I looked ahead, and not seeing her, redoubling my efforts. It was still far too many seconds later when I arrived at the location I had last seen her,...but she was nowhere to be seen. I quickly scanned the horizon and as I did, she surfaced, her arms thrashing. A moment later, I was there behind her, wrapped my arm around her neck and across her chest. She struggled, but I had learned years ago that a person drowning would often struggle against the grip of a lifeguard, and thus I held her. My pussy walls spasmed in anticipation of being taken to the edge a few times before he would allow me release. I felt him climb back onto the bed near my chest. My pulse quickened as he put something around my neck. I realized it was my collar.He buckled it and moved the buckle around to the back so that the metal loop was to the front. He shifted on the bed again to get into the drawer. I heard the single, short chain being pulled out. It had a clasp on each end. I jumped when I felt. He’d never stood a chance as he was hit from behind. There was no way he could have defended his date but he felt the weight of guilt for her death. He was quickly sinking. Depression.It was a slow process. I think it is much easier to deal with the first three stages of grief than the fourth. Denial, anger, and bargaining are passed through when the mourner realizes death is implacable. It can’t be denied, anger is impotent, and there is really no bargain that can be struck. But depression. " It looks so big," I said. "I got some really slippery lube," she said, taking it out of her nightstand. "Just take your time."She put a generous coating of lube on it and held it while I started working into my pussy. I almost backed out because it really stretched me out, but once the head was in me, it was just a matter of slowly feeding it in with slow strokes, going a little deeper each time until I felt it bottom out. The last four inches or so felt like they were all the way into my.