1. The Kid Killer Tapes # 2 The Cunt Tammy


    Date: 2/18/2017, Categories: Dark Fantasy, Anal, Blowjob, Cruelty, Death, Extreme, Murder, Non-consensual sex, Oral Sex, Rape, Young, Author: 90lbsofDynamite, Rating: 85, Source: sexstories.com

    they got to Stanton’s cell, the guard couldn’t find his handcuff key. He called another guard. Stanton stuck his hands through the bars and the guard unlocked the manacles. Stanton had the most pleasant look on his face. “I’m going to break your neck one of these days,” his mundane apathetic attitude was what was so very frightening. It sounded so cold-blooded that the guard nearly pissed himself. Jason Stanton had killed one guard and two inmates in his one year in prison. Quite a feet when most days he spends 21 hours in solitary. Lying on his bunk that night Jason began to cough. He sat upright covering his mouth his head down. He kept coughing and turned and feel to his knees. Then he stopped and a disembodied voice came over the intercom. “You okay Stanton? Do you need a doctor?” “No, I’m fine,” rolling his eyes to the camera he smiled an evil, sick smile. Then he laid back down looking down at the small key in the palm of his hand. Clinching his fist around the little metal key, “I’m going to really fuck up that psychiatrist, then the guard, and finally the little girls of the doctor.” He thought to himself, “Fuck I’m going to soak in those little cunts blood.” After ...
    that he would start over with the other identity he had created. Too bad about his wife being in prison. She had always known the risk. The whore had tits now what good is a bitch with tits? No, the best sluts had just a little beginning mound for their boobs and a virgin hairless pussy that was all he liked. He dreamed of fucking and killing little girls all night. The following morning, Doctor Elizabeth Tucker looked over her notes. There were some notes on his varied disorders, his obsessive lust for little girls, his pedophilia, his lack of real emotion and empathy. But, most of the notes were simple statements of her own emotional thoughts. “I want to kill this bastard myself,” was repeated several times. “I wish I could shove a big rod up his ass till I ruptured him inside.” There mixed in among her professional mumbo jumbo were the words, “Burn in hell. Sick fucking psycho.” Turning to her computer she typed her official report omitting her personal feelings. Checking her schedule she saw she didn’t meet again with him until Monday. Good, she hated that sound proof locked room and dreaded the moments she was there with him. She always felt so unclean when she left the room.
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