As her hands squeezed his windpipe, she could feel him twitch between her thighs. She sat on top of him still, naked, his penis inside her. He was tied to the bed, hand and foot, and had no way of fighting her. He tried to push her off with his hips but was already too weak. Slowly his life faded. His eyes glazed over. His lips turned the blue of death and his body temperature plummeted. As she released her hands, his body expelled the air he held in his lungs; his head rolled gently to the side. She had picked him up earlier in a bar across the road from her motel room. He had been easy. He was a lonely man, drowning his sorrows from a failed relationship. She walked in and captured his heart. She was wearing enough makeup to hide the burn on her cheek and wore a filmy dress to show off her body. After a few drinks, their conversation turned to sex. He drunkenly confided in her, that he had always wanted to be tied to a bed while a beautiful woman rode him.
