He did not struggle when the stocking wrapped in silken whiteness across his neck. He pressed hard and flush against him and the little man thought it was all fun and games.
He was deadly serious.
He fought back and the silk snarled in twain; a large, long-fingered hand replaced the stocking and squeezed. His standing cock was proof; he could not protest he enjoyed dying.
He made damn sure blood bloomed in the eyes before letting go.
That morning: the second stocking was a noose around its neck; a sailor's knot securing the limp body to the bed post.