As a teacher, Smith had been required to take regular instruction in CPR. Now, as his cock slowly deflated, dribbling cum, he bent over the girl and went to work nurse rape sex. After the third

cardiac massage she suddenly coughed, a fountain of jism erupting from her mouth and splattering

on her face. Smith rolled her on her side, so she could breath without ingesting more spooge,

then stood over her in triumph. He raised his hands exultantly overhead.

"I fucked her to death," he cried, "and brought her back to life! I AM A GOD!"

Chuckling merrily at his blasphemy, Smith filled the girl's hat with water and cleaned her

up as best he could. He then washed himself off and dressed in clean prison garb--this was the

laundry, after all--and, when Holly regained consciousness, he uncuffed her and helped her into

her clothes. The dog was asleep in the corner. Smith picked up the knife.

"Now, Miss Holly Argent," he said. "I presume you planned to sneak out of this joint

before your daddy's hit man arrived. Am I right?"

The girl nodded mutely, her vocal chords too battered to allow her to speak.

"Fine. We'll proceed according to plan. Only now you're taking me with you. I've got a

little score to settle with daddy Argent. Move."

Holly was still a little wobbly on her legs, and Smith had to catch her from falling a few

times as she led him by secret ways out of the prison. But within fifteen minutes they were safely

in the girl's Land Rover, driving away in moonlight, Smith at the wheel. His captive, handcuffed

to the door handle, slept in the passenger seat. Smith turned on the radio, holding down the

search button until he found a station playing the second Brandenburg Concerto.