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Special thanks to TRCIII for editoring this story.
I locked the door as I entered behind her. Without making a sound I followed her to the granite sink. Her blue eyes opened wide in alarm when she caught my image behind her in the mirror. Normally I wouldn’t have waited. I would have raised the pistol in my right hand, placed it at the back of her head, and fired. But not this time.
She intrigued me; that much I can admit. Her name was Yvonne Cuny. I had followed her the previous few days to gauge her vulnerabilities, gain an understanding of her routine. It certainly wasn’t an unpleasant task. She was beautiful, blessed with a lithe, yet supple body. Her face was elegant and refined: thin lips, high cheekbones, all prim and proper, all except for her eyes…her eyes were pure sin, a feeling accentuated by the golden locks of wavy blonde hair that cascaded wantonly down her back.
I could easily imagine the spell her appearance once cast upon her husband, as well as understand how they eventually drove him to contact me. I’ve seen other cases like it; an older man making the mistake of marrying a woman too young, too wild. Something goes wrong, that original lust turns to rage, and I receive a call from his lawyer looking for something more than a divorce.
She stood there frozen before me, panic dripping from her eyes. Her hands trembled as they gripped the sink. She shut her eyes tightly and bowed her head down as if to pray—or maybe to absorb the blow—before raising them again to the mirror. Tears now trickled down her cheeks. She looked at me again, silently pleading for her life.
“My husband…” a statement, not a question, finally emerged from her lips. I nodded my head slightly in return. “The bastard. He didn’t even have the courage to do it himself.” She turned around suddenly, causing me to step back and aim the pistol at her face. Every rational sense in my head was telling me to simply squeeze the trigger, but I hesitated.
“Whatever he paid, I’ll double it,” she begged, crumbling to the floor before me.
My only response was to aim the gun down at her forehead. She clutched my leg, imploring me to spare her life with the stream of tears rolling down her face. I tried to keep my eyes focused on the middle of her forehead, but her eyes persistently stabbed at me in desperation.
“You want to know why he wants me dead?” she asked frantically.
“No,” I curtly answered, in a cool, dry voice.
“He wants to marry someone else. And he doesn’t want to pay for a divorce. That’s why. That’s why he wants you to kill me; because he doesn’t want to pay alimony. The bastard just wants to save money,” she told me anyway. Her cheeks began to flush as I could hear her hysteria turn into anger. “You think I should I die for that?”
“It’s not up to me.” I knew the only proper response was a flash from the muzzle, but I couldn’t resist the impulse to answer. I instantly regretted the lack of control as I saw a flash of hope spring in her eye.
“You say that holding a gun to my head? It is up to you. I swear I’ll pay you double just to let me live.”
I just shook my head in response. I maintained an outward coldness, but inside doubt was flooding my brain. Only one cure for that: “Pull the trigger,” I told myself, but before I could do so she threw her body against my legs.
“I’ll do anything. Anything you want…just tell me,” she pleaded with all her heart.
I was about to respond with a shove and a shot, when she inadvertently placed her forehead against my crotch. My cock awoke with a twitch. The movement didn’t go unnoticed.
Her face instantly sprang up at me. My gaze remained unchanged, but her hand crept up and found my clothed sex. She rubbed it forcefully, causing it to expand.
“Is that what you want?” she asked with a sudden smile. The glint in her eye told me that she thought she had me. I tried to fight the new sensation rushing through my body, but I couldn’t focus. I brandished the gun towards her again to remind her, and myself, of why I was there. But just looking at her pretty face made me wonder what it would feel like to kiss those luscious lips.
“I’ll be more than happy to do that,” she offered brazenly, trying to seize upon the chance my crudeness was offering. She knew the part well; I could see the natural temptress emerge, despite the remnants of her previous panic—the red eyes, her cheeks still wet from the tears.
She backed away from me and with one deft motion pulled the front of her top down to expose her tits snug in a pink strapless bra. She squeezed her soft breasts together exaggerating their size. I tried to maintain my cold stare, but from the look in her eyes I could tell my mask had cracked.
I still knew my duty. I held the gun steadily at her but she simply ignored it. She casually reached for my belt and undid it. I did nothing to stop her. She continued with my button fly and zipper until she had my pants down around my ankles.
Maintaining eye suadiye escort contact with me she pulled down my boxers and revealed my stiff dick. I was embarrassed by my passivity, yet obviously not enough to temper my arousal. In fact it only fed it. I attempted to regain control of the situation by placing the gun against her head, but it didn’t deter her. The action actually made it appear that I was forcing her to proceed. She smirked at me, before looking down and wantonly flicking her tongue against my cock. I almost shivered at the tingle that it sent up my spine.
“Put the gun away,” she cooed, while sliding her delicate hand down my throbbing cock. I responded by once again aiming the gun at her, but its effect was minimal. “If that’s the way you want it, I’ll play along,” she answered, her growing bravado manifesting itself in her suddenly confident tone of voice. She slowly stroked my cock a few times before finally sliding it into her mouth. The sensation her warm mouth created was simply amazing. Unable to maintain my composure I let out a groan as I looked up to the ceiling. She began to steadily draw my cock in and out of her mouth. Her soft lips felt like fine velvet.
Possibly thinking that I was too preoccupied to notice, she reached up for the gun I held limply in my hand. But I wasn’t that far gone. Upon sensing the slightest touch I instinctively pulled my hand with the gun in it away and with the other hand pushed her down roughly to the floor.
“Not a smart move, sugar,” I said sternly, aiming the gun maliciously towards her.
“I wasn’t trying to do anything…I mean I was just trying to…the gun was making me nervous,” she frantically stammered out, her lips quivering.
“That’s what guns do, they make people nervous. They make the person looking at them nervous and they make the person holding the gun nervous. Especially when someone tries to grab the gun they are holding.”
“I was just trying to get you to put it down.”
“Please, don’t bother,” I said angrily. “Even if that was the case, it wouldn’t make a difference. It just made me realize what a mistake I was making.”
“No, please don’t shoot me, I swear I’m telling the truth.” The tears were running down her face once again. Sitting there on the dirty green tile, half-naked and sobbing, she looked pathetic.
“And why shouldn’t I?”
“I’ll do anything, whatever you want. I’ll suck your dick.”
“Do I look that desperate?”
“I’ll fuck you too.”
I just laughed coldly in response, “You’re going to have to do better than that.”
“I’ll pay you double.”
“You already offered that much,” I rejected her offer coldly. Her crying intensified. The adreline rush from her grabbing my gun began to dissipate and sympathy once again diluted my thought process, “Make it quadruple,” I offered, trying to tell myself it was a stiff demand, but knowing it was a sap’s decision.
“How much is that?” she replied, after a short pause as if trying to calculate the sum in her frantic mind.
“One hundred and sixty thousand.”
“I don’t have that much,” she whined.
“When?” she responded confused.
“Does your husband have life insurance?”
“Yes,” she answered tentatively, her brain still scattered from fear.
“Then when I kill him you’ll collect.”
“You’d do that?” she asked, her eyes perking up.
“I would.” I didn’t bother to add that I would have to; one of them had to die.
“What do I have to do?” she asked, her spirits genuinely uplifted. I could see the relief wash over her face.
“Well, you can start by finishing what you started,” I responded, motioning down towards my slackened sex. I had already stepped over the edge; I thought I might as well enjoy the fall.
“You’ll put the gun away?” she asked, still a bit tentative.
“Of course.” I removed the clip from the gun and placed the weapon on the sink counter, one round still in the chamber. I was a fool, but not an absolute one.
She slunk over to me, still a bit hesitant. I could tell she was trying to figure out if she could really trust me. She wrapped her fingers around my cock and looked up at me with one last questioning look. I nodded down at her as if granting absolution. Evidently satisfied that it was safe, she once again enveloped my cock with her soft lips and warm mouth.
I immediately grew hard in her mouth; it felt just as electrifying as the first time, if not more. She began timidly as if still coming to terms with the wild swings of emotion. But gradually she seemed to lose herself in the act. She shut her eyes tight and her lips began to rhytmatically shuttle up and down my sex.
I pulled her lush blonde hair away from her face so I could watch my cock slide in and out of her mouth. She used her right hand to stroke me as she swirled her tongue around my thick cockhead. Much to my pleasure her mouth ventured down to my balls and sucked them inside taksim escort her wet mouth while her hand steadily jerked me off.
I allowed myself to fully enjoy her touch, and her touch was just right. She teased the underside of my cock, lightly trailing her tongue along it. Then she would boldly suck it, oscillating between the two extremes.
Suddenly she tilted her head back and looked up at me. “Do you want to fuck me?” she asked, as if she were a waitress offering me dessert.
“Badly,” I answered immediately, without any thought of other concerns.
She stood up and directed me to one of the bathroom stalls. I sat down on the cool toilet seat as she slid the flowing skirt she wore off her body. She seemed to want it just as desperately as I did, a thought which momentarily puzzled me.
She must have caught the look of befuddlement because as if to answer my silent question she took my hand and led it to her pussy lips. She was wet. I looked up at her in surprise.
She quickly straddled me and with one deft movement led my cock into her slick sex.
“How are you going to do it?” she asked, sliding my cock deep inside of her. She was tight; I could feel my cock rub against her moist inner walls.
“Do what?” I answered, without really thinking, consumed by the feeling rushing through my body.
“Kill my husband,” she answered pointedly, staring me straight in the eyes.
“So that’s what has you wet,” I laughed. But she didn’t; she just stared at me intently with those piercing blue eyes.
“How are you going to do it?” she repeated, her hips lifting slowly up, drawing my cock out gently before she plunged it back in quickly. She was good.
“How do want me to do it?” I answered, deciding to play along, my hands clutching her firm ass cheeks.
“I want him to suffer,” she replied in almost a moan, her nails sinking into my shoulders.
“I can do that,” I said, feeding her the answer she obviously wanted. She repaid my obedience with an enthusiastic thrust of her hips. “How do you want him to suffer?”
“I want you to strangle him,” she said seductively, as if just the thought gave her pleasure.
“And how do you want me to do that?”
“With your hands.” She slid her hands up and around my neck, applying a slight pressure as she continued to roll her hips, “I want you to squeeze the life out of him,” she added, pressing firmly against my neck. Her face lit up with a look close to ecstasy.
“Whatever you wish.” I lifted her up off the toilet and carried her to the counter top, my cock still buried inside of her. She slouched back against the mirror as I plunged in between her open thighs. She flung her head back as I stroked my cock in and out of her wet sex.
“I want you to strangle the life out of him,” she moaned, as I plunged deep inside of her.
She began furiously rubbing her nipples as I drove inside of her, pulling her hips roughly towards me. With reckless abandon she began to moan with each pump of my hips, so wildly that I had to place a hand over her mouth to remind her of our location.
I felt her walls constrict around my cock as her body stiffened, her back arching up dramatically. “Amazing, amazing,” she said repeatedly, as if in a trance.
I continued thrusting inside of her feeling my own explosion coming near.
“Almost there?” she asked. I could only nod in response. “Pull it out,” she gently ordered. She dropped from the counter back onto her knees and took my slick cock into her mouth. Within moments I came. She swallowed every last drop with an almost religious determination.
Coming back to my senses, I dressed and asked her the questions I needed to carry out my side of the bargain. I told her that five days after the anniversary of husband’s death I would visit her at her home at exactly 3 p.m to collect my money. I also reminded her not to do anything stupid in the time in between.
“Don’t worry, I can be pretty clever,” she reassured, giving me a peck on the lips. I should have considered that a warning.
I left the room. Slightly bewildered I asked myself “What the hell just happened?” I had no answer to the question. Halfway down the hall I had the sudden urge to turn around and return to the bathroom to correct the situation, but I resisted the impulse. I knew I couldn’t face her now.
She told me that I could find her husband in New York that weekend working on his alibi.
From past experiences working with his lawyer, Charlie Lynch, I knew that Charlie would have informed him the rough date in which I planned to carry out the job. I usually had a three-day span in which I would complete the assignment. Thus, my window of opportunity to hit the husband before he sensed a deviation in plan was slim. And people who put hits on other people tended to get a little crazy when things don’t go as planned.
He would be on the phone with Charlie tuzla escort before the weekend was even over, and then the shit would really hit the fan, because Charlie Lynch was not just another sleazy lawyer, he was a sleazy lawyer with significant mob ties.
Even I got to the husband in time I was screwed; you can’t just double-cross a client without serious consequences. Once you do it once your career is over, and in this business that means your life may not be too far behind.
All of this is probably what I was thinking about while staring at Yvonne’s luscious lips, but what is done is done. I was ready to quit before I stepped into that bathroom; she just gave me an opportunity to do so with a bang. They are certainly worse ways to go out.
Not that I wasn’t prepared for that moment; I already had a plan. Through a couple of contacts from my Special Forces days, I had arranged for my eventual retirement a few years before. There was a beautiful, gleaming white villa overlooking the Aegean Sea waiting for my arrival.
Of course I wasn’t going to underestimate the power of a Chicago mob boss, but I knew there were limits to his reach, especially for a matter that didn’t personally affect him. I mean, I didn’t know exactly how tied-in Lynch was, but from being periodically around him for the past twelve years I knew he wasn’t in too deep. In fact, I doubt the boss would even bat an eye if Lynch was removed from the scene. But first things first; I had a caring husband to kill.
Yvonne told me he had plans to see a Broadway show Saturday night with a friend who lived in New York, no doubt to add another layer to his alibi. All I knew about him was that he was a fifty-year-old doctor with a taste for younger women. If he was ready to knock off his current wife Yvonne, I can only imagine how delicious his new lady on the side was; he wasn’t the handsomest man I’d ever seen by a long shot.
Unlike most of my kills I had no time to devise a plan. I just had to hope I could catch him in a vulnerable spot. I always tried to make my jobs look as legitimate as possible. If it looks like a genuine armed robbery, the likelihood of a cop using a sliver of imagination to think up something more sinister was overwhelmingly slim.
But this one was going to be tough. There are too many people in New York, too many people actually walking in the street, too many eyes just looking for something out of the ordinary.
I followed him out of the show. He grabbed a drink with his friend at a bar not too far from the theater. Then around midnight he left his friend and attempted to hail a cab. Luckily for me he was unable to catch one immediately and foolish decided to walk alone to his hotel, which was a little more than a mile away.
I followed behind him closely with my collar up high to protect against the chill of a late October night…in addition to masking my identity from the people who walked by. He seemed oblivious to any danger that a late night walk in New York posed.
Finally we reached a block that was semi-deserted. With nobody behind me and no one approaching I covertly stuck a gun into his back and ordered him into the alley right next to us.
His body immediately stiffened in shock. I wondered if he knew that it wasn’t just a mugging, if he knew his plan had backfired on him. I shot him in the back of the head before he could indicate either. Normally I would have used a standard gun, again to create the effect of a street crime, but this time, for safety’s sake, I used the silenced pistol; let the detectives play around with that fact.
I stripped him of his watch, ring, and wallet and walked back out onto the street taking in my surroundings as nonchalantly as possible. The few people out seemed not to even notice me. Sometimes I love New York. ………………………………………
I returned from Europe a little less than a year later. After my trip to New York I left a coded message for Lynch explaining in a short sentence what I had done and that I was no longer accepting assignments. The only message I received back was, “I understand,” which of course could mean many things. Not wanting to risk it, I took it to mean, “I better not find you.”
So I hid in Croatia for a year, living a sweet-but-discrete life. In the twelve years as a contract killer I had built up a substantial nest egg, so comfort wasn’t an issue. In fact, the hundred and sixty grand could have easily been left uncollected. Of course the debtor was not as easily forgotten, but seeing her pretty face wasn’t the main reason for my return. No matter the distance, I had to know concretely the reality of my position—specifically, whether my exile was voluntary or forced.
I began watching Yvonne about a week before our scheduled rendezvous. Any stress she may have felt in the past year certainly failed to diminish her appearance. She was still a sight to behold.
Despite my best efforts, she seemed to have an inkling that someone was watching her. Whenever she left her house she would scan the area as if looking for a set of eyes in a neighbor’s bushes. The same was true when exiting her car or leaving a store. It made no difference; she never actually caught me. But it indicated that she was prepared, that she was just as clever as she claimed.
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