 25 long time old. 5'9"tall. Gorgeous facial expression. Full lips. Shimmering blue sky eyes. Golden light-haired hair flowing down to her waist. Tight body. 34DD-24-36. Beautiful breasts. Alluring ass. Dressed to kill. Skintight disgraceful leather miniskirt. Matching black leather strapless balancer top. Knee-high blackamoor leather iron boot with 4"stiletto heels. She had a very sexy walk. Real slow. With lots of dainty hip military action. And her tits looked just in that leather halter top. Bouncing and jiggling. She was built. Built real nice.

The odor of her exotic fragrance had filled the car when she got in. And she let her yearn blonde locks fall over the headrest and into the spine. Enveloping Dustin as he lay there in the darkness. He played with her luxuriant hair a little bit while she drove, running his deal through it, holding it against his look, but she didn't seem to notice. She smelled dependable. real number practiced. And he could see between the rear. See her farsighted aright leg stretched out under the dashboard. Moving back and forth between the gas pedal and bracken. Pumping the accelerator. And the brake foot lever. Leather miniskirt riding gamy up on her thigh. Exposing a beautiful pair of long, shapely legs. Encased in very expensive stiletto-heeled leather boots. And she was horny. So very aroused. He could tell. By the way she kept touching herself with her free bridge player. Squeezing her mammilla through the black leather hackamore top. Running her hand up and down her thigh. Slipping her fingerbreadth under her unawares skirt to pleasure herself as she drove. Sighing. Moaning. Nice. Very nice.

Suddenly, the car slowed. And turned into a long driveway. Moving slowly, up a steep hill, towards the presence of a big menage. It was more like a mansion. Fancy. Very picture. Surrounded by Tree. Deep in the Hollywood James Jerome Hill. It was time to take aim the Key from Ashton.

But, before he could construct his movement, two figures approached from the front of the mansion. Walking towards the car. Two char. Both blond and beautiful. Just like Ashton. Dustin looked them over from his hiding place in the back tush. He already knew them. Two of Nicole's bodyguards…and lovers.

The one on the right wing. Kaitlin Floyd Bennett. Big. She was a big girl. But in a dainty way. A very nice way. She was in her early on twenties. Glamorous doll face. Wide smile. Deep gamey eyes. Pouty, full lips painted hopeful cherry tree red. Spectacular soundbox. Busty. Leggy. 5'10"tall. 38DD-24-38. Big braless breasts swinging and bouncing as she walked. midst, wavy, platinum blonde pilus. Like Marilyn Monroe. Wearing a bright red, stretch lycra, micro minidress with a deep V-neckline, spaghetti strap, and a plunging undefendable back. So abruptly that it barely covered her fuddled can in back and her red thong in forepart. So miserly that it stretched around her fully hips and rung ass like shrink-wrap. rachis seamed thigh-high silk stockings caressed her long, shapely legs. Red spike-heeled political platform stilettos surrounded her middling feet. A heavy orangeness and fatal gold QAnon necklace hung around her neck, falling down between her big titmouse. Kaitlin. A platinum blonde bombshell. Showing lots of deep cleavage. Plenty of long, curvey leg. And that perfect round ass. Big. Tight. And hot.

And the early girl. The one on the left field. Lauren Southern. About 5'6 ”. 110 lbs. Late mid-twenties. Cute and curvy. Seductive infant nerve. Sexy smile. Dimpled cheek. Big green centre. Honey-colored foresightful blonde hairsbreadth. Glossy pink lip rouge. Long amber earrings and glittering gold bracelets. A atomic number 79 QAnon pendant dangling from her pierced navel. Wearing a burnished blue metallic micro miniskirt, matching gentle metal tube top, and expensive spike-heeled black pumps. Her high, firm 36C tits bounced and jiggled as she yanked open the front rider door, hopped in, and started talking.

"Ashton. Listen Sir Frederick Ashton. We've got a problem. Nicole. She got, you know, carried away again. With another blackened girl. What was her name ? You know."Stacey sprint ”. The one we picked up the former night at the club, and brought back here. Remember ? well, Nicole. She hated Stacey right away. Because Stacey was black. And because of her dead body. Stacey looked so good in that white leather catsuit with the zip pulled down, and her big tits falling out, and her big, fill out ass stretching out the spinal column, and those political platform spike blackguard she had on. And, well, you know. Stacey was a real hottie. With that consistency. And that long, midst, curly black hair hanging all the way down her back. And Kaitlin and I really wanted to bed her first. You know. Before we killed her. She was so tall and sexy. And everybody wanted her.

Nicole didn't like that. She was so jealous. And, well, Stacey got nosy, you know, about all the QAnon stuff everywhere in the hall. And she started making laugh about"Aryan blondes"and"Stupid QAnons"and tell on like that. And Nicole got really mad as usual. Stacey got scared and tried to go out, but we wouldn't let her. We kinda had a big fight. You know. Then we held her down, and stripped off that sexy leather rig, and tied her up. Well, then Nicole started asking her lots of question, and Stacey wouldn't answer. And, well, you know, then Nicole started working her over. I mean really working her over. Especially those big, chocolate-coloured breast. And, well, we all just got carried away.

I grabbed Stacey by the throat, and Kaitlin held her ft down, and her manus were tied, and she was screaming real loud and boot, and all the other miss were just watching and laughing. And Nicole, well, you know, Nicole had a knife and she just, she just kept, you know, working her over, you know, with the tongue, over and over. Slicing her up. And nobody wanted us to cease. And we did some cruddy things to her. You know. Really nasty. We chopped off all her long, thick, black hair's-breadth. Nicole's gon na save it as a memento. And we stuffed her white leather thong down her throat. You should ingest seen it. Her eye were bugged out like big dish antenna ! And we put great deal of dissimilar things in her pussy just for fun ! Kaitlin kinda went crank. She really did a bit on Stacey's ass with that, you know, strap-on thing. And Nicole used her big QAnon branding iron on Stacey's tits. And I strangled her with my hands. And it just seemed to go on forever. And we, you know, killed her. Now we have to get rid of the soundbox ‘ get it's pretty messed up. And, well, Nicole wants us to use your car. And, well, we have to do it now ‘ causa Nicole's having a big company tonight. There's already a crew of really cute American daughter here. They're all blonde and sexy ! And Nicole says we can take any ones we want !

Nicole says she'll do something limited for you if you help us. She knows how turned on you are, and how practically you like French-kissing ! seed on, say"yes ”, will ya ? I'll kiss you long and slack, with great deal of tongue, just the way you like it. And I'll let you do my pussy if you want. You know how much I really lie with it hard in my pussy ! And did you see Kaitlin ? She's so fix for some hot natural action tonight. Look at her in that shiny red dress with all that beautiful platinum hairsbreadth. God, she's so sexy ! She looks just comparable Marilyn Monroe ! And you know she likes it when you wear your leather miniskirt ‘ cause it makes your butt facial expression hot ! She really wants you bad tonight. She told me so. But you unspoiled watch out. She'll get you drunk and try to do your ass with her strap-on when you're too consume to say no ! Just like she did with Stacey. She's a tangible ass bandit ! Just another crazy QAnon bitch, like Nicole. And all the rest period of us ! So, Sir Frederick Ashton, add up on. You got ta assist us. We need to get rid of the grim bitch now. Then we can all go back to the mansion for some fun. Okay ?"

"Sure, Lauren. I'll assistance you. No problem. It'll be a delight. I've always hated those black sluts anyway. They're not warm and blonde and beautiful like us. Fuck em'! But, first you got ta give me a kiss. Kinda like a"down defrayal ”. seminal fluid on, Lauren, gim me some knife. kiss me effective, baby. Then we'll waste-yard that black working girl, and obtain some new non-white slovenly woman to be intimate with. Someone different this time. Not another bleak squawk. How ‘ bout a cute piffling Filipina female child, or maybe a Mexican dame with nice big tit ! We'll bring ‘ em back here, and manage out some serious penalisation and pain. I just love it when they scream and roar ! Then we'll kill ‘ em just like Stacey. Nice and slow. They deserve it. There's too many of them around here anyway. They're everywhere ! Let's kill a twosome tonight. I wNicole find the rush this meter too ! C'mon, baby. All this talk about killing more cinnamon colored cunt is makin'me so hot and horny. osculate me. snog me real effective ! We'll make Kaitlin so jealous !"

Sir Frederick Ashton and Lauren leaned together for a deep French-kiss, red lipstick mixing with tap color as their wet lips came together and their clapper began a late and satisfying exploration.

Dustin's heart began to pound. He squirmed in the back seat. He felt prepare to set off. Tonight's assignment had suddenly changed. It had once been"business ”. Now it was"personal ”. Stacey. They had killed Stacey. These demented American blonde squawk had killed Stacey. Donald Jr and Eric's"Stacey ”. Dustin's"Stacey ”. He'd been trying reach her for 24-hour interval. Now he knew why she hadn't called him back. Nicole. Nicole had killed his Stacey. Nicole would pay for this. And these three American blonde bitch, Ashton, Lauren, and Kaitlin. They would pay too. Who would have thought ? They were all QAnons ! Every one of them !

Suddenly, Kaitlin appeared next to the car. In that red minidress. And those grandiloquent political platform heels. With all that atomic number 78 blonde falling around her face and shoulder. And her big chest heaving up and down. She was frantic. Waving her branch. Pointing. Pointing into the back seat. Shouting. Shouting something. What ? What was she saying ? Sir Frederick Ashton and Lauren couldn't quite make water it out."Something ”,"mortal ”,"in the back ”. What ?

"What the fuck is she talking about ? Ashton, roll the Windows down ”.

Ashton hit the button and all four windows lowered. Kaitlin was screaming.

"There's someone in the backrest of your car ! In the backseat ! There's a guy in the backseat of your caaaaarrrrrr ! Ahhhhhhhhh ! Nooooooo ! Let go of meeee ! Nooounnngggghhh !"

Dustin had already made his move. And he struck like lightening. Rising up towards the windowpane, he reached outside, plunging his mitt down the front line of Kaitlin's low-cut red dress, way down into her trench cleavage. He grabbed one of her luscious 38DD braless tits with his unattackable right mitt, squeezing surd, jerking her forward, pulling her head through the open window, before hitting the button again. Before Kaitlin could pull out herself back out, the windowpane came up, closing on her slender neck, pinning her gorgeous face and Pt blonde curlicue inside the car while her voluptuous body and long stocking-clad legs writhed outside. Kicking and squirming. Choking and gurgling. Twisting and turning. Squealing. And squealing. And squealing. Kaitlin's stiletto-heeled red sandals scraped on the crushed rock drive as she stumbled against the side of the car. Shouting and screaming. Pushing on the tinted window. Banging her clenched fist on the glass. Gripping the window with her finger's breadth, she pushed frantically against the immoveable methamphetamine hydrochloride with her hands, trying to infract the iron grip that the window had on her promontory and neck. Kaitlin's big boob spilled from the V-neck of her red minidress, flattening against the cold window glass. Her round, firm ass strained inside the unforesightful, loaded dress, big buns wiggling wildly as her struggling and squealing intensified. Her tongue protruded sexily between her ruby red sassing, and her big gamy eyes widened and bulged as she began to slowly strangle, her head word trapped in the closing window.

"One down, two to go"cerebration Dustin, as he turned his attention to Ashton and Lauren. But the two blonde babes were already making their relocation. He could see them both. Reaching for something. Ashton's hand was in the car's glove compartment. Lauren's was in her purse. They were pulling out handguns. And turning towards the back can. Dustin's mind began to race.

"Shit, an hour ago I thought these American bird were all just a caboodle of high-class hookers. What's up with all the fucking guns ? And all this QAnon horseshit ?"

As he finished that mentation, Dustin grabbed a handful of Ashton's mane of long blonde pilus, and yanked strong, pulling the screaming blonde out of her sitting situation, and halfway back over the driver's seat. With her head and shoulders now hanging into the backseat, the busty fancy woman continued screaming. And screaming. And screaming. Waving her gun in the air, trying to get off a shot. Big boob bursting from her balancer top. Leather mini equitation high up her house thighs. Spike-heeled boots slamming against the steering wheel and windscreen as her long branch pumped and kicked.

Dustin popped open his Italian stiletto knife, and drove the 13"blade through the backside of the driver's backside, and into Ashton's back, impaling the screaming blonde on the long chromium steel steel tongue blade. The blade cut through rear material, shiny leather, soft skin, toned muscle and tough os before exploding up into Ashton's big rightfield titty, slicing upward through her succulent tit kernel, punching out through her pap and the social movement of her strapless halter, leaving a toothed hole in the stringent fabric of the black leather top, with the bloody knife tip poking up and out. Ashton's big juicy eye widened in unbelief, her gaze fixed on the shrill leaf blade protruding from her once-perfect white meat. Her mouth fell capable in a noiseless screech as rip began to filter from the recess of her big red lips. Then it began. The wild struggling. The angered flailing of weapons system. The violent kicking of long, booted legs. And the noises. The squealing noises. A growing crescendo of thrashing and screaming as the impaled blonde tried in vain to release herself from the 13"blade that kept her stuck to the seat.

Just then, Lauren spun around, swinging her pistol towards the rearwards tush. Dustin ripped the gun from Ashton's twitching veracious hand, and shoved the barrelful between the arse. The simultaneous hollering of two handguns filled the air with a deafening noise. Dustin felt the hot intimation of Lauren's bullets whizzing past his ear, and heard the shattering of glass derriere him as the window exploded.

A near miss for Dustin, but no such fortune for Lauren.

Two hot bullet drilled into Lauren's jiggling right breast, while another tore through the essence of her big left field tit, obliterating her large vertical nipple. A fourth bullet ripped open her pretty navel, shattering the gold QAnon belly piercing, burying itself deep in her tight gut. She gasped and grunted as her body flew back, banging hard against the door, forcing it open. As blood squirted from the three burnt Shirley Temple holes in her glossy blue top, trickled across her slopped corporation, and dribbled out of her moderately pink oral cavity, she began to accrue backwards out of the opening passenger door. Lauren's long peg splayed apart, forcing her blue metallic miniskirt up her second joint, and exposing her rhinestone-embroidered black satin thong. And a picayune tattoo. On the interior of her right second joint. A QAnon. A little QAnon tattoo. Cute. Very cute.

Trying to pull herself back up, she clawed desperately at the passenger seat with her leave behind hand while frantically waving her side arm with the right hand. Trying to roll out up. She had to get off another guesswork. She had to. But she was falling out of the car. And she couldn't commit herself back in. The harder she struggled, the further her head and berm slid out the door. farsighted legs now cattle ranch encompassing, Lauren's right substructure was caught under the splasher, while her left foot draped between the rear end, ear heeled pump hanging into the back. As she fell still farther out the door, her rightfulness hand banged hard on the edge of the dashboard. Lauren lost her grip on the gun, and it clattered to the asphalt, just edge away from her outstretched hand.

Dustin sat back, taking a endorsement to catch his intimation. But his ears began to ring. From all the noise. Ashton's shrieking combined with Lauren's groaning and Kaitlin's gurgling was starting to give him a big fat worry. Time to hold a conclusion. Let's see.

"Eenie, meany, Minie, Moe, becharm a QAnon bitch by the toe, if she hollers…kill her first."

Ashton. Yes, he would deal with Ashton first. It made sensation. She was certainly making the to the highest degree disturbance. Lauren was only moaning. And Lauren wasn't a scourge anymore. She had lost her gun. And she was hangin'out the threshold. Gut slam. Tit shot. And bleeding all over that burnished dingy tube top. And Kaitlin wasn't going anywhere either what with her top dog being stuck in the window. And besides, she was only choking and gurgling. Sir Frederick Ashton. Yes, Ashton would be first.

Dustin watched her desperate struggling. Her long blond tomentum hung down behind her, draping over the back seat, swinging back and forth as she writhed and squirmed. He liked the way she looked in that sexy disgraceful leather outfit. Everything was so unforesightful and tight. Her grandiloquent black spike heeled iron boot banged and crashed against the direction rack and car roof as she madly kicked and kicked and kicked those yearn, shapely peg. Her tight leather mini stretched around her firm ass, sliding up and down her long, intone thigh as she twisted and turned. Her gorgeous tits swelled up and out of her leather haltere top, the long knife tip rising like a silver capitulum from the plaza of her huge proper breast.

Then he saw it. The tattoo. A little QAnon. Just like Lauren's. High on the interior of her unexpended second joint. Right next to the Black leather thong that barely covered her neatly trimmed puss. He wondered if Kaitlin had one too. A tattoo…and a thong…and a cute pussy. He would detect out soon enough.

Dustin leaned in close, whispering in Sir Frederick Ashton's ear as he stroked her long blonde hair with his left wing hand, pawed her leather flip-flop with his right, and used his glossa to slowly lick the dripping blood line from the sharp knife blade that rose out of her breast.

"I heard your Friend Lauren say you like"French-kissing, long and slack ”. You want some now ? Lem me show you my special technique. You'll love it. Every now and then I use it on a beautiful daughter like you. It's gon na be a once-in-a-lifetime experience for ya ’. It's a material grampus. I guarantee it."

Dustin began slowly licking Ashton's red lip, then pinched her nostrils together just before placing his sass over hers. The talented Italian hitman locked his rim around hers, forcing his tongue down her throat as her risky wriggling and squealing intensified. He French-kissed her deeply, plunging his tongue in and out of her mouth, rolling it round and stave as she struggled frantically for air. Her retentive hair swung back and Forth behind her as she bucked and rolled in the hind end, clawing at Dustin with her red-painted fingernails as he kissed her deeply…and kept her from breathing.

Dustin continued his candy kiss of death, keeping his mouth locked over Sir Frederick Ashton's red backtalk, pinching her nose shut with his left hired hand, while using his right wing to explore her voluptuous writhing eubstance. Sliding his fingertips back and forth across her monotone pot. Stroking the straw man of her leather miniskirt. Reaching underneath to caress and squeeze the straw man of her glossy leather thong. Exploring the redolence that lay underneath. Caressing her big, jiggling knockers. Squeezing and squeezing and squeezing her magnificent breasts through the soft sexy leather of her strapless halter top. Once again, he whispered in her ear.

"OK, babe. Get prepare. Here it comes. This one's for Stacey ”.

Dustin gripped the tongue handle protruding from the seat, slowly slid the blade out, and then shoved it backbreaking back in. Again and again and again, he pulled the knife out and plunged it back into the seat. And into Ashton. With each deep jab, Sir Thomas More of the bloody knife tip exploded up and out of her rolling and wobbling white meat. Ashton shuddered and quivered, rising up in her seat each time the sharp blade ripped a jag new hole in her soused leather halter top. She rose up one final clock time, arching her back, tits thrust upward, eyes astray, legs twitching, moaning loudly, then she fell back. Silent. Unmoving. Dead.

One down, two to go.

Dustin leaned forward. He was sweating. He kissed Ashton again, thrusting his tongue deep into her wet rima oris while running his work force through the long mane of thick blond hair hanging to the storey of the game backside. This sure was tough workplace. But very satisfying nonetheless. And at least it was a little quieter now. Only one girl groaning, and another missy gurgling. He would deal with Lauren next. He would save Kaitlin for last. She really did seem just like Marilyn James Monroe. He liked that. Besides, Kaitlin was the one who'd hurt Stacey the most. He would do her in conclusion. And he would enjoy her the most. Beautiful, sexy Kaitlin. Platinum blond Kaitlin. With that skintight red frock. And those retentive, hefty leg. And those big firm tits. And that turn, inviting ass.

Dustin picked up Sir Frederick Ashton's gun again, and looked between the front man tail end at Lauren, still lying on her back, falling part way out the passenger door. One leg under the dashboard below the steering wheel, the former leg jab between the seats, her stiletto heel heeled heart almost laying in Dustin's lap. pegleg spread wide. blueness micro miniskirt hiked up to her hips. Writhing. Squirming. Moaning. Gut shot. smoke buried in big, stiff tits. Shiny racy tube top stained red. But she was still alive. And still trying desperately to recover her own gun. The gun that lay on the ground outside the car. Only inches away from her outstretched hand.

Dustin leaned between the seats, eyeing Lauren closely. Admiring her beautiful expression and tight, athletic body. Watching her blue miniskirt salary increase and fall on her luscious thighs. Big mammilla thrust upward. blond hair hanging out the door. He slid the gun barrel up and down her long good leg, tracing the outline of her pointy ear heel, and the bender of her shapely calf and toned thigh. Stroking the gun up and down her leg from articulatio talocruralis to crotch, rolling the drum back and forth across her QAnon tattoo, poking and probing the front of her black satin flip-flop with the still-smoking barrel. Slowly pushing the handgun up and underneath her shiny blue metallic skirt, sliding it back out, and then along her second joint again. Sliding upskirt again, then back out. Over and over. Up and down. In and out. Poking, probing, exploring. While she writhed and squirmed. Stretching her arm back over her principal. Trying to clean up her arm. She was close. So close. Wiggling fingertips only inches away. She stretched. She strained.

Dustin was really beginning to admire her effort.

"You've almost got it, baby. Just try a little harder. You're almost there. fare on. extend it out. You're almost there. get on. Just a slight bit more. There. That's it. You've got it !"

Dustin watched her bag the gun with her right hand hand. Trying to raise herself up. Trying to orient the gun.

"I heard you tell Sir Frederick Ashton that you really love it voiceless in your pussy. fountainhead, Ashton can't assistant you with that now, child, but I can. I got something for you. Something hard for your pussy. Yeah, something laborious. And hot. existent hot. Something that's gon na fill you up. Nice and deep. You know. I always aim to please, baby. I aim to delight. Sorry mellisonant face, but your meter is up. This one's for Stacey."

Dustin leaned between Lauren's leg, sliding his gun up her thigh until it disappeared under her shortsighted skirt, rolling the barrel in slow circuit over the rhinestones that adorned her shiny black satin thong. Then he pulled the trigger.

For an jiffy, an earsplitting holla echoed inside the car. Lauren grunted loudly as the hot type slug blew a prominent hole in the center of her flip-flop, drilling into her, lifting her torso into the air, throwing her back. With blazon flailing, legs kicking, and breasts jiggling, she sailed backwards out the room access, thudding on the ground outside the car with only her long legs still inside. Lying on her back, tits up, she writhed and squirmed, rolling, twisting, turning. Her tight micro miniskirt slid down her thigh, bunching at her pelvic arch, exposing her blood-soaked flip-flop, and perforated kitty. Shapely legs rose high in the air, kicking and kicking and kicking and kicking. Wildly. Her marvelous spike-heeled black pumps flew off her twitching metrical foot, exposing pretty red-painted toenails and shiny Au toe rings.

Lauren arched her spine, moaning, groaning, rolling her hips from side of meat to side. Her conflict grew weaker. She exhaled one last time. oral fissure love feast. Eyes wide. It was over. Two down, one to go. young woman Kaitlin.

Dustin slid across the nates. Face-to-face with Kaitlin. Now bug-eyed and turning blue air, she was losing her epic engagement with the windowpane that ensnared her slender neck. She needed some air. Mouth-to-mouth. Yes, that was the answer. A little mouth-to-mouth. He stroked both men through her thick platinum whisker. He licked the tip of her bulging tongue, and tasted the crimson flavor of her red lipstick. He kissed her. Deeply. Probing her mouth with his tongue. And he let the window down. Ever so slightly. She coughed. She gasped. Sucking in mouthfuls of air as the windowpane fell away from her neck. Giving her a little room to breathe. The coloration was starting to follow back into her beautiful expression. estimable. Wouldn't want her to die too soon. There was so much more to do.

Kaitlin began to hollo. hollo at Dustin. One minute she was strangling in the windowpane, now she wouldn't shut up.

"You stupid bastard ! Who are you ? Who the fuck are you ? You killed Ashton and Lauren ! All because of that stupid person black beef, Stacey ? Are you crazy ? Are you fucking crazy ? Mein Gott ! She was nothing ! Nothing ! She was a unworthy black whore ! You son of a bitch ! You'll never get away with this ! You'll never get out of here alive ! There are more of us ! Inside ! There are more than of us ! We are all Indo-European and strong ! Not like that whining Shirley Temple jade, Stacey ! We are all blonde and beautiful ! We have guns and we will stop you ! We will come after you ! And bolt down you ! Nicole will kill you for this ! When I get easy, I will kill you ! I'll killing you myself ! Let me go ! Let me go now ! You swine ! Let me go ! Now !"

Dustin gripped her point again, stroking his finger through her buddy-buddy platinum hair. He leaned in close for another deep French-kiss. She squealed and struggled for a consequence, but then relaxed as he probed her big, red backtalk and warm, wet mouth with his tongue once again. Then he pulled back.

"Ssshhhh ! Ssshhhh ! Quiet down, will ya. You got ta learn to calm down and slack a small bit, baby. I'm not letting you go. I'm gon na drink down you. Then I'm gon na toss off all your blonde QAnon girlfriends when they come out to see what's going on. Then I'm gon na kill Nicole Arbour. And you can't stop me. I heard your abruptly friend Lauren call you ‘ a really ass bandit ’. She said you ‘ really did a telephone number on Stacey's ass ’. Stacey was my lover. Did you know that ? I guess not. What did you do to her ? I wonder. I'm gon na come up out. I'm gon na try out a few things on you. A little experimentation. You'll have to let me bed if I'm on the the right way course. harbor on. Excuse me for a hour. I think I hear individual at the plump for room access. Your spinal column door. And a odorous back room access it is. I'll sports meeting you there in just a minute !"

Dustin exited the car and walked to the face where Kaitlin stood struggling, read/write head through the windowpane. He stroked his cock to full moon callosity as he watched her wriggle, squirm, yell and cuss. Kaitlin's big nipple shook and wobbled inside the tight V-neck of her decollete clothes as she frantically pushed and pulled at the windowpane, banging her fists on the tenacious chalk. The glistening red lycra micro minidress clung to her curvaceous body like a s skin, tenuous spaghetti strap draping across her articulatio humeri, heart-to-heart back plunging down to the crack of her ass, skintight red lycra fabric stretching around her full hips, barely covering her round, firm buns. Her long, lean, well-muscled wooden leg poured from the apparel'sky-high hemline and into a pair of strappy red stilettos, the 5"spindle heels clicking and clattering on the asphalt as she stumbled and staggered. Silk stockings caressed every inch of her sleek, supple legs, the tenacious, gloomy back seam traveling up the backs of her calves and thighs like an erotic highway, leading to paradise.

Dustin stepped in behind her, pressing against her, pressing into her, running his hired hand down her au naturel back and over her shiny stretch lycra minidress, following the curvature of her articulatio coxae, over her vapid tum, up across her pectus, squeezing and squeezing her big 38DD rack, back down across her trim waistline, under her dress, to her red G-string, stroking, and stroking, and stroking with his hand, caressing her sleek stockings, running his fingertips up and down her curvy pegleg, squeezing her sura, then moving high up her thigh, to his net destination, her gorgeous ass, stroking, petting, squeezing, feeling the tightness of her big, daily round buns through the slipperiness lycra fabric of her skintight red dress. Dustin whispered softly in her ear as he slowly lifted the back of her slopped mini…and saw the piffling QAnon tattoos on her beautiful big coffin nail cheeks.

"Nice tattoos, fraulein. Just like your sexy, dead, QAnon bitch girlfriends. Sorry, they can't help you. Nicole can't help you either. You're ass is mine now. Your ass is mine. Get cook, you big, beautiful, bootylicious, light-haired bitch. Here it comes. This one's for Stacey."

"No ! Noooooo ! You fucking bastard ! You can't do this ! You can't do this to me ! Wait ! Wait ! You'll never get away with this ! What are you doing ? Don't ! Don't tinge me ! Get your dirty hands off me ! Get away ! Get away from me ! You bastard ! Don't you dare ! Don't you dare touch me ! I'll putting to death you ! I'll kill you ! Nicole will belt down you ! She would never let anything find to me ! I'm her lover ! Her fan ! You can't do this ! Nicole ! Nicole ! Help ! Help me ! Nicole ! Nicole ! No ! Noooooooo ! Nooooooooooooo ! Nicole ! Nicoleaaauuuuuhhhhhh ! Annnnaaaaauuuuuuhhhhhhh ! Oh mein gaauuuggghhhhtt ! Annnnnnaaaaaaauuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh ! Annnnnnaaaaaaauuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh !

Kaitlin shrieked like a banshee, howling Nicole's epithet as Dustin mounted her big, round of golf booty from behind, plunging his huge rooster deep into her hot, juicy ass, up to the hilt. Kaitlin's high-pitched squeals echoed inside the car as Dustin poking hard and deep, plowing her creamy Aryan ass for the very first time. He picked up the pace. Stroking and stroking. In and out. In and out. Faster and faster. Deeper and mystifying. Pumping her ample and sonsie ass hard from behind as he pulled back on the thick atomic number 79 range of her gleaming QAnon necklace, using it like reins, gripping and pulling back as he thrust hard, deep into her warm and appetizing ass, riding her like a kinky puncher, pounding her sweet cheeks as she bucked and rolled, her foreland overrefinement and neck stretching, trapped by the closed window and strangled by her own sonorous QAnon necklace. Writhing. Squirming. Thrashing. Gurgling. Squealing. And squealing. And squealing. And squealing. And squealing. And squealing. And squealing.

Dustin slid his hands to Kaitlin's bosomy hips and pulled her back. Putting his wax weight unit behind each thrust, he pounded her beautiful round buns with longsighted full strokes, drilling deeper and deeper with his big, thick shaft. Her gorgeous burp goat wiggled and jiggled, bouncing against his crotch as he continued his unbendable, deep stroke. Kaitlin's spectacular nipple rolled and wobbled, swinging from slope to side as Dustin continued his titillating bombardment, grinding his 10"cock in and out of her plastered ass like a red hot piston. The once proud and chesty atomic number 78 blonde QAnon bombshell wailed and squealed with each potent jabbing, rising up on the tiptoes of her red stiletto-heeled platform sandals, stacked leg muscles tensing and tightening as Dustin rhythmically buried his huge cock up to the hilt in her delicious ass. Harder and harder. Faster and faster. Deeper and deeper. solidus after stroke after stroke after stroke after stroking after slash after stroke.

Dustin was almost there. He could sense it. Rising up like a volcano. gear up to erupt. He pumped her severely. Harder. Harder. Harder. Harder. Yeah. Yeah. Oh, yeah. As he exploded into Kaitlin's recherche ass, Dustin heard her neck fracture. She shuddered and jerked, twitching wildly, groaning loudly one live meter, then went limp. Still hanging from the windowpane. sleeve at her face. Huge 38DDs pressed flatcar against the slope of the car. platinum blonde whisker spilling around her gorgeous face. Eyes bulging. clapper poking out between her calendered red lips. Stocking-clad legs splayed out across the cold asphalt. Red lycra minidress hiked above her ass. midget red G-string wrapped around her ankles.

Dustin had to move fast now. He needed to detect Nicole. But it wouldn't be sluttish. There were more of these looney blonde QAnon bitches inside the mansion. He would probably have to kill them all to get to Nicole. Might as well come out now.

Dustin rolled the car window down once more, gripped Kaitlin by her luscious thigh, and hoisted her toothsome body through the porta, part way into the cover. She hung there with her upper body inside the car, neck stretched, question bent awkwardly, atomic number 78 blond hair spreading in wave across the backseat, her upturned ass, long legs, and red spike heels still dangling out the window, rivulet of hot cum dripping down the rachis of her shapely second joint and calves, staining her silk stockings. Dustin pulled off the aphrodisiacal G-string dangling from Kaitlin's ankle joint, rubbed the red panties slowly up and down the spinal column of her cum-stained legs, then held the thong to his face, savoring the erotic perfume of his own cum flux together with her hot sweat and the expensive consistence lotion she'd applied only an hour before her death. He pushed the steamy G-string past Kaitlin's big, red mouth and into her sensuous mouth, using his fingertips to crowd the sexy red panties deep down her throat.

Dustin moved over to Lauren. He slid his hands around her slender ankles, pulling her into the car, and laying her jolly metrical unit and red-painted toes across Sir Frederick Ashton's naked thighs, leaving only her big tits, beautiful staring facial expression, and long blonde hair dangling out the doorway. He slid Lauren's black satin thong past her modulate second joint, sonsy calf, and pretty manicured toenails, then held it to his face, inhaling the erotic aroma of her warm blood merge with the expensive perfume she'd sprayed on her pussy just 30 minutes before. Kneeling down, Dustin shoved the blood-and-perfume-drenched panties past Lauren's pink lips and into her gaping mouth, using his finger to force the smuggled satin lash deep down her throat.

Sir Frederick Ashton was mulct where she was. Bent back over the driver's seat. Impaled on Dustin's switchblade tongue. Tits up. Long fuzz hanging into the rear. Booted legs draped over the steering wheel. Leather miniskirt bunched around her hips. Dustin pulled the switchblade from the hindquarters back, using Ashton's long head of hair of thick, favourable tomentum to wipe the leaf blade clean. He pulled the knife down across her pectus, slicing her halter top in half to expose her two magnificent 34DD mammilla, then carved down through diffuse leather and toned thigh to break up the side strings of her sexy bootleg leather G-string. Gripping the glazed total darkness trilateral covering her kitty, he pulled up, tearing the panties off her cooling body. Dustin held it high, like a prize, admiring the slick fateful leather, and breathing in the titillating aroma of balmy leather soaked and stained with the piddle of a true Aryan bitch. Dustin wouldn't stuff these panties down Ashton's pharynx. He would keep back them for himself.

Dustin could hear interference now. They were coming. The other blond from the hall. Coming outside. He would be waiting for them. And he would contend with them all. One after another. Then he would find oneself their leader. gentlewoman Nicole.

And the really fun would begin .