In the upscale wealthy village of El Rancho Grande, near the gulf shores of the sprawling metropolis of Spanish Point, the mall of malls was waking up. Piled high in the sky, like a modern tower of babbling richness, it boasted six levels of opulence. Meanwhile, on the ground floor level, the food court and main concourse, I continued my vigilance. Surveillance was invigorated by the recent sexual liaison with my friend Rosa, who owned and managed the exotic lingerie shop.
When her boyfriend arrived, I was already out of her and out of her store. Rosa's dark eyes, curvy shape and sensual smile sent me on my way. Neither employees, nor intimate partner were the least bit concerned. I was a sneaky deceptive son of bitch. One life is not enough to do it all, and no moment should be missed to embrace every breath of sinful delights. Not only that, I was also a contract killer. Most of the time, the U.S. government paid my expenses. Other times, freelance work kept me busy. I rationalized I only terminated the bad guys.
Today, for the local criminal justice, through a series of back channels, my private consulting brought me here. I was hunting a special kind of evil. My specialty was human predators who had a serious need to be out of the gene pool. As such, I chose my quarry with care. Sometimes my services were pro bono as public service. Usually, I relished in tracking the evil ones who got away with their crimes because they were above the criminal justice system. This generally applied to the wealthy, the successful, and the upwardly mobile, who committed more crimes and corruption in one day than the street criminals committed in one year.
On the issue of evil, all that means is the bad things people do to others and animals. To me, there's no such thing as the supernatural, the occult of any other bullshit related to magical doctrines of one sort or another. Precisely, its magical thinking, sometimes called stupidity. That's just part of the cover story people like to cloak their real intentions. Often, such are the proclivities for most of us, fuck or be fucked, feast, fight, and frolic, forage for the real meaning that haunts our temporal existence. I prefer the fucking to just about everything else.
Life is in the moment, as the quest for transformation offers options for the intrigue of free will. Naturally, there are caveats and consequences to exercising liberation and freedom of expression. Others will disagree, criticize and challenge the individuality of actions and perspectives. They, the proverbial them, clinging to the herd, the mainstream, the normalcy.
Stuck in their fears of nonconformity, they will oppose and betray you if they get a chance. But, like everything else, there are exceptions. When beliefs are threatened dangerous things happen, as hope springs eternal in the emotional neediness of immediate gratification for the vast majority of the flock. They are afraid so they act foolishly. To the endless array of foolhardy arrogance, sexuality becomes a weapon to do harm in a number of ways. Regardless of the social mantra, sex is the primal motivation for all human intentions for good or evil.
Speaking of an example of sexual weaponization, when sex becomes destructive, the quarry I sought appeared in the main concourse of the mall. A glance at my phone brought up a photo file. Right on schedule, his habits were predictable. Children's day at the mall. Here he was waiting for a target of opportunity. Rico Pequeño, aka Dick Small, retired congressman, local political activist, and pedophile. With cunningly clever lawyers, he'd escaped the system many times.
Although out of office, as a deacon in his church, he held significant political and commercial power at the local level. His name was the bronze plaque dedicating the mall. My beginning again would ensure his terminal retirement and a fitting place for his demise. So, the instrument of cure for his alleged affliction, as testified to by several practitioners in the pseudosciences, should be appropriate for his death. Let's see he's raped kids, he likes strangulation, handcuffs and torture. He has a knife collection. I'd already thought of that one.
"Hi, Mr. Lance," a sweet soft female voice whisper to me. Tall slim, blond, blue eyed and pixie cute, the young woman placed a cup of coffee in front of me. Angular features, a Swedish goddess so to speak, from a younger generation, she had quiet aggressiveness. "You're looking good."
"Thanks, Trixie," I said and nearly melted in my chair. We were briefly acquainted in the few times I showed up to visit my friend Rosa. And, Lance Spears was a cover name. She was a computer engineer major at the local college. "You're so good to me."
"You're one of my favorite customers," Trixie complemented, smiled, blinked a few times and gave me a once over that lingered at my groin. Her wide smiling adorability accentuated an air of warm sensuality. "Buy any lingerie this morning? Or, just looking?"
"Checking inventory," I said with a smile and risked going further. She was astute enough to pay attention to goings and comings of things around her. "How's classes?"
"Good," she added with a wink. "We're studying anatomy this term." Again, she batted her eyes that sparkled like a dew kissed morning in field of freshly pollenated flowers. In my fantasy, I could almost hear the bees buzzing. She added, "Dancing too, club work has been fun."
"You know, I really need to catch your performance," I muttered returning gaze for gaze, allowing a few seconds for artistic appreciation. "I bet you are amazingly talented."
"Oh, Lance, you betcha, use your imagination," she threw at me more boldly and leaned forward more closely. Resting her hands on the table, she made sure I got a good view of her very tight blouse. A couple of buttons were undone. The view was incredible. "Hope you enjoy your espresso," she playfully taunted and sexily walked back to the coffee bar. "Later."
"Well," I breathed out to myself with a hushed tone. Took in a long inhale and thought it over. "Twice in one morning, geezus, what are the probabilities?" I turned around and glanced at the coffee shop. "No one else around." I considered what might happen next.
Trixie was interesting, but not as older as I would normally prefer. However, life is too short to sweat over a few details as long as a particular legality about age stayed in the safe zone. To pay for college, she was a part-time stripper at a local club and worked part-time at the coffee shop. Well-endowed with ample adjustments, she was tall, slim and trim with long elegant legs. She had a hot, young smoldering anxiousness to experience life as much as possible.
Trixie Capers usually wore very short skirts and projected a youthful air of confidence. And, no, I'm not going to drink the coffee. My suspicious nature told me, fucking the daylights out of her was one thing. On the other hand, drinking a beverage I for which I did not watch the preparation was another. Of course, there are risks with just about everything.
We made eye contact from the distance, and she winked and raised an eyebrow. Okay, I'll take that as an invitation. Again, twice in one morning? Or, business first, then a tryst at the coffee bar? Hmm, decisions, decisions, fascinating possibilities. Gazing around the coffee shop, the few early risers began to appear, but mostly kept to themselves. Outside, a gray shaded darkness enveloped the pristine wooded surroundings. For the beginning of the week, the prospect of an abrupt ending, a storm was brewing. For the next few critical moments, quiet prevailed.
Yet, that wasn't for long. The leisure class, those of every age group who had the materiality to avoid a fixed schedule of servitude, started to fill the vacant spaces on the main concourse. There were places you went for solitude and places where people generally minded their own business. A mall was one of those places most of the time where you could hide in plain sight. For most people in and around urban areas, shopping centers, restaurants, amusement parks, and so forth, a false sense of security allowed for easy seduction. Environs that seemed safe was where the conveniences of comfortable consumerism met every whim and fancy.
"May I get you another?" Trixie was back. "Coffee, tea, creamy dessert?" She flirted. "Oh, may I borrow your pen? I need to make a note and write down your phone number."
"No, thank you, my lovely friend, as to the coffee," I answered with a smile. Another button on her blouse was unbuttoned as she leaned toward on the opposite side of the table. I pulled out my pen from my windbreaker and offered it to her. "When is your break?"
"Oh, at any time I want to take one," she mouthed carefully making a perfectly rounded pucker with her lips. Ruby red, lipstick seemed freshly applied. "Wanna do...lunch?"
"Yes, I would enjoy having you for lunch," I whispered with a nod.
She accepted the golden pen, for a brief moment examined its thickness, and handcrafted workmanship. With two fingers, she made a suggestive gesture up and down the length of the pen. She looked me straight in the eyes. A slow smoldering smirk etched her plump pouty lips. Pressing her lips together, she delicately placed the barrel between them.
"You can have me for lunch any time, my friend," she teased. "I'd like to see what your other pen can do." Her mouth puckered and she licked the pen before handing it back.
"Wow, I'm breathless after that," I muttered hoarsely.
Given its unique design, it wasn't just a pen. Of course not. Although you could write with it, that wasn't the main purpose. This pen had been designed by a special group of techies in a department historically known for its science and technology. They were good at what they did. And, yes, sometimes the pen is mightier than the sword. This one bit like a black widow spider, and its venom was exceptionally deadly. One drop and instant agonizing death.
With a counterclockwise twist of the plunger button, the pen produced a hypodermic needle from within the barrel. Inside, there was enough venom for three applications. One injection was more than sufficient for a 300 hundred pound person. As far as social media knew, there was no such thing as a substance that killed instantly without a trace. Yeah, go figure. Gullibility, ignorance and mythical belief systems assist in cover and concealment.
Since most people aren't much more astute than the abundance of fake news, of course no such thing exists. Seriously? Yeah, of course, and that's why we want you to believe an alien spacecraft crashed near Roswell, New Mexico in 1947. You think our scientists can't come up with a substance that causes an instant heart attack, leaves no trace, and is undetectable during an autopsy? Regardless, that's what I chose for the ex-congressman.
"Until then, let me know," she winked. "Seems one of my usual customers is here."
My target had arrived. A member of the upper class, a retired congressional representative, he carried out his regular routine on schedule. Right on time, he lingered impatiently at the counter. Overweight, diabetic, puffy faced and dressed for the beach, the fat guy stared at Trixie. He licked his lips and tugged his groin. Probably, he was trying to make sure he still had a pair of balls. As a politician that was always in doubt. He wouldn't need them much longer.
He certainly didn't demonstrate that when he was in congress. Bermuda shorts, flip-flops, and red flowery Hawaiian shirt, fatso chomped a cigar and adjusted his blue ball cap for some who knows what sports team. I'm not into sports, so I could care less and I don't care much about sports people either. For the target here, what a stupid presence, I considered. All so typical for an aging has been politician. False bravado wrapped in foolishness.
Then again, what do we expect from elected officials. Cowardly, profane and witless, most are not much different from the mainstream public. Some segments of the public are hardworking and believe in something of social relevance. Yet, the oligarchs, the wealthy, those who control the political processes, influence public policy, and manipulate social media, perpetuate the gluttonous culture of human devolution. Problem is, the vast majority bought in, both literally and figuratively, to the illusion of the American dream. Manufactured consent is well insulated.
Social stupidity, except for the few anomalies of resistance, hasten the dying nature of a species doomed to extinction. Some of us are here to clean up the messes and take out the garbage. I have more respect for professional sex workers than most public officials. At least with adult entertainment, there's more honesty and human dignity of self-liberation, freedom of expression and open-minded independence. Not only that, you know what you're getting for whatever you're paying for. Like the hot young blonde at the coffee shop, she knows exactly what she wants, makes no bones about it, up front and in your face. It's a matter of negotiation at a mature level.
Seductively straightforward, from coffee shop to lingerie boutique, a good hand job, a wild crazy fuck, or blow job, pretty much sums up what's important. But, politics, well that a special kind of deception where you get fucked without the consideration of a good lubricant. And so, here we are, the hunter and the prey, the tables have turned. Around me, the setting was appropriate. Right on Main Street, USA, in the quaint village of smoke and mirrors, and at the moment, it was devoid of an overabundance of greedy consuming humans. Inside here, it was quiet in the brief unfolding moments. It was exhilarating for the work at hand.
Except for the routine shuffling, a few scattered voices of the cook, the coffee maker and the kind the server, no one paid much attention to anything except themselves. In a selfie possessed world, you could hide in plain sight. Here and there, a pair of short shorts flashed butt cheeks on high heels. A tight stretch of yoga pants spliced an ample camel toe, and invited the senses to ponder the width and depth of balls deep penetration. Occasionally, there was an open shirted flash of six-pack abs that knew a gym, but never the fearful darkness of harsh realities.
Of which, life's pains and pleasures, with soul wrenching fears, serve as good teachers to better train the mind and give meaning to the tears. At that some moment, Trixie did her thing, while a few customers lingered in spacious aloofness. Cute, friendly, with an easy drawl, she did what she was paid to do. At the same time, the darkness within grew as cold as my coffee, cooled and simmering from sitting and waiting out in the open. Timing is essential.
Fake, a fraud and foolish, the quarry took a chance. Untouchable, smug and pretentiously pious, the fox entered the hen house. A wolf analogy might be more appropriate, as those of us who keep the watch prefer to call ourselves the sheep dogs. Better yet, a few of us prefer to be called wolf hunters. Yeah, we'll hunt them, find them and eliminate them. Here for instance, unbeknown to this predator, the farmer hired a watch dog. When they encroach, we approach.
The old politician smiled and nodded to the passersby who thought they recognized him. Yet, Rico, the small dicked political figurine continued to think he was famous and beyond the reach of the law. That is not untypical of the upper class, where wealth and political connections separate the upper 10% from the rest of humanity. There will always be those who think they are special, entitled and out of reach by the rules others have to live by. The rich and the powerful play by different rules, while the rest succumb to the seductions of consumption.
Yet, on occasion, the tables turn, and wolf forgets about the sheep dog. Predator now prey, diverted his eyes to the public restroom adjacent the coffee shop. Rico Pequeño hunted his next target. He scanned the main concourse and watched a few kid's in the play area. It was still too early for him to strike. But, it was not too early for sure and swift retribution.
My golden pen held the answer to that, a green liquid field tested during clandestine deployments. It was symbolic that life is dangerous and this planet is filled with threatening pillagers. The target's mask of civility was a fragile disguise of careless self-righteousness. That would soon fade. Because sometimes, the pen writes words of that are final. Ah yes, an inconvenient metaphor to express the necessity of urban vigilance.
There are special occasions when predators are beyond the reach of official justice. In those cases, a vigilante is necessary to the reset the balance. The logic is probably lost on the psychologist who last analyzed the soon to be departed ex-congressman. Previously accused of misconduct with underage congressional interns. Subsequently, he was diagnosed with some newly invented fantasy and needed a newly concocted expensive drug treatment program. Along with that came more psychobabble to escape criminal prosecution and impeachment.
All that plus rehab apparently worked in his favor. What a fun thing it is to make up stuff and pretend it is scientific. No less than three shrinks analyzed this politician and concluded three different alleged diagnoses. However, there comes a time for retribution and deterrence. Comfort comes in the relief of knowing the final assessment is terminal. My cure is final.
"Well, Ms. Trixie," the old politician started, while he sashayed to the coffee counter. His bloated swagger taunted the conceit of protected class-consciousness. "How's the dancing?" He leered hungrily at her. Even though, she was slightly out of his age range, he might image her, for the satiation of fantasy, as a succulent teen. "You're looking good today."
"The dancing is very good, Mr. Pequeño," Trixie replied politely and swiped a glance at me. Her eyes said she was annoyed or agitated or something along those lines. Beyond that, I sensed fear. A sudden surge, as though she might have sensed something. "And, very tiring, I'm beat." She looked up at the hulk and tried to smile. "How about you, sir?"
"Oh, you know me," the ex-congressman began with a raspy tone. With a labored huff, he continued and stared at her huge chest. "I'm just shopping, mostly looking." He took his coffee and waddled over to a nearby table. Red faced, breathing and heaving, I could hear each wheeze as he plopped down and overflowed the metal chair. He muttered again, "Just looking."
"I'll bet," I murmured under my breath. What a bloated fool, I pondered.
For a moment, I assessed my quarry. Hunting humans was very gratifying for me. I never cared for hunting other types of animals, just humans. No doubt this one enjoyed hunting as well. I figured quietly, his sexuality was the thrill of the kill. Hurting others, especially ones weaker, was an orgasmic experience for criminals like him. I drew in a long breath and let it out slowly.
In the meantime, he was lurking and leering at Trixie. She was trading glances at me, as though she wanted rescue from this menace. Maybe he was trying to decide, whether he preferred children or young women. His M.O. had been younglings, primarily boys. There is no profile of a predator. Each has his or her own proclivity by which to inflict harm to others.
My senses were fully awake at this instant. The hunter, the sheep dog, moves in for the kill to enjoy the thrill of killing the wolfing shrill. I imagined I could smell and even taste the blood lust in the air, lurking in the shadows of mortal fears, with the inevitable termination a heartbeat away. The unseen is scary, unknown, is sometimes unnerving. It slithers and creeps in a darkness of tortuous thoughts of mind ripping debauchery. Then, you are fucked.
He swilled his coffee quickly, got up with tremendous effort, huffed and puffed and strolled to the bathroom. Adjacent the coffee bar, he lingered, glanced back at the playground. A few very young preschoolers squealed and chased each other in the recreation area. For a few seconds, he paused and leered, licked his fat puffy lips and entered the bathroom.
Another employee had arrived to assist Trixie at the coffee bar. She had temporarily left and gone to the stock room. At that point, I disposed of my coffee cup and followed the congressman. In the darkened hallway, I slipped on my black latex gloves. Inside the bathroom, he had chosen a toilet stall and left the door open. Instantly, he jerked his head around at my presence behind him. Startled he stared while holding his tiny dick, as I stared intently at his face.
"What the fuck you want?" He groaned with a snarl. "Looking for a date?"
"I don't date whales fat boy," I said with a dark smile.
"Fuck you, asshole," he boasted fatly. "You're not my type." He held his tiny penis with both hands. "Now get the fuck out of here before I call the cops. Do you know who I am?"
"Oh please call the cops," I taunted with a condescending tone.
"What do you want, asshole," the pompous clown whined.
"To terminate a scumbag like you," I told him and readied my pen. And, with a swift move, stuck the needle in his neck with a tiny pinhole prick to the carotid artery. "That."
"What the fuck, man!" He blubbered and slumped to be braced by the stall's partition. "What have you done, I can't move," he protested slurred his words and tried to hold himself up.
"Of course, and that's why I'm here, lard ass," I mocked. "Geezus, your name must be Dick Small. You call that a cock? But wait, you used it as a weapon on children, didn't you?"
"Fuck you!" He labored to speak and tried to grasp for his cell phone.
He fumbled with the phone, as his shorts fell to the floor around his ankles. His fat ass bounced like mounds of white pasty jelly as his body began to jerk. Bucking like a cow stuck in meat packing cattle chute, he shook the toilet stall. He tried to make threats, as the paralysis overwhelmed his reality. Still awake but paralyzed from the neck down, he slumped.
"I'm gonna...," he strained to form words. Tongue swelling, sharp pain in the temples, pressure on the chest, his body sank, as he mumbled, "...sue your ass; you're messing with the wrong person..." Wheezing with labored frail resistance, he feebly cursed, "Fuck you!"
"Nope, you don't get any phone calls." With one hand, I snatched his phone out of his grip. A special rub on liquid plastic had been applied to my hands. No fingerprints. "Oh, and fuck you too." Using my strength built up from constant workouts, I lowered fatso to the floor. Geezus, he weighed a ton. "Damn, when you fuck, who gets on top?" I let him slump with a blubbery plop. "There you go, just lie down, let it happen, welcome to hell and eternal damnation."
"It hurts, burns, I can't move...," he muttered with a raspy whisper and gagging.
"I wonder if this qualifies as irony?" I knelt next to him, as we made eye contact. "The elixir is a special batch. It is fast acting, with slow agonizing death. Last time you were in Congress, you approved funding for special interrogation techniques for our enemies."
With that, I happily departed the soon to be departed. Exiting the restroom, I relocated the janitorial cart and attached sign, which read, "Temporarily Out of Order." Casing the hallway, I noted the absence of any approaching patrons and made my way to the coffee shop. A little publicly provided hand sanitizer, and my hands were all clean again. But, there's always a glitch. Someone will either ignore a sign or won't read it and by pass the diversion.
"Early lunch?" I cheerily greeted Trixie. Her boobs prominently on display.
"Sure, sushi?" She beamed and pointed. "Over at the club across the concourse?" She paused, hands on narrow hips with long slender legs trapped inside skintight jeans. She pouted her lips and added sensuously, "I love to suck the juices out of the crab legs."
"Nice choice, I like it. Let's go," I said and gently nudged her shoulder. "As to the sucking, I really wanna see that. I might lose consciousness at the sight of such an appetite."
"Oh, you just might," she replied and swiveled lightly on red heels. She hadn't had those on earlier. Her whole body seemed energetic, electrified and sensual. "Let's have fun."
Once inside the swanky overly priced and pretentiously upscale Asian restaurant, I picked a table with a vantage point. It did not take long. Naturally, as if right out of a movie, some retiree sauntered into the restroom. A scream followed, a frantic yell, fumbling with a cell phone, the man ran from the hallway and demanded police action. Then he collapsed as though having a heart attack. With two distraction, or diversions, things just fell into place.
"Hmm, some kind of emergency, a water leak maybe," I noted casually.
While I hid in plain sight, I watched the action unfold over her nicely shaped shoulder. Her sleeveless white blouse barely contained her huge breasts. At that instant of my erotic appreciation, emergency services were on the scene. The cops were good; they arrived instantly, accompanied by the paramedics. A crowd formed in the middle of the mall.
This was good, because it afforded bystanders an opportunity to pretend to be horrified and cover up their fascination. Yep true to form, some of the men froze, a couple of women and girls screamed, kids were curious and distracted, a few fat women shrieked and gasped and muttered completely irrelevant comments. Typical human reactions. More fascination with the macabre than genuine care, people feigned their looks of hollow concern.
"What's going on?" Trixie said while she stabbed a roll of lobster. But, in her voice, the sweet sugary soufflé of sensual enticement had a darker ring. "Slip and fall thing?"
For a moment, I fantasized her long legs braced on my shoulders while I plowed her into a massive orgasm. Whew, I took in a breath and watched her facial expression. Something else was a play. Back to my dream-like anticipation. I guessed she was smoothly shaved. As a professional dancer, she probably didn't want a hairy crotch protruding around her thong. That wasn't an issue with me, I never minded hairy. Rosa, by contrast, was very hairy. I loved plunging my face between those thighs and sucking her clit until she lost her mind and nearly passed out.
"Looks like a problem in the restroom." Back to the present reality, I fingered my chopsticks and grabbed a piece of a wrapped veggie roll. Meeting her dark blue eyes and descending the depths of her allure, I noticed a discreet smirk. Yes, I would enjoy probing her with my fingertips. "Maybe the plumbing is plugged or the drain needed to be flushed."
"Naturally, there's always a need to keep the plumbing well lubed," she noted in a sassy way. "A good plunger comes in handy, pumped and drained, it's a good thing." She Winked.
"Yeah, I couldn't agree more, my dear," I said and felt older than she.
"Uh huh," she muttered and sucked a crab until the shell collapsed. "Ooo, it squirted down my throat." She blinked seductively and held my stare. That wicked smile could melt butter. "Sometimes, you suck, other times you pull and pump, eventually things erupt."
"Yes, a good release is essential to relieving the buildup of pressure," I answered.
"Is he dead?" She held my eyes attempting to trap my senses. "Well?"
"Of course, people have health conditions," I answered slyly.
"That sick fuck and many conditions," she added tersely with a hint of satisfaction.
"You know," I started and kept her gaze closer. "I hadn't thought of a coffee shop as a cover. But, it makes sense. It's a good place to keep watch and assess the comings and goings." Carefully, I slid the thick chopsticks into the center of sushi roll. "I like coffee a lot."
"Uh huh, you like a lot of hot things. Like that Latina next door to the shop." she continued with a smirk, as she put a piece of her roll between her lips. Slowly, her fingers eased the sticks over her plush mouth with smooth precision. "How long you been fucking her?"
"Oh, for a while, we go way back, old friends in a different time." I marveled at how she enjoyed eating. Always, I thought that was good thing to note. "She enjoys a good fuck before starting her work day. In the meantime, I watch people, so do you," I admitted to her.
"Well fucked every day keeps the doctor away," Trixie whispered. "Seems like you really enjoy fucking her, probably she fucks you pretty well. You look refreshed when you come out of there, or cum in her." Once again, she devoured her sushi with gusto and glanced up at me. "So, we have some questions, shall we continue elsewhere?" She invited wickedly. "You stay here?"
"Of course," I agreed and simply smiled and nodded at the mention of my friend Rosa. Taking in a long slow breath, I recalled our recent escapade. Rosa was truly an amazing woman. Trixie was different. "Here, at the mall hotel, top floor. I figured you knew that."
"Well, I didn't want to spoil the surprise," she let me know quickly.
Her eyes, dark sky blue, darted back and forth, checking each direction very carefully. What was she looking for? Stage directions, cues, or was she spotting a lookout? As I sipped my tiny blue china cup of green tea, she reminded me of someone years ago. In another place at another time, a femme fatale of similar reflection as Trixie set a trap. She used her sensuality, her blond sexiness to lay in wait for the right time to execute her plan. Kill the American spy, which meant me. Same scenario, the coffee shop, the hotel room, some things never change.
In a split second, part of my thinking did a quick time travel exit. That day, unlike this one, the weather took a turn. Dark and cloudy, a heavy thunderstorm moved in and lightning strikes lit up the sky. Periodically there were roars of thunder to add a special flare to the day. My senses animated could feel the entrapment, the set up and the kiss of death nearby. For a clandestine rendezvous in the countryside, far from crowded London streets, we met at a medieval lodge. The atmosphere was gothic and reminded me of an earlier historic setting. On arrival, I slowly entered the old castle now used for tourist lodging. She was patiently waiting in the lobby.
Following a delightful evening meal, with roast chicken, all the trimmings, and martinis, a hot shower, and wild unrestrained fucking, we hugged in warm embrace. Naturally, that was an illusion. For such things come and go all too easily. In a fleeting moment of distraction, dangerous things in the shadows strike without warning. Yet, there are warnings. Most often there is little change, redundancy is persistent. Revisiting historical reference points teach a continuous stream of lessons. However, the learning curve fades as another encounter occurs.
In that momentary time travel to the past, as but one example, it was not long before she wanted to go for a hike. Seriously, late evening, into the foggy darkness of the marshy landscape, a trek in the woods. For that, she was up, nakedly teasing her taunt to entice my complicity. Hands on hips, the thrust of her breasts, and the movement of vaginal sway, was a salacious invitation. Naturally, we quickly dressed in hiking attire, or more like a khaki clad safari. Complete with small backpack, which she slung over her shoulders. I already knew what she had prepared.
With nylon cord, an ample length, a hypodermic injector and a vial of liquid, she was ready. On her belt, she strapped on a hunting knife fetched from the pack. Definitely, a survival blade. Razor sharp on one side, a serrated edge on the other. Good for stabbing, cutting and gutting whatever quarry the hunter chose. A bit pretentious I thought. Instead, I liked my good old-fashioned switchblade. Since I hunted humans, and do not care to harm animals, a good blade is a good blade. My lance was sufficient to penetrate just about every vulnerable area.
Hand in hand, warmly appreciating each other, at least as cover, we strolled in the moonlight. Down the path, the wooded shrouds of shadows, creaks and animal noises, we came to a waterfall and river. A picnic before execution of the death sentence? Putting her pack on the ground, she bent over and gave me a peek. Her well-rounded ass beckoned a gaze at the absence of panties under her shorts. I pulled a breath as to that lovely sight of spread vaginal lips.
In the next instant, her body shifted as she swung low and quick toward my inner thigh. She miscalculated and missed, for I had adjusted to the imminent attack. While her maneuver went wide and off balance, the motion stumbled at the slight crack of a muffled pistol shot. One bullet and one kill, all depends on the skill. The smallish caliber, a .380 with suppressor, and a three-foot angle, sent the projectile under the jaw and into the brain.
She fell back and landed with a splash, as the swift current took the body to the next waterfall. For a few moments, I lingered and watched her disappear. A waste, I thought. Yet, enemy was close. Such was all in a day's work. Like now, back in the present moment.
Ah, something was up. Whom did she work for and what was she up to? On that note, we departed the sushi club and headed to an ornate gold framed set of elevators, with huge red wood doors. The lift gave access to the hotel attached to the massive shopping center. Once the doors closed, just two of us, we put our backs near the rear wall of the lift. Skillfully, both of use avoided conversation and kept our heads down. She was quiet and for good reason.
There was a camera and audio system on the ceiling at the rear. Without hesitation, both of us, no prompting needed, keep our backs to the photo system. For a youngling, she was good. At the same instant, my intuitive senses considered her a waste of proficient talent. On the way up, her hand slid from behind me under my trousers and gripped my balls. She held me firmly and toyed with the tip of my cock. Slowly, back and forth, she rubbed my shaft. Playfully, her hand massaged from tip of my cock the base of my balls. Multitasking was a very good skill.
It felt nice. My hand in a similar way, moved quickly to her butt and between her parted thighs. Her strong angular figure was a contrast to Rosa's fleshy lush delectable curves. Sensuously, Trixie's mouth parted and she moaned. My fingers worked harder. Her thighs clamped on my hand and legs quivered. As her breath quickened, her fingers worked my erection. I could feel the strain in my groin with each twitch of anticipation. Sexual tension escalated rapidly, as her aggression stormed through the air. I could her feel her intensity. That was dangerous.
Her long sleeve white blouse was unbuttoned to the top of her hip hugging jeans. Long, tall and fit, Trixie's huge braless chest pressed into my shoulder. For a second, her head slumped on my shoulder, while she enjoyed the message. The moment passed quickly, as the elevator controls beeped the seventh floor arrival. The lift came to an abrupt halt, as her lips licked my ear and her teeth bit the lobe. That tongue of hers slid up and down the side of my neck. Time and space were flashes of motion, as we ripped off our clothes and fell into the huge round bed.
"Wow, that feels heavenly," I slowly hissed. "Damn, you're full of surprises."
"I want you badly," she whispered eerily. "I'm gonna fuck you senseless and beat your ass into submission, you son of a bitch man slut. Question is, are up for this, tough guy?"
"Rough, huh? I like it. Geezus, I hope so, you wild crazy bad ass bitch," I muttered back at her and pressed my two fingers tight into crotch. "I wanna fill you up and fuck you hard."
The elevator doors opened and in blurry moments, we were in one of the executive suites of the hotel complex. Seconds later, inside the spacious and luxurious room, she stripped and headed for the bathroom. Fascinating performance, I thought, very well done.
Nicely played and acted. The plot unfolds. What comes next? Before she vanished for the moment, naked she paused, while I took in the view. Yep, a Barbie doll. Blonde strands dangled to her shoulders. With a slim waist, tight butt, long legs, her huge breasts pointed invitingly in my direction. Big nipples flavored by large areola, perky and succulent as fresh dew kissed strawberries. Those big nipples were tantalizing, waiting for a good suck. She looked at me and winked, as I scanned her pelvis. Slickly shaved, her plump pubis was perfect.
"You better be ready for this big boy," she taunted. Those big sparkling blue eyes spoke with smoldering intensity. "Hope there's lots of cum in those huge balls."
"Well, we'll see what comes up," I added swiftly and started to undress.
Like a gazelle, she swung around and headed to the bathroom. In response, I stripped and tossed on the hotel's white monogramed bathrobe. Instantly, with pistol in hand, I quickly surveyed and swept the other rooms and possible hiding places. On the tip of the barrel, I tightened the suppressor in place. Next, ensuring the door locked firmly to the apartment, with a backup security device, I checked my usual makeshift warning signs. Sure enough, someone had been inside the room. Yet, no one was here. With that, I knew I didn't have time to do a full sweep.
My gun hung from inside the robe, hooked to the material under one armpit. After a few minutes, she exited brazenly nude from the bathroom with a big white towel wrapped around her luscious body. She strolled sexily to the king sized bed. Fantasizing with erect anticipation, I watched the magic trick. While taking in the view, I let the my robe hang open, as my penis poked out, large, thick, veiny and ready to fuck as soon as possible. Playfully, she whipped off the towel, but held it in a clump, bunched in one hand and put it next to a fluffy blue pillow.
"Wow, you are amazing," I said and let out a long breath.
"Well, we gonna fuck or what?" She teased.
"Hold that thought," I request. "I be back in a moment."
Her body was a mesmerizing artwork of sculpted sexuality. She had beautiful decorations all over her nicely tanned skinned. With tantalizing colorful artistry all over her body, the designs were exotic and sensual. Trixie's tattoos ran from neck to toes. The body art of was fantastic and seductive to say the least. Then, a dilemma set in. what does she have access to, in terms of weaponry, if I leave the room? I had not checked the bathroom. Someone else had been in here; and who might be hiding in the shower? What the fuck, I pondered, choices to make. Geezus, she has a gun in the towel and under the pillow. This is decision time, fuck or be fucked.
Swiftly checking the bathroom, I noticed the beige porcelain lid was slightly ajar. Her accomplice planted a gun in the toilet tank. Okay, maybe not a gun, but likely a weapon of some sort. Spiders for example, like to use poison. A tiny syringe filled with a highly toxic compound would to the job instantly. Talk about being flushed with swirling expectations. This was a plunge into a brief and terminal relationship. Meanwhile, my cock wanted attention. Yes, in spite of the danger, no more precisely, because of the danger, it heightened primal carnality.
"Assume the position, Mr. Big Cock," she demanded while nakedly spread wide on the bed. The pale blue sheets and pillows perfectly added to her allure. "I wanna suck you dick," Trixie continued and toyed with her big puffy vagina. "Let's do it, I want some fucking."
"Wow, you're amazingly beautiful," I toyed back with her. My dick pushed through the robe and carefully I slipped it off and slung at the corner of the headboard. "Geezus..."
While I knelt in the middle of the bed, she curled underneath me and grabbed my cock. Her lips engulfed the head, as she licked me from base to tip. One of her hands caressed my balls and stroked under the base of the scrotum. Straddling her head, and bracing my arms above her, she tugged and sucked my penis. Swallowing the length, she took my entire shaft into her mouth and to the back of her throat. At any second, I thought I would cum buckets full. Dumping a load in her throat was not my first inclination, when she released her hungry sucking.
"Fuck me, baby, fuck me like you fuck that slut Latina," she ordered with guttural hint of dominance. "Yeah, get on top; I wanna be pounded hard and fast."
"Oh yeah, we need this," I urged softly and swiftly pulled on a condom. No DNA left behind as everything else sanitized. "My god, your body is incredible."
With one hand, a finger massaged a thick nipple on her huge tits. With the other hand, I firmly gripped the base of my cock and guided the big mushroom head to her crotch. Thickly proportioned, shaved smooth, glistening with wetness, her vaginal grip welcomed my slow penetration. Like hot butter melting on fluffy steaming pancakes, oozing over the edges and dripping with maple syrup, my cock slid to the depths of her vaginal walls. Instantly, she clamped around me, pulled me deeper and wrapped her legs around my back.
Piston precision met bucking upward thrusts of her hips. At my lower back, I felt the jabbing urgency of her locked ankles demanding harder fucking. We entangled together, her hands gripped my butt cheeks, and forehead to forehead, we stared into each other's eyes. Our lips molded together as we kissed and suckled skin-to-skin contact, sucking and fucking.
Those legs were tight while her heels dug in to the base of my back. Her long dagger-like fingers pulled my ass cheeks and shoved me deeper into her thrusting pelvis. As though angered by the circumstances and the deadly conclusion yet to come, she fucked me furiously. Her voice echoed the screams of orgasm, successive concussions of vaginal eruption, one after the other. As the same instant, I was on the edge and drove my cock deeply inside her. Swollen hard, with veins that strained the reach of relentless pounding, the head of my penis bottomed out.
"Fuck me, you bastard, fuck me, harder, slam that dick in my cunt!" She screamed in my ear. "Yeah, yeah, nail that pussy, come on, and do it, fuck my ass, oh my god!"
Trixie's big chest pressed back and rubbed against me with heaving persistence. In and out, on my toes, legs stretched for support, sweat comingled with hers, I pumped her pubic mound as though the fucking would never end. With muscles flexed, my cock eagerly met her humping hips, slurping and slipping back and forth, mounting the summit of climax. Minutes passed, seemed like hours, as the end approached and my balls tightened, my penis ached fore release. Holding back just to the edge, I was anxious to cum with a huge orgasmic release.
"I'm close, so close," I panted in a hushed tone while she clinched harder.
"Fuck me to death," she demanded. Her face contorted, her hair askew over her eyes, as she banged my forehead with hers. One of her hands slipped away. "Pound me dammit!"
At that instant, I came and unleashed a gush of liquid silk into the condom. Pulsations in my groin throbbed with spurting jolts. While the cum blast subsided, her hand found the hidden syringe and it came up fast toward my neck. From the left side, I grabbed her wrist, we wrestled and a muffled gunshot ended the melee quickly with terminal effect. One shot, under the throat, into the brain stem, completely ceased organic functions. Streams of seconds flashed, mental assessment went into high gear, as regret merged with the morbid necessity of finality.
In less than thirty minutes, professionally sanitized, the apartment would tell a different story to the police. Poor Trixie, in a hotel room registered to the late congressional representative, his fingerprints on a small caliber gun registered to him, she met her untimely demise. Seen on security cams, an inquiry would note his hanging around the coffee shop. Waiting and watching, within the hour, I sipped fresh brewed espresso at the same coffee bar.
"Spring cleaning," a tall man in a trench coat said to me and sat down. "Double shot."
"Yes," I agreed. "A pedophile and terrorist courier. I sipped my coffee, a double espresso."
"Read your email, something else has come up." He disappeared.