He was a killer.

A cold blooded murderer and no one could stop him. He loved nothing more than to tear up the made up faces of the cheap little tramps that approached him in the dark of night. Only then, after he had blood on his hands could he go home and make himself cum. He always came hard after killing. It was his get off, his erotic thought, the one thing that drove him over the edge in to sweet orgasm.

He smeared the girl’s lipstick over her stricken face and then dropped her broken body on the ground. He laughed quietly and took off his leather gloves, pushing them into the pocket of his black PVC pants. Then he calmly lit a cigarette and walked back to the main road and his car.