His fingers went faster, exploring the inside of her. Bending, thrusting and probing as if they had gone mad. When the thumb started rubbing her clit,...she did her best to mentally detach herself from her frail situation and think only of how to get out of it unharmed. It was so hard to do. Her pussy had become nothing more than a mass of throbbing nerves. She had never realized exactly when her body had betrayed her mind and became a willing participant. She only knew that it was rolling. There is no sound from Kirsty’s flat.Like a waiting predator he sits in the silence.Twenty minutes later the door to the street opens and he glances at the clock. It reads 04:14.Silently he moves to his front door turning off the lights as he passes the switch. There are two sets of feet climbing the stairs and hushed voices though he knows it is Kirsty long before he hears her, or sees her through the spy hole.Behind her comes the bald head of the black man from the dance floor. The cold lake. More

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