leatherdude97
Deviant Killer
- Joined
- Nov 19, 2011
- Messages
- 109
- Location
- Florida
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The Perfect Crime # 3
We get a call from a guy in Florida about a shipment of money coming in to one of the local banks. It is a large shipment of cash for an event at the local speedway, a NASCAR race. Heavy crowds are expected and the money will be used for change, so it consists mostly of singles, five, ten, twenty and fifty dollar bills. They are delivered on wooden pallets, wrapped in plastic. Total amount per pallet: $385,000.
We rent a car and head down to Florida. The rental will mingle with the thousands of other rentals in town driven by the redneck racers. These rednecks are our cover.
We roll into town on I-95 about 3am on Tuesday night. Our GPS points us right to our contact’s house in an expensive subdivision. The guard at the gate gives me a bunch of shit but he finally calls and gets the ok to let us through. This fucker has pissed me off enough to mark for later actions, if at all possible.
The GPS directs us straight to the contact’s house, a big five bedroom house and four car garage on the river. As we approach the house, you get on your 2-way and make contact with our benefactor. You tell him to open the garage door. One of the garage doors begins to rise and I drive the car into it. The door starts down almost immediately.
We get out in our work clothes, biker jackets with a belt, 501 Levi’s and motorcycle boots. Our host shows up and welcomes us. He is about fifty, fat and fem. This guy is as queer as a three dollar bill. We get right down to business.
This guy is a local businessman who owns some gift shops and other shit, a fairly lucrative business to support his lifestyle. He needs one hundred large right away and has a pretty good amount of info about the job.
He tells us that the money will be on pallets waiting for the armored car pickup at 3:00pm on Friday. By 2:30, one of the pallets will be left on a forklift at the rear rollup door. The controls for the door are on the left side of the door, he says, pointing to the location on a floor plan of the bank. He mentions that we don’t have to worry about security cameras because the east end of the parking lot has no coverage. He is surprisingly thorough and knowledgeable about the security. He also knows of a deaf old lady who owns a van large enough to handle a full-sized pallet. It is a older one, so it won’t stand out. Plus, the old lady never drives anymore.
We all agree that at 2:35pm, you and I will drive the van into the lot and park it out of camera range. From then on it is up to us.
We thank the fag and go the bedroom to talk it over.
* * *
In the bedroom, we sit down on the bed and I put my hand to your face. We begin to caress each other, at first gently, but continuing to escalate until we are swapping spit and are rubbing each other’s hard cocks through our levis. We kiss each others face, our spit mingling and the smells making us even more hard. We both drop our levis and I take my wet hand and wrap it around your cock and balls. My hand goes to my face and I bury my face in my hand to inhale the smells of spit and the smell of your cock. You do the same to me and it increases our desire for each other ten-fold. You get up and take off your levis and boots. You put on a pair of shiny black leather chaps and your boots. I push you back on the bed and lift your strong legs up and rest them on my shoulders. I shove my throbbing cock up inside your ass and start fucking you. You are jerking off with the pleasure of feeling me inside you. I lean forward and start swapping spit again. We fuck slowly, at a measured pace, savoring our combined smells. When we both come, it is simultaneous, a double explosion of come, lust and complete satisfaction.
Finally we get some sleep before starting on all the scut work to be done.
* * *
Our weapons of choice are simple, yet powerful. Your Ruger 9 mm in black is perfect. Your hand-loaded bullets are your trademark. My nickel-plated S & W .357 four inch is my favorite. I shoot light loads and sometimes use .38’s since they work fine and make even less noise. However I always keep a couple of 158 grain hot loads in the gun as the last two, just in case. I have a .25 Titan semiauto in an ankle holster as my backup, but you are carrying a standard army issue good old .45 ACP. With hot loads it has the power of a .44, but it sure has a lot of class. You carry it in the front of your pants, under your belt buckle and the jacket. It looks like you have a paunch. It feels good near your cock, almost like a second one, your power. Total power.
Over the next few days we steal the old lady’s van, which was funny because we must have made noise and the old bag opened the door and called for her cat.
You looked at me, smiled and meowed like a cat. As she started to come down the stairs you threw something in her direction which must have scared her because she went back upstairs, slammed and locked the door. We waited until she was asleep and saw the lights go out before I punched the ignition and we got the van.
We took the van back to the house. The smart fuck security asshole wasn’t on duty. I was in a mood. The fag had given us a remote for the garage so we drove the van into an empty stall and closed the door.
Over the next couple of days we looked over the prints, sat watch on the local police, checking out coverage areas and shift change times. I installed a gps in the old lady’s van. Everything was looking good.
* * *
Finally, Friday arrived. I got in the shower first. It was a large shower stall, large enough for four or five people. While I am soaping up, you turn off the light in the shower, open the door and step in. I just figure that you must really want a shower. You don’t say anything for a moment. The soap is in my eyes and I can’t quite see clearly. I feel your hand on my shoulder. Your hand is strong and you squeeze the top of my shoulder more intensely. You reach for my soapy cock and I reach for yours. It is just two really tight, alpha and alpha sub lovers, soon to be in a life-threatening situation that neither of us may survive. Knowing that, we stand there, in that big shower, jerking each other off, more like two kids experimenting in adolescent innocence. We both come about the same time. We embrace for a moment, then rinse off, and grab some towels.
The plan was for us to split it three ways. This way the fag boy would have some money left over and we would do very nicely.
When we got downstairs the guy wasn’t around. We got our stuff ready and I went down to check out the old lady’s van. It wasn’t in bad shape. It was an older Chevy with a reliable 350 cubic inch V8. It sounded strong, but I did a few things. I used the guy’s compressor to bring up the tire pressures just in case I needed to make any fast moves. I checked out the parking brake and just about anything else I might need to use. Parking brakes help you make great square turns. Upstairs, you were preparing the weaponry by laying everything out and cleaning all the guns.
At 2pm we emptied our bladders, got a cold drink and went down to the garage. We both got into the van. We had studied all the possible routes to get back to the house and finally decided on a route we were both ok with.
The bank was on a quiet street in the downtown area, if you could call it that. It was a good sized building with crappy security. An ancient retired cop as a security guard is a great idea, for us. I figure he’ll probably have a heart attack if he sees your Ruger.
We park the van in the corner of the parking lot, leaving the front doors cracked. I open both back doors and swing them wide open. It’s just a short distance across the parking lot and we were on the top step of the lobby entrance in a few seconds. We pull our caps down, pull up our masks and push the doors open together. We glance at each other and nod.
Five seconds and we are through the lobby and up to the teller door. We know already that the electric strike lock is a cheap Folger-Rite lock. A teller is supposed to push a button to let you in. Although it is a heavy door, it readily cracks open with one kick of your left boot. No fancy maglocks or other fuckin’ shit here.
I grab the nearest teller bitch and put the cold steel of my .357 against the side of her head. In a carefully modulated voice that is not too loud, I tell everyone to shut the fuck up and we won’t hurt anybody. You move straight to the rear of the building, heading for the loading just as one of the security guards, a young one we hadn’t seen before, came around a corner. And he was packing. As he raised his hand with a .38 Colt Chief’s Special in it, you swing up your 9 mil and fire. The impact of the bullet knocks him back against the wall. You look at him for a second and you see that he’s done. There is a perfect red circle between his eyes. He slides down the wall. You continue on without missing a step and see the forklift at the rollup door, just as we expected. You hit the button for the door, and jump on the lift, fire it up and drive the lift and pallet out of the loading dock door and into the parking lot. You call on the 2-way to check up on me as you drop the pallet in the van. You back up the forklift about ten feet to give the van some room, turn it sideways, pull out the key and throw it across the lot. You jump in the passenger side door and reach over and start the van.
Meanwhile, inside the tellers’ area I remain in control, at least for a couple of minutes. Then, one the younger managers, twenty-five or so, dressed in a suit approaches me, cautiously. I tell him to back the fuck up. He has one of those attitudes that he thinks he can talk me out of this. This stupid fuck keeps talking to me about not killing the teller that I’ve got as a hostage. What a dumb fuck. He acted like I was some kind of idiot crook or something, so when I got your call on the 2-way to go, I told him I wouldn’t kill a lady. He seemed encouraged right up to the second I put a .38 right between his fuckin’ eyes, knowing full well he would come in his pants before his body hit the ground. Just a little present from me.
I walked quickly out of the lobby, went to the van and got in. I pulled us out slowly but firmly, making no sudden moves and slipped into the race traffic.
After a few minutes of following the main drag, we began our job of working through the side streets. During race weeks, local people use the side streets to get around the traffic. At one corner you suddenly grab my shoulder and I see the cop at the next intersection to the right. I stop short of the corner and his view is blocked by the trees. He moves on and so do we, working our way back to the house. Finally we drive through the gates with our pass and put the van in the garage. As I shut off the motor, we look at each other and give quick grins and smack hands.
We go upstairs and enter the kitchen to wash up and eat. I grab us a couple of beers from the giant refrigerator. I thought to myself that this guy must have been really rich at one time. Then the fat fucker appeared from the bedroom area. I noticed he was swishing a little more than usual. He asked how it went and we told him the money was in the van in the garage and we still needed to unpack it. He looked greedily at us and asked to see it.
At that exact moment, a boy, probably only 11 or 12, dressed only in his underwear walked unsteadily down the hall from the bedroom. He blinked in the light and looked dazed and scared. We realized exactly what was going on, that this fucking pedophile was using and selling kids for sex.
I pulled my .357, spun the chamber to put one of the big boys ready for firing.
I told the guy that I was gay and faggots like him not only make me sick, they give all of us a bad name. I put a 158 grain fully jacketed bullet directly in the center of the fucker’s forehead. The bullet made a nice big round red hole. And because it wasn’t between his eyes he just fuckin’ dropped over, dead before he hit the ground. No chances for this fucker to enjoy his last second on earth. You looked at me and asked what the hell I did that for. I shrugged my shoulders and said I was in a bad mood.
We looked at the poor kid, who by now was scared out of his wits, and told him to go home. He’s probably still running.
We are both turned on by all of what has happened. Our cocks are rock hard from all the gunplay. To us, the gun is a phallic symbol, representing our cocks. The act of shooting someone is akin to fucking them, only in this case, the bullet is the way of penetrating the recipient. We both get off the most at putting bullet holes into some guy’s leather. The sight of the bullet holes in leather is very hot. I especially like headshots, sort of like fucking the guy in the head. We are together in our s&m fantasies.
We transferred the money, all of it, to the rental car, wiped down the room where we stayed even though we wore gloves most of the time when we were on a job. On the way out of the subdivision, I was driving the rental. I spotted the security guard that had given me the $5 an hour attitude. You spotted him too, pulled your Ruger from under the seat and as we stopped at the guard shack, the fucker waved at us through the window. He had obviously mistaken us for residents in the dark. You told me to sit back. When you said that, I ducked. You leaned over, fired the Ruger four times and blew the security guard fuck out of the other side of his little shack. I looked at you and said thanks for the favor.
We headed north out of Florida and don’t plan a return trip for a while. But, it’s always possible.
Epilogue
Anyway, everything did come out ok for mostly everyone; the dead fag child molester was exposed, as is the ring of pedophiles he was managing. The security guard at the bank was apparently NOT a security guard at all, but a fellow bank robber who had been trying the same score. The bank vice president I killed was found to be implicated in a bank fraud scheme. The only one who was killed for fun was the security guard at the subdivision.
And as we drove up I-75 with $385,000 in the car, I gave you a kiss on the cheek. You looked at me and as I started to laugh, you began to laugh too.
We fuckin’ ROCK! [/INDENT]
The Perfect Crime # 3
We get a call from a guy in Florida about a shipment of money coming in to one of the local banks. It is a large shipment of cash for an event at the local speedway, a NASCAR race. Heavy crowds are expected and the money will be used for change, so it consists mostly of singles, five, ten, twenty and fifty dollar bills. They are delivered on wooden pallets, wrapped in plastic. Total amount per pallet: $385,000.
We rent a car and head down to Florida. The rental will mingle with the thousands of other rentals in town driven by the redneck racers. These rednecks are our cover.
We roll into town on I-95 about 3am on Tuesday night. Our GPS points us right to our contact’s house in an expensive subdivision. The guard at the gate gives me a bunch of shit but he finally calls and gets the ok to let us through. This fucker has pissed me off enough to mark for later actions, if at all possible.
The GPS directs us straight to the contact’s house, a big five bedroom house and four car garage on the river. As we approach the house, you get on your 2-way and make contact with our benefactor. You tell him to open the garage door. One of the garage doors begins to rise and I drive the car into it. The door starts down almost immediately.
We get out in our work clothes, biker jackets with a belt, 501 Levi’s and motorcycle boots. Our host shows up and welcomes us. He is about fifty, fat and fem. This guy is as queer as a three dollar bill. We get right down to business.
This guy is a local businessman who owns some gift shops and other shit, a fairly lucrative business to support his lifestyle. He needs one hundred large right away and has a pretty good amount of info about the job.
He tells us that the money will be on pallets waiting for the armored car pickup at 3:00pm on Friday. By 2:30, one of the pallets will be left on a forklift at the rear rollup door. The controls for the door are on the left side of the door, he says, pointing to the location on a floor plan of the bank. He mentions that we don’t have to worry about security cameras because the east end of the parking lot has no coverage. He is surprisingly thorough and knowledgeable about the security. He also knows of a deaf old lady who owns a van large enough to handle a full-sized pallet. It is a older one, so it won’t stand out. Plus, the old lady never drives anymore.
We all agree that at 2:35pm, you and I will drive the van into the lot and park it out of camera range. From then on it is up to us.
We thank the fag and go the bedroom to talk it over.
* * *
In the bedroom, we sit down on the bed and I put my hand to your face. We begin to caress each other, at first gently, but continuing to escalate until we are swapping spit and are rubbing each other’s hard cocks through our levis. We kiss each others face, our spit mingling and the smells making us even more hard. We both drop our levis and I take my wet hand and wrap it around your cock and balls. My hand goes to my face and I bury my face in my hand to inhale the smells of spit and the smell of your cock. You do the same to me and it increases our desire for each other ten-fold. You get up and take off your levis and boots. You put on a pair of shiny black leather chaps and your boots. I push you back on the bed and lift your strong legs up and rest them on my shoulders. I shove my throbbing cock up inside your ass and start fucking you. You are jerking off with the pleasure of feeling me inside you. I lean forward and start swapping spit again. We fuck slowly, at a measured pace, savoring our combined smells. When we both come, it is simultaneous, a double explosion of come, lust and complete satisfaction.
Finally we get some sleep before starting on all the scut work to be done.
* * *
Our weapons of choice are simple, yet powerful. Your Ruger 9 mm in black is perfect. Your hand-loaded bullets are your trademark. My nickel-plated S & W .357 four inch is my favorite. I shoot light loads and sometimes use .38’s since they work fine and make even less noise. However I always keep a couple of 158 grain hot loads in the gun as the last two, just in case. I have a .25 Titan semiauto in an ankle holster as my backup, but you are carrying a standard army issue good old .45 ACP. With hot loads it has the power of a .44, but it sure has a lot of class. You carry it in the front of your pants, under your belt buckle and the jacket. It looks like you have a paunch. It feels good near your cock, almost like a second one, your power. Total power.
Over the next few days we steal the old lady’s van, which was funny because we must have made noise and the old bag opened the door and called for her cat.
You looked at me, smiled and meowed like a cat. As she started to come down the stairs you threw something in her direction which must have scared her because she went back upstairs, slammed and locked the door. We waited until she was asleep and saw the lights go out before I punched the ignition and we got the van.
We took the van back to the house. The smart fuck security asshole wasn’t on duty. I was in a mood. The fag had given us a remote for the garage so we drove the van into an empty stall and closed the door.
Over the next couple of days we looked over the prints, sat watch on the local police, checking out coverage areas and shift change times. I installed a gps in the old lady’s van. Everything was looking good.
* * *
Finally, Friday arrived. I got in the shower first. It was a large shower stall, large enough for four or five people. While I am soaping up, you turn off the light in the shower, open the door and step in. I just figure that you must really want a shower. You don’t say anything for a moment. The soap is in my eyes and I can’t quite see clearly. I feel your hand on my shoulder. Your hand is strong and you squeeze the top of my shoulder more intensely. You reach for my soapy cock and I reach for yours. It is just two really tight, alpha and alpha sub lovers, soon to be in a life-threatening situation that neither of us may survive. Knowing that, we stand there, in that big shower, jerking each other off, more like two kids experimenting in adolescent innocence. We both come about the same time. We embrace for a moment, then rinse off, and grab some towels.
The plan was for us to split it three ways. This way the fag boy would have some money left over and we would do very nicely.
When we got downstairs the guy wasn’t around. We got our stuff ready and I went down to check out the old lady’s van. It wasn’t in bad shape. It was an older Chevy with a reliable 350 cubic inch V8. It sounded strong, but I did a few things. I used the guy’s compressor to bring up the tire pressures just in case I needed to make any fast moves. I checked out the parking brake and just about anything else I might need to use. Parking brakes help you make great square turns. Upstairs, you were preparing the weaponry by laying everything out and cleaning all the guns.
At 2pm we emptied our bladders, got a cold drink and went down to the garage. We both got into the van. We had studied all the possible routes to get back to the house and finally decided on a route we were both ok with.
The bank was on a quiet street in the downtown area, if you could call it that. It was a good sized building with crappy security. An ancient retired cop as a security guard is a great idea, for us. I figure he’ll probably have a heart attack if he sees your Ruger.
We park the van in the corner of the parking lot, leaving the front doors cracked. I open both back doors and swing them wide open. It’s just a short distance across the parking lot and we were on the top step of the lobby entrance in a few seconds. We pull our caps down, pull up our masks and push the doors open together. We glance at each other and nod.
Five seconds and we are through the lobby and up to the teller door. We know already that the electric strike lock is a cheap Folger-Rite lock. A teller is supposed to push a button to let you in. Although it is a heavy door, it readily cracks open with one kick of your left boot. No fancy maglocks or other fuckin’ shit here.
I grab the nearest teller bitch and put the cold steel of my .357 against the side of her head. In a carefully modulated voice that is not too loud, I tell everyone to shut the fuck up and we won’t hurt anybody. You move straight to the rear of the building, heading for the loading just as one of the security guards, a young one we hadn’t seen before, came around a corner. And he was packing. As he raised his hand with a .38 Colt Chief’s Special in it, you swing up your 9 mil and fire. The impact of the bullet knocks him back against the wall. You look at him for a second and you see that he’s done. There is a perfect red circle between his eyes. He slides down the wall. You continue on without missing a step and see the forklift at the rollup door, just as we expected. You hit the button for the door, and jump on the lift, fire it up and drive the lift and pallet out of the loading dock door and into the parking lot. You call on the 2-way to check up on me as you drop the pallet in the van. You back up the forklift about ten feet to give the van some room, turn it sideways, pull out the key and throw it across the lot. You jump in the passenger side door and reach over and start the van.
Meanwhile, inside the tellers’ area I remain in control, at least for a couple of minutes. Then, one the younger managers, twenty-five or so, dressed in a suit approaches me, cautiously. I tell him to back the fuck up. He has one of those attitudes that he thinks he can talk me out of this. This stupid fuck keeps talking to me about not killing the teller that I’ve got as a hostage. What a dumb fuck. He acted like I was some kind of idiot crook or something, so when I got your call on the 2-way to go, I told him I wouldn’t kill a lady. He seemed encouraged right up to the second I put a .38 right between his fuckin’ eyes, knowing full well he would come in his pants before his body hit the ground. Just a little present from me.
I walked quickly out of the lobby, went to the van and got in. I pulled us out slowly but firmly, making no sudden moves and slipped into the race traffic.
After a few minutes of following the main drag, we began our job of working through the side streets. During race weeks, local people use the side streets to get around the traffic. At one corner you suddenly grab my shoulder and I see the cop at the next intersection to the right. I stop short of the corner and his view is blocked by the trees. He moves on and so do we, working our way back to the house. Finally we drive through the gates with our pass and put the van in the garage. As I shut off the motor, we look at each other and give quick grins and smack hands.
We go upstairs and enter the kitchen to wash up and eat. I grab us a couple of beers from the giant refrigerator. I thought to myself that this guy must have been really rich at one time. Then the fat fucker appeared from the bedroom area. I noticed he was swishing a little more than usual. He asked how it went and we told him the money was in the van in the garage and we still needed to unpack it. He looked greedily at us and asked to see it.
At that exact moment, a boy, probably only 11 or 12, dressed only in his underwear walked unsteadily down the hall from the bedroom. He blinked in the light and looked dazed and scared. We realized exactly what was going on, that this fucking pedophile was using and selling kids for sex.
I pulled my .357, spun the chamber to put one of the big boys ready for firing.
I told the guy that I was gay and faggots like him not only make me sick, they give all of us a bad name. I put a 158 grain fully jacketed bullet directly in the center of the fucker’s forehead. The bullet made a nice big round red hole. And because it wasn’t between his eyes he just fuckin’ dropped over, dead before he hit the ground. No chances for this fucker to enjoy his last second on earth. You looked at me and asked what the hell I did that for. I shrugged my shoulders and said I was in a bad mood.
We looked at the poor kid, who by now was scared out of his wits, and told him to go home. He’s probably still running.
We are both turned on by all of what has happened. Our cocks are rock hard from all the gunplay. To us, the gun is a phallic symbol, representing our cocks. The act of shooting someone is akin to fucking them, only in this case, the bullet is the way of penetrating the recipient. We both get off the most at putting bullet holes into some guy’s leather. The sight of the bullet holes in leather is very hot. I especially like headshots, sort of like fucking the guy in the head. We are together in our s&m fantasies.
We transferred the money, all of it, to the rental car, wiped down the room where we stayed even though we wore gloves most of the time when we were on a job. On the way out of the subdivision, I was driving the rental. I spotted the security guard that had given me the $5 an hour attitude. You spotted him too, pulled your Ruger from under the seat and as we stopped at the guard shack, the fucker waved at us through the window. He had obviously mistaken us for residents in the dark. You told me to sit back. When you said that, I ducked. You leaned over, fired the Ruger four times and blew the security guard fuck out of the other side of his little shack. I looked at you and said thanks for the favor.
We headed north out of Florida and don’t plan a return trip for a while. But, it’s always possible.
Epilogue
Anyway, everything did come out ok for mostly everyone; the dead fag child molester was exposed, as is the ring of pedophiles he was managing. The security guard at the bank was apparently NOT a security guard at all, but a fellow bank robber who had been trying the same score. The bank vice president I killed was found to be implicated in a bank fraud scheme. The only one who was killed for fun was the security guard at the subdivision.
And as we drove up I-75 with $385,000 in the car, I gave you a kiss on the cheek. You looked at me and as I started to laugh, you began to laugh too.
We fuckin’ ROCK! [/INDENT]
