Lisa raped and drowned

Lisa struggles valiantly as you unbutton the fly of her jeans. She's
hardly more than a girl; frightening her isn't even a challenge. She's
terrified, and you haven't even gotten started yet. That's how you like
it: a face so young, wet with tears of fear; a fragile, supple mind whose
contours are easily molded through the judicious application of pain and
terror.
You're glad she's fighting. It's always better when they fight. She
is, of course, doomed anyway. Her wrists are cuffed quite securely behind
her back. It's amazing what you can accomplish with a few ounces of steel.
The cuffs go around a girl's slender wrists, and as of that moment she's
dead. There's no escape, no parole, no pardon. The bracelets click shut
and her young life ends. Simple.
You lick your lips as you peel tight blue denim off sleek, pubescent
hips. Beneath the jeans are standard-issue teenaged girl's white cotton
panties. You notice she's wearing a pad, but that presents no problem.
You're planning an immersion, after all, and women stop menstruating when
submerged. You shuck the pants down over her skinny legs, then peel back
the panties. There's almost no blood: it's a light day for her. In a
way, you're glad she's having her period; it proves that your victim is a
woman, not a little girl. Your heart quickens at the sight of her sweet
puss. It's very small, quite hairless and undoubtedly tight--you can
almost feel it around you, squeezing your cock with the desperate expertise
which comes only to the dying woman!
You leave her tank top. She looks cute in it, firm proud breasts
pressing insistently against tight, white cotton. And you know it'll look
even more fabulous once it's wet. Thin, soaked, translucent cotton
clinging to hard, round teenaged breaststhe idea is too beautiful to
bear.
You carry her half-naked body to the tank. She speaks, begging for
mercy, describing in detail why she needs to live. You strap the weight
belt around her waist. You advise her to take a deep breath; when she
complies, you drop her into the tank.
She has good, strong lungs, so you figure you have several minutes.
Calmly, you lift your oxygen tank and slip the straps over your shoulders.
You take the regulator into your mouth, pull the mask over your face and
begin to breathe. You appreciate breathing more than usual, knowing that
for Lisa, it is now an unattainable luxury.
Naked except for your tank and mask, you dive. The cold water feels
strange on your cock, but it does nothing to diminish your erection. The
thought of the beautiful, helpless teen struggling and drowning below has
given you an indestructible hard-on. Only Lisa's tightness can quench
it.
You reach the bottom of the tank. Her eyes lock with yours. You can
see in her eyes that this girl is beyond terror. She feels so many darkly
magnificent things: the unendurable certainty of her own death, the horror
at having been murdered and yes, the fear of rape, even here, even now.
You take a moment to assess her body. Her breasts are everything you'd
hoped they would be. You've never seen better nipples: huge and pink,
they've been made viciously hard by the cold water. You grab her waist
roughly. There's barely anything there; teenagers are so beautifully
skinny! You pull her towards you, seize her hips, guide her down onto your
throbbing, aching member.
Inside her you find paradise. She's wonderfully tight; you can't move
inside her at all, but then you don't need to. You relax and let her dying
body do the work. Her spasms and convulsions are incredible. It's so much
better than willing flesh. You caress her taut young breasts through the
wet fabric of her top.
You can feel her pain, and it is vast. They say that drowning is an
easy death, but you know that's a lie. You see that her lungs are burning,
that they're about to explode. She's dying.
It's too soon; you're not ready. You remove the regulator from your
mouth and force it into hers. It's easy; her lips are already parted, and
she's too weak to resist. She drinks the oxygen down gratefully, without
stopping to ask why you're doing this for her. You let her draw a few
good, deep breaths. Then you pull the air supply out of her mouth and
return it to your own.
This breath of canned air has rejuvenated her, and now she fucks you
with renewed vigor. Her body is perfect, and the pleasure you draw from it
is immense. Her soft, brown hair floats lazily around her sweet face,
forming a halo in honor of the angel she will shortly become. Brows
arched, she begs with dark eyes: please, another breath! Just one more!
You shake your head. No. One respite is all she gets. Now you're ready.
The seconds tick by, each one an eternity of ecstasy. The two of you
are alone in your silent aquatic world, tender lovers untroubled by the
conceit of consent. You feel the pressure build within her, in her lungs,
in her belly. She needs so badly to breathe, but she can't. And it hurts.
With each passing moment, it hurts more. The pain is starting to overwhelm
her. She tosses her head frantically from side to side. Her turgid
nipples quiver. She can feel it coming. She knows that any moment now she
will draw a lungful of icy water, and then it will be over. You strive not
to come. Not yet, not yether spasming meat is exquisite, and it's
almost impossible to resist, but you must, for she's not quite there yet
She plants her bare feet firmly on the floor of the tank. Arching her
back, she thrusts her firm breasts out, tosses her head backand tries to
breathe water. You feel her body rebel against it. And then comes the
best part of all: you feel her strong, supple young body begin to die.
She convulses in response to pain too astonishing to believe. You feel it
all. And at last it's time: you shoot into her, letting her dying body
drain every last drop of semen from your relentless cock.
As you withdraw from her, you remove the weight belt from her waist and
let her corpse float freely for a time.