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Caught in the Crosshairs Ch. 01

By: christo



The young woman in the black thong bikini did not know that she was under close observation, that as she walked across the deck to the chaise lounge her beautiful face was centered in the crosshairs of a powerful telescopic sight. She set down a white canvas bag and released the clasp that held the shiny black cups of her bikini top. Her firm breasts sprang free, and then she slipped the flossy thong over her hips. The young woman showed no embarrassment at her nudity, and her body was so extraordinary that her lack of modesty was perfectly understandable.

She drizzled lotion over her arms and legs, and when she finished with them her slippery hands glided over her sculpted abdomen. She took her time oiling her breasts, her fingers circling the pale nipples over and over and over. She set the bottle down, spread her long legs, and lazily played with herself, running her fingers in and out of the soft folds of her clean-shaven pussy. When she had enough she put on sunglasses and lay back, totally at peace, ready to enjoy another morning of sun worship.

The hit man patiently moved the crosshairs over her glistening body, from her eyes to her lips, then down to her nipples, and then slowly, slowly, he adjusted his aim until the rifle was centered on her crotch. The hit man wore a small headset, and he pressed the speed dial key on the stolen cell phone he wore on his hip. Five seconds later a nervous voice spoke in his ear. "Yes?"

"She's outside," the hit man murmured. "Do I proceed?"

"Wait...wait." The crosshairs refocused on the target's forehead as the man on the other line struggled with his decision. "Are you sure you won't miss?"

"I won't miss."

"She won't suffer?"

"Not unless you want her to."

There was a long pause. "I...I can't decide." And then the man on the other line screamed so violently the hit man flinched a quarter-inch. "Why can't I do this!" He started crying. "Back off, just...back off. I need to think about this."

"This is the third time," the hit man said. "That's an additional five thousand you'll owe me. And you said that she visits her masseuse on Thursdays. I won't get another chance until Friday. That's another five thousand."

"I don't care about the fucking money," the man said, music to the hit man's ears. "Back off, we'll talk tomorrow."

The hit man ended the call. He did not immediately retreat from his hiding place. The woman might sense movement on the hill that loomed over her palatial estate, six acres of exquisitely manicured grounds that included a ten-thousand square-foot house, an eight-car garage, two tennis courts, and the pool where she spent much of her time.

For the last two days the hit man watched the young woman work on her suntan and waited for the order to kill her with a rifle bullet through the head. The first day the target wore a bright yellow bikini, the second day she wore a neon green suit, and both days she stripped nude before she tanned. 

She was one of the most beautiful women the hit man had ever seen. Her hair was golden blonde, parted in the middle, and she wore it long and razor-straight, her silky tresses reaching the cleft of her buttocks. Her breasts were deliciously full and ripe, her legs and arms firm and well-muscled. Through his scope the hit man admired the delicate bones of her face, bones that would shatter and splinter when the copper-jacketed bullet smashed into it, if her husband found his courage and gave him the order to eliminate her.

The hit man mentally reviewed the brief dossier his client gave about the target. Her name was Jenna, she was 25 years old, and when she met her wealthy husband five years earlier she was selling speedboats at a trade show. Jenna was the bathing beauty lounging on the deck of a sleek, sexy boat that cost half a million dollars. "I went up to her and asked her if she came with the boat, that old line," his client told him when they met for the first time, the two of them tucked away in a booth of a noisy restaurant. "I told her I was serious, if she'd join me for the maiden voyage I'd buy it right then." His client made a noise that passed for a laugh. 

"That's a nice story," the hit man said patiently.

"We got married six months later. Probably she was fucking other guys already, but I don't know for sure. What I do know is that she's been fucking around while I'm away on business, and..."

The hit man held up a hand. "I don't care why you want to kill her. Maybe she's cheating on you, maybe she's not. Makes no difference to me. If you pay my fee, I'll do the job."

The client nodded. "Of course, of course, I just wanted you to know that I'm not doing this for no reason."

"Reason has nothing to do with it. If you want her dead, I'll kill her."

The client swallowed. "How much?"

"Two-hundred and fifty-thousand dollars. Half up front, half on completion."

"Deal," the client said, so quickly that the hit man wished he'd doubled the price. "How will you do it?"

The hit man mused a bit. "I understand you've had trouble with your business partners in the former Soviet Union."

The client turned white. "Where did you hear that?"

The hit man shrugged. "I move in certain circles, I hear things. Is it true?"

"Well, nothing serious, but..."

"But you haven't been back to Kazakhstan in eight months, and you won't be going back until the police arrest a certain Mafioso who put a bounty on you."

The client swallowed. "Yes."

"That makes it simple. I'll shoot her with a sniper rifle, make it look like a contract hit. All you need to do is convince the cops that the contract was put out by Mr. Ismailov, not yourself."

The client winced at the sound of that man's name. "I think that'll work. But the house is guarded by a sophisticated security system. If anyone triggers the alarm armed guards from the security service come running. They can be there in less than ten minutes."

"There are no guards on the grounds?"

"No, my wife wouldn't have it. They'd cramp her style, wouldn't they? She couldn't fuck every guy she meets if there are guards around." 

"When can I get at her?"

The client thought a bit. "In the morning she lays out by the pool by herself. You could hide up on the hill behind the pool, there are trees right around the edge of the property, but from near the top you could probably get a clear shot. The security perimeter only extends about a hundred yards up the hill. Could you hit her from that far away?"

"Of course."

"Then that's the way to do it. She's usually out by the pool by eleven. Get up there around ten, wait for her, and shoot her."

And that's what would have happened, had the client not called him off the last three days. For some reason the client insisted that he give a final confirmation just before the killing shot was fired, and hit man reluctantly acquiesced. Each time he asked for permission to kill the beautiful woman he'd been denied. That concerned the hit man, because he wouldn't get the remaining $125K until he completed the contract, but the client was paying him five thousand dollars for each day until the contract was fulfilled, and the hit man never passed up easy money.

With nothing to do but wait until she went inside the hit man allowed himself the pleasure of watching her body brown in the sun. A pity, destroying such a beautiful creature, but pity wasn't high in the hierarchy of the hit man's emotions. Nor was lust, but that didn't stop the telescopic sight from roaming over her magnificent body. 

Something startled the woman, her breasts wobbled as she sat up, her legs straddling the chaise lounge. She reached into her bag and pulled out a cell phone, and the hit man watched her speak for about fifteen seconds. He was too far away to read her lips, but he could tell that she was excited about something. When she hung up she tossed the cell phone in the bag and thrust her hand into her groin, diddling herself with enthusiasm. 

The hit man was patient, patience was an absolute necessity in his chosen field, and he alternated between looking through the scope and scanning the grounds with his naked eyes. He was curious as to what the phone call was about, and ten minutes later he had his answer. There was movement in the house, the tall glass window that led to the pool deck eased open along its tracks. The hit man moved the telescopic sight until the crosshairs centered on the face of a man in his early twenties, an extremely handsome man with a deep tan and wavy black hair that hung to his shoulders. He wore a white T-shirt that showed off his bulging biceps and massive pectorals. 

The hit man leaned back from the scope and watched his client's wife walk over to her guest, stand up on tiptoes, and wrap her arms around his neck. From the size disparity the hit man guessed that the dark-haired man was about six-foot-four and weighed about two hundred and thirty pounds. He cupped the woman's tiny ass with one massive hand and pulled her naked pelvis against his groin. He helped the beautiful blonde pull his shirt over his head, and the hit man could see that a number of tattoos adorned his pumped-up body. 

The bodybuilder kissed the woman on the lips, and hefted one of her weighty breasts. The woman's own hands were busy with the zipper of his black shorts, which she quickly yanked down to his ankles. She slowly slid down the length of his body, and from the bobbing motion of her head the hit man knew that she was performing fellatio.

The hit man pressed the call button on his cell phone. "What?" came the irritated voice of his client. 

"Your wife has a guest."

"What?"

"Do you know anyone about six-four, long black hair, built like a bull?"

There was a pause. "Why?" the client's voice was hoarse.

"Because your wife is giving him a blowjob."

"What? She's doing...she's...she's doing WHAT?"

While the client screamed and sputtered the hit man watched his wife give her lover head. Her blonde hair formed a soft canopy around his groin, and after a few seconds more her oral loving sapped his strength to the point where he had to sit down on the grass. He spread his legs wide and the client's wife pushed her long hair away from her face, exposing what was to the hit man's amused eyes the biggest penis he'd ever seen.

The client said, "Wait, does he have tattoos? Lots and lots of tattoos?"

"Yes."

"The one on his arm, is it a drawing of the sun, with big rays extending out?"

"Yes."

"Jesus Christ," the client screamed. "He's our gardener's assistant. She's fucking some piece of shit who waters my lawn!" The client ranted a bit more before he sobbed, "Why would she want to fuck him?"

"Maybe because his cock is over ten inches long," the hit man ventured.

"What...what did you say?"

"He's hung like a gorilla. I'm surprised she can take all of him in her mouth."

The client went berserk and the hit man let him. He watched through the scope as the beautiful young woman loved the enormous phallus with her lips, tongue, and mouth. Her muscular lover writhed under her tender attentions, he spread his arms wide and thrust his hips desperately, and the client's wife wrapped both her hands around the prodigious length of the man's penis and pumped him furiously while the fat helmet remained trapped in the warm, wet confines of her mouth. The hit man could not hear the two lovers, but he could tell by the man's spasmodic thrashing that he was coming, and after just a few minutes of this beautiful woman's cocksucking. She must be very good, the hit man thought. Very, very good.

"What's going on now?" the client cried.

"He just came in her mouth." The hit man could not actually see if that was true, but he assumed it was so, and he wanted to goad his client, he wanted his client in such a towering rage that he would finally give the order to kill the beautiful woman laboring on the grass by the pool.

But when the client shouted, "Kill them! Kill them both right now!", the hit man calmly replied, "I can't."

"Why not! Is it the money? I'll give you a quarter-million to kill him too! Do it."

The hit man smiled with satisfaction. "If I kill them now suspicion will immediately fall on you," he explained. "If the police find the two of them lying dead together, no one will believe it was a professional hit. You will be hounded by the police, there will be a massive investigation into your business, and eventually you will be charged with capital murder. I know you don't want that."

"No...no," the client said sullenly. And then, his voice brimming with pain, he asked, "What are they doing now?"

The hit man reported what he saw, that the man was lying down on the chaise lounge and his wife was straddling his semi-hard prick. She stroked him slowly, rubbing the sticky head between her legs, until he was hard enough to insert in the moist lips of her pussy. The enormous organ disappeared inside her vagina and it was almost like a magic trick, it seemed impossible that she could accept such a huge object into her body. But she did, she lowered her hips until every inch of his thick cock was buried deep in her pussy. 

The hit man described to the client how his wife slid up and down the endless length of her lover's cock, how the tattooed stud kneaded his wife's pillowy breasts as she rode him like a whore. She threw her head back and that golden mane of blonde hair spilled down her back to caress his bulbous testicles. She put her hands on his chiseled abdomen and screwed her lover with more and more speed, until her hips were a blur in the telescopic sight. The hit man moved the crosshairs and saw the man's sexy features twist in a rigor of ecstasy.

She lifted her hips, breaking their connection, and finished him with her hands. Again he thrashed about as he climaxed, his powerful thrusts so violent they nearly threw the woman off the chaise lounge. But she held on to his spurting prick, stroking him even as he bucked like an animal caught in a trap.

"They're finished," the hit man said. "For now, at least."

"When he leaves, kill her," the client said dully. "You can deal with that bastard later."

"No. The police might get to him before I did, and his semen would be all over her. We'd have the same problem as we would if I shot them now."

"I don't fucking care! I'll give you a million dollars! Kill them both!"

"A million dollars won't help me if you are arrested and confess that you hired me. I'd have to spend all the money trying to elude the authorities."

"I'd never tell them about you."

"Yes, you would. Now be patient, and let me do the job you hired me for. I'll send you a package tonight, so go to the mail drop tomorrow and throw away the phone you're using now." The hit man's voice turned soothing. "The next time I have the chance, let me do what you hired me for. You know what kind of woman she is, right?"

"Yes," the client whispered.

"On Friday give me the word, and I'll take care of your problem."

"OK, Friday. Thank you, thank you...Friday..."

The hit man hung up, and returned his attention to the target. She was kneeling in front of the man, kneading the now-limp penis. It refused to thicken under her caresses, and when he moved the crosshairs to the man he saw anger in the face. He shouted at the blonde woman who had just brought him to orgasm twice in fifteen minutes, and the hit man could guess at what they were arguing about. "You brought the heavy artillery, but you forgot extra ammunition," he chuckled. 

The argument grew heated. She slowly rose to her feet, letting the flaccid dong flop on his stomach. She must have said something especially venomous, because the man sprang to his feet and began screaming at the woman, with such volume that his voice actually carried faintly to the hit man's position. He could not make out the words, but the anger was unmistakable. The man reached down between his legs and hefted his inert meat, waving it at her, and she turned on her heel and stalked away. He took two quick steps and grabbed her by the arm, swinging her around violently. He said something else to her, and then he cuffed her on the shoulder, hard, knocking her to the ground.

The hit man slowed his breathing, centered the crosshairs on the man's forehead, and waited. He could not allow anything to happen to the target. If this man killed her it would solve his client's problems perfectly, but the hit man would be out a quarter of a million dollars. And he was not about to let that happen. 

Nor, it turned out, was the client's wife. She struggled to her feet, and with surprising quickness raced over to her bag. She pulled out a shiny object, and at first the hit man thought it was her cell phone. But the muscular gardener suddenly raised his hands and stepped back, and the hit man knew she held a gun. He looked closely and guessed that it was a .25 Beretta, a good weapon for a woman. She held it casually at her hip, where her lover couldn't get at it, and she looked perfectly calm. She knew what she was doing.

She motioned with her head toward the door, and the hit man leaned away from the scope and saw the man head for the sliding glass door. He focused in again as the man gathered his clothes and walked to the door, the huge penis swinging like a pendulum between his legs. The client's wife followed him inside the house, leaving the glass door open, and a minute later she reappeared, the gun still in her hand, her gait free and relaxed. She tossed the gun in her bag, reached inside, and pulled out a cigarette and lighter. The hit man watched her place the cigarette between her lips, touch the tip with flame, and lay back on the chaise lounge. He watched her smoke, and when she finished she rubbed out the butt on the cement of the pool deck and walked over the a small trash can on the patio. She returned to her bag and picked it up along with her bikini, then walked slowly back to the house. A rich, beautiful, confident woman without a care in the world, and the crosshairs remained fixed on the back of her head until the glass door slid shut.

The hit man waited fifteen minutes before he broke cover. He was only ten yards from the top of the hill, so he only had a crawl a few seconds before he disappeared over the crest. He retrieved a hard plastic case from under a bush and disassembled the sniper rifle, fitting each part in a padded section of the case. His dark blue van was parked in a clearing fifty yards away, and after secreting the rifle case under the back seat and stripping off the camouflage jump suit, the hit man drove away.

It was a 35 minute drive to the Holiday Inn where he had a room. He showered, shaved, and dressed in khaki shorts and a navy blue Polo shirt. The hotel was located in a heavily-developed commercial area and the hit man crossed the four-lane road to a shopping center. He walked to a bank of pay phones, keyed in the number of a stolen phone card, and then dialed a number.

"Yhullo?" a heavily accented voice said.

"I need clean phones sent to the same drops," the hit man said.

"I can do zhat," the man said, "but you use up last of deposit. If you need any more, I want one thousand American dollars first."

"I'll have the money transferred tonight," he said, and hung up. He dialed another number. "Yes?" This voice was also accented, but it was educated, and amused.

"Transfer another thousand to Ma Bell."

"Oh, dear, not done yet?" The accent and affectation was British, but the man speaking was obviously not a native of Albion.

"Not yet."

"But soon?"

"That's none of your business."

"But what should I tell our friend?" the playful voice asked. "He's very anxious for news, as I'm sure you can understand."

"Tell him to be patient."

The man on the other line giggled. "Patience is not one of our friend's virtues."


Caught in the Crosshairs Ch. 01



"He has to learn it sometime," the hit man said, trying to keep the annoyance from his voice.

"Mmm, I'll tell him what you said," the cloying voice said. And then, "How are you enjoying your room at the Holiday Inn? Perhaps I shall have a bottle of champagne delivered to room 1218 when you fulfill your contract?"

A passerby would have noticed that the tall blond man stiffened suddenly. No one was supposed to know what identity he was traveling under, or where he was staying. "I think that would be unwise, Zoltan."

The man sighed theatrically. "You're right, alas. We'll have to save that toast when you join us here in Astana."

"I'm afraid so," the hit man said.

"I must say, our friend is concerned about where your priorities lie at the moment. I admit I have qualms myself."

"I took a job, and that job will be completed to his complete satisfaction," the hit man said. "How I go about my work is no one's business but my own." 

"Ah, but it is my business as well, remember. Any complaints our friend has about your conduct reflect upon me as well."

"I'm sure you know that I could care less about your reputation. And after this assignment, our business relationship will come to an end."

The man called Zoltan laughed lightly. "So you keep saying. Perhaps we shall wait and see. 

The hit man took a moment to calm himself before he said, "Everything is going according to plan, I..."

"Your plan. Not the plan we originally agreed on."

"My plan is the only one that matters. And that plan is proceeding exactly as I expected."

For the first time the voice on the other line was angry. "You have needlessly complicated the situation and dramatically increased the likelihood for failure and exposure."

"I never fail," the hit man said, "and our friend expects his involvement to be exposed. So your complaints are groundless. And," the hit man said, "they are quite unprofessional." He hung up before the voice on the other line could reply. 

The hit man walked away from the pay phone, his lips stretched tight in a grimace. Zoltan was right, this mission was getting too complicated. When he took the job it looked simple and straightforward, a cakewalk, one last mission to ease his way into retirement. He should have steered clear of Zoltan. His oft-used middleman was decidedly unhappy that the hit man was withdrawing from the scene, as it would put a serious dent in the vicious little man's wallet. And now Zoltan had revealed how much he knew about the hit man's operating habits, his networks, and that made the hit man nervous. He should have killed Zoltan years ago, but the canny Serb was too valuable. He'd helped turn the hit man into a rich man.

It was the money, it was always the money. That was why he took this one last job, one last chance to make a really big score. He was still confident that he could complete the job as contracted, but the mocking voice on the pay phone, teasing him with the actual room number of the hotel he was staying at, made him uneasy. He was always careful on an assignment, but now he had to be extra, extra careful.

When Zoltan offered him the assignment it seemed almost too easy. An American businessman named Charles Ranier had made clumsy inquiries about hiring an professional assassin, and upon hearing about this a Kazakhstani crime boss who had stolen millions from Rainer assumed he was the target. The Mafiosi asked Zoltan to sound the American out, find out what he knew, and then kill him. That was the mission the hit man was hired to complete.

But is wasn't Maxim Ismailov the American wanted dead, but his own wife. And as he sat with Rainer in a booth of a noisy Outback Steakhouse in Charlotte, North Carolina, and listened to the millionaire state the amount he would pay to have his wife killed, the hit man made a quick decision. He took the job. He saw no conflict of interest in accepting a job from a man he was already contracted to kill, because the hit man allowed nothing to conflict with his interests. The wife first, the husband second. Both clients would get what they paid for. 

But until Rainer found his nerve and gave permission to liquidate his wife, the hit man could not kill him. And that was making Ismailov nervous back in Kazakhstan, and he was not the sort of man the hit man wanted to irritate needlessly. Well, for now he would have to be irritated. The hit man stood to make a quarter of a million dollars by killing the American's wife, and maybe even a bonus if he killed the handsome stud who had just enjoyed the young woman's luscious body. It was well worth whatever trouble Zoltan or Ismailov might cause to bank that much money for such an easy job.

The hit man considered the trouble his middleman could create for him, and felt less confident. If Zoltan knew where he was staying, then he knew the name he was traveling under. If he knew that, he probably knew the names on the other false papers he carried, and that was cause for concern. He'd never worried about a double-cross, because he was too valuable for Zoltan to risk, but if retired, well, he knew enough about the Serb to have him locked away for the rest of his life. And Zoltan knew it.

He needed a safe house, a hole to hide in if things went badly wrong. The trouble was, he couldn't rely on any of his usual contacts, because any or all of them could be compromised. The hit man knew a simple way to find such a haven, a method he'd used successfully before, and resolved to take care of the situation immediately. It was nearly two o'clock, and he had the rest of the day free. For the second time that day, the hit man went hunting.



Caught in the Crosshairs Ch. 02



The hit man walked to the parking garage that disfigured the far western side of the shopping center and took the stairs to the third floor. He used the automatic key to unlock the doors of his rented BMW 330Cic convertible, silver-blue with a black leather interior. At the hotel he'd said that he was a master carpenter called in to work on a fancy house some wealthy doctor was building nearby, which explained the van and the odd-looking cases. But he wanted as few people as possible to see him in that van, just in case something went wrong and he had to run, so he rented the BMW under another name, a car for tooling around town and, when his mission was completed, for escaping the city. He hadn't expected this much free time, but since his American client couldn't make up his mind about liquidating his wife the convertible had been worth the trouble.

The hit man drove north, past the endless malls and superstores the size of football fields, until he left the congestion behind and found a long, straight, four-lane road. Ten minutes later her reached the large park that provided a leafy refuge for the denizens of the city's northern suburbs. A large lake sat at the center of the park, with a 5.5 mile road and bike trail along its perimeter, and the hit man drove around the lake several times, the breeze ruffling his light blond hair. As he drove he carefully studied the pretty girls enjoying this warm June day, and lost himself in thought. He thought about his mission, about his most recent phone call, but mostly about the gorgeous young woman he was contracted to kill. 

He had no qualms about killing her, had the client given the order he would have put a bullet through her head without a second's hesitation. But as he remembered what he saw later in the morning, saw the way the woman made love, he felt a pleasant ripple in his groin. He wanted her. That was not surprising-any man who saw her would want her. But the hit man wanted her badly enough that, as he drove, he started to toy with the idea of approaching her. It broke every rule of his profession, and though the hit man was not superstitious that of course bothered him. This would almost certainly be his last mission, and you don't take reckless chances your last time out. He'd saved a small fortune over the years, the money safe in Cayman and Swiss bank accounts, and if his client paid as promised he would have enough money to retire and live in style the rest of his days.

He'd done well for himself, especially when one considered where he came from. The hit man's father was a career diplomat, a dry, plodding sort who spent his entire life in identical charcoal-gray suits, doing the bidding of more intelligent and ambitious men. The hit man loved his father, but could never respect him. He was a quiet and meek man, good qualities in a low-level diplomat, but not so good in a father. The hit man barely knew his mother. She left them when the hit man was 8 years old, left her husband and son without so much as a good-bye. Her drinking embarrassed her husband, and disgusted her son, who already was building up a catalog of faults he found unacceptable in other people. He never missed her, and never wondered what became of her.

The hit man's father was reassigned nearly every other year, and though he could not have known it, this itinerant life groomed his son perfectly for his chosen profession. By the time he was 18 the hit man was fluent in English, French, Italian, Spanish, German, and Russian. He was completely at home in nearly every major city in Europe and the United States, both from having lived in those cities and from accompanying his father on his diplomatic trips. 

Moving so often, and to so many different countries, meant that the hit man had no close personal friends. At each new school he reinvented himself, passing himself off as the son of an English earl, a Russian count, or an American movie producer. He was a very skilled actor, and as he felt nothing but contempt for his peers he aggressively blocked all attempts his classmates made to find out who he really was. Those boys who tried to bully him soon found out that the tall, blond young man had extremely quick hands and a capacity for casual cruelty.

His father hoped his son would follow him into the diplomatic corps, but he might as well have hoped the hit man would become an opera singer. After so many hours wasted in classrooms and musty embassy offices the young man action and adventure. With his father's humble connections the hit man could have gone to several good universities, but school didn't interest him in the least. Already he was thinking about a career outside the pale of normal society, and the military seemed like it might be the answer. He enlisted in the army and, after a severe weeding-out process, won an assignment to an elite paratrooper unit. It was during his 8 years as part of this unit that the hit man developed his weapon skills, and where he decided to become a killer-for-hire.

During the last year of his military service the hit man's unit was deployed to the Balkans as part of a UN peacekeeping force. The UN forces were vastly outnumbered by the hostile Serbs, and it soon became obvious to the hit man and his fellow paras that they could be taken hostage or killed outright at any time. They had no armor, little air support, and no mandate to do anything more than watch as genocidal Serb soldiers rousted Bosnian Muslins from their homes and slaughtered them like cattle. The paras would patrol outside a village and then, the next day, find nothing but smoking ruins. They would see huge mounds of freshly raised earth surrounded by Serb soldiers, and they knew that underneath were the bodies of the murdered villagers. 

The event that turned the young paratrooper into a professional assassin was a typically cold and rainy April morning. Out on routine patrol, the hit man's unit was ambushed by a company of Serbian irregulars. Three of his comrades were killed and seven wounded. Before they could respond the enemy forces melted away into the forests. Because the hit man and the other survivors could not positively identify the men who ambushed them, they were not permitted to move against the local Serb army and militias, nor would the NATO commanders authorize any air strikes.

That was the last day the hit man followed a flag. Sitting in their tents, freezing to death, staring at their comrades empty bunks, the hit man asked his lieutenant, "Sir, do we still have those AK's we confiscated from those bastards last month?"

"Yes," the officer said. "So what?"

"So," the hit man said, getting to his feet, "I need a magazine, and a night scope."

The lieutenant stood to block him. "If you get caught, they'll kill us all."

"They might kill us anyway," the hit man said. "Maybe this way, they learn that we know how to kill even better than they do."

One of the paras said, "I'd rather have a fight than wait to get picked off while I take a piss."

The lieutenant looked at the hit man, at the other grieving soldiers, and wisely stood aside. "Thank you, sir," the hit man said, not wanting to humiliate his officer. He looked at his mates and grinned. "A hunting I will go, a hunting I will go..." For the first time since the attack the other paras laughed. The hit man was the best shot in the company, considered by all and sundry an extremely dangerous sort. Let the Serbs find out first hand how dangerous.

That first night he found two armed Serbs smoking cigarettes while strolling down a unpaved road. He left them lying on the ground with holes between their eyes. The next day he found a lone gunman walking between two nearby villages and left him for the crows. The next day three Serbs were killed, and the day after two more...

At first he targeted uniformed Serb soldiers or militia wearing insignia. Men like these would be found with neat holes through their foreheads and their brains splattered over the turf, and the militias would raise holy hell and send dogs and patrols into UN-secured territory. But when the Serbs dug one of the slugs out of a hillside one of the doomed men had been standing in front of, they found that it was a round from an AK-47, not a NATO-issued weapon, and that caused some confusion. There were considerable rivalries between militias, and soon the rumors spread that this might be the work of a provocateur trying to usurp a local warlord. 

The hit man added fuel to this discussion by targeting the commanders who ran these militias. This was where the hit man truly left his military career behind and went to work on his own account. Thanks to his language skills the hit man was often used as an interpreter with the locals, and he soon developed relationships with a number of the most despicable and ambitious gunmen. He liquidated their rivals in exchange for assurances that the new leaders would not target UN personnel.

During a search and seizure raid on farm suspected of being a Serb arms dump, the hit man had cause to speak to a small man with thin, feminine eyebrows. "So tragic, all these men shot through the head," the man said in flawless English.

The hit man said, "There's enough tragedy around here I didn't notice."

The small man laughed. "No, you misunderstand. Not tragic that those pigs died, but that the one who killed them was so foolish as to do it for free! He must be quite extraordinary, to dispatch so many without getting caught, and each time a single shot to the head." The man sighed. "If only this man knew that he could make a nice spot of money for himself if he knew the right people to talk to."

The little man walked away, and the hit man followed him. "What kind of people?" he asked.

The Serb's disturbing brows rose. "Why would I tell you? You would have them arrested."

"That's correct, I would be responsible for turning them over," the hit man said. There was a long pause, the two men stared each other down, and then the little man smiled, and they understood each other. 

"My name is Zoltan," the small man said. He handed the hit man a slip of paper. "This is where I can be reached. Perhaps we can do business together."

During his 6 months in Bosnia the hit man killed 47 Serbs, and instigated a series of violent internecine battles that left hundreds of militiamen dead or wounded. The hit man considered his duty well-done, as the Serbs killed each other with such gusto that they hadn't time to bother the local Muslims. With Zoltan's help, the hit man also went home with a secret Swiss bank account that showed a balance in five figures. It was a start, a good start.

After Bosnia he knew what he was capable of, knew the unique gifts he possessed, and a career as a professional killer did not seem so outlandish or absurd as it might to a civilian. And thanks to the reputation that quickly spread from the Balkans throughout the underworld of Europe, a reputation publicized by Zoltan, who fled Bosnia before the War Crimes Tribunal got a good sniff at him, many others were aware of it as well. 

And now, eleven years later, he was ready to retire. He was 37 years old, and this was not a business for middle-aged men. The more successful a professional killer, the more likely it was that he would have powerful enemies, and the hit man was very successful. It was time to fade from sight, forever. Europe was a bit too hot right now, and post-9/11 the United States was hardly a secure place for a man like himself. So he planned to spend at least the first few years of his retirement in Thailand, lounging on the beach, eating well, and enjoying the beautiful young women. He was looking forward to it. He'd earned his rest.

But the hit man found his thoughts returning again and again to one particular beautiful young woman. He had a job to do, and he wondered if there was a way that he could both complete this last mission and indulge himself as well. He needed to do some serious thinking, so he parked the BMW next to an empty pavilion and turned off the engine. He didn't want to run over a jogger while deciding what to do.

He had to resist the lure of the client's wife. Sleeping with her would not be much of a risk, as she would soon be dead and unable to identify him. But breaking cover in that way violated every rule in the book. Not that the hit man was obsessed with rules, but putting his face in front of his target seemed less the work of a professional than a madman. 

He wondered idly if the client's wife would find him attractive, if she would want to go to bed with him as badly as she wanted the gardener. He could not match the muscular stud in endowment, but, he thought with a smile, size isn't everything. He was going to kill the client's wife with a bullet as small as a jellybean. The hit man leaned back and watched birds flit from tree to tree. He couldn't decide. He considered the possibility that, if he had sex with this woman, he wouldn't be able to kill her. The hit man doubted that could possibly happen, but even if it did, he would just be out the money. Her husband was no threat, since he would also soon be dead.

The hit man was still debating the question when a girl's voice spoke behind him. "Wow, this is a nice car." 

The hit man turned and saw two teenage girls teetering on Rollerblades. They were tan and very pretty, the one girl tall and leggy with light brown curls framing her oval face, the other a curvy little bombshell with rich auburn hair. They showed off their sexy young bodies in their belly shirts and Lycra shorts, and the hit man flashed them a toothy smile. "Thanks, I told my company that if I had to be out of town for a month I needed a sweet ride to cruise around town."

"Is this leather?" the taller of the two girls said, running her fingers over the back seat. The other girl was half a head shorter and two cup sizes larger than her friend and when she leaned over to look the hit man admired the deep cleft between her breasts. 

"Of course." He looked down at their skates. "Nice day to put the top down, go for a drive, look at all the pretty girls..."

They both giggled. The hit man chatted with them for a few minutes, learned that the girls had just completed their freshman year at a small local college and were on a brief break before the start of the summer session. Their car was parked on the other side of the lake, and they were both SO tired...

"I'd offer you a lift," the hit man said, "but I'm sure your parents said you should never get in a car with a stranger."

"We could sit in the back seat," the taller girl said, "I think we'd be safe back there."

"You think so?" the hit man said, and then he laughed and motioned with his head to the back seat. "Jump in."

"I'm Jessica," the taller girl said, and her busty friend said, "I'm Mandy." 

The hit man shook their cool hands. "My name's...Jack." "Jack" told the girls that he was a businessman. They didn't ask him what kind of business he was in and he didn't volunteer the information. The girls took off their skates and sat on the top of the rear seat, their hair blowing in the slipstream, waving at boys and showing off in their new friend's car. The park speed limit was just 25 miles an hour and the girls had plenty of opportunity to scream and giggle at the passersby. The hit man enjoyed their girlish enthusiasm, and enjoyed watching their breasts thrust against their tight T-shirts.

The hit man saw a Tastee-Freeze around the corner and said, "Anyone want ice cream?" He stopped and bought three twist cones and they ate them in the parking lot, lounging on the soft leather seats. The two girls licked the soft ice cream with pink tongues and the hit man felt his penis quiver pleasantly inside his shorts. When he resumed driving he considered the situation. There were two of them, and that was one too many. A few times in the past the hit man had seduced a young woman while on assignment, both for the diversion and to provide cover in case something went terribly wrong. 

During a mission in Romania his contact person had been arrested and had immediately told the authorities everything he knew about the hit man. After some surprisingly good police work the Romanian security forces learned the name he was traveling under and began an extensive manhunt. He would probably still be languishing in a jail cell had he not, the week before, seduced a dark-eyed girl who waited tables at the restaurant near his hotel. The two nights he dined there he tipped her extravagantly, and a third night met her for drinks afterward. He tenderly made love to her, pleasuring her with his lips and tongue before even removing his own clothes. She was used to men taking what they wanted of her and then leaving, she told him after he finally satisfied his desire for her body. "I've never been so happy," she whispered in the darkness. "I would do anything, anything, if you would stay."

Two days later, when his cover was blown, that's exactly what the hit man did. He showed up at her tiny flat, told the girl he was hopelessly in love with her, and that he wanted to take her back to London with him. He was traveling under British papers, papers that were useless now, and during those four days the hit man waited for one of Zoltan's forgers to provide him with the passport he needed to make his escape. 

The girl loved taking care of the hit man, she cooked for him every night, even called off work twice to spend the day making love with him. The tiny black-and-white TV was kept switched off, at his insistence. She might never have learned his identity had it not been for the old man who delivered the local newspapers to the tenants of the old apartment house. He put the paper intended for the flat next door in her box. He watched her take it out of the box, shaking her head, "This is the hundredth time he's...he's..." She stared at the front page of the paper, at the picture of the man who had spent the last three days in her bed. 

Before she could scream the hit man covered her mouth with his hand, dragged her inside, and quietly shut the door. What happened next was done quietly as well. He spent the fourth day alone in her flat, until he heard the coded knock on the door that signaled his new papers had arrived. Three hours later he was on a plane headed for Istanbul, and safety. The discovery of the girl's body rated only three column inches in the local newspaper that had unintentionally contributed to her death.

Odd, that he couldn't remember that girl's name now. He remembered her eyes, and how much she weighted, but not her name. Odd.

So, what to do with the two girls in the back seat? It seemed a waste to just let them go. If nothing else, they might provide enough of a diversion to end his interest in his client's wife, and that alone was reason enough to take the next step. And, the professional in him said, they might be of assistance after all. He was still edgy, thinking about Zoltan. 

He made up his mind. Instead of wishing the two pretty girls a good afternoon, he asked, "Do you ladies have to be home by a certain time?"

"No," Jessica said. "Why?"

"I thought maybe you'd show me around town a bit. I heard you just opened up a new baseball park, I think the Cubs are in town..."

"Oh, I'd love to go see a game," Mandy said. "But I don't think we're really dressed to go out."

"Well, maybe we could do some shopping first," the hit man ventured, and that was the magic word. He drove the girls back to their car, where they swapped their 'Blades for sandals, and after they got back in the BMW they gave the hit man directions to a huge mall just a quarter-mile from his hotel room. At the mall the girls found that their new friend was a most patient and generous man. He didn't object when they tried on scores of different outfits at a half-dozen stores, and every time he liked what they showed him he told them to buy it. "Jack" bought them cute little tank tops and too-short miniskirts and expensive designer dresses and beautiful Italian sandals. He didn't mind spending the money because, after all, his client was the one footing the bill. 




Caught in the Crosshairs Ch. 02



Even though she seemed to be enjoying herself, Mandy seemed wary and uneasy that this stranger was spending so much money on them. She kept looking at Jessica, her eyes asking the question, "Doesn't this seem weird?" But Jessica was having too much fun, she was enjoying herself too much to ask such hard questions, and her enthusiasm was contagious. By the end of the second hour, Mandy was happily modeling her new clothes for the hit man, and even flirting a bit. 

The hit man paid for everything in cash, showing the girls a fat roll he knew would impress them. When they wanted to stop in Banana Republic he peeled off four fifty-dollar bills and said, "I need to make a quick stop, I'll be back in ten minutes." He left the girls and walked across the concourse to Victoria's Secret, where he made two purchases. When he returned and the girls saw the pink-and-white striped bag they looked at each other and giggled.

"What's that?" Jessica asked.

"It's a surprise," the hit man said.

The girls begged to see what he bought them, but he was adamant. They would have to wait. They left the mall and filled the trunk of the BMW with brightly-colored bags. And now the hit man confronted a bit of a problem. Driving back to the Holiday Inn was a serious breach of security. No one there had seen him driving a convertible, and it might seem odd to a hotel cleaning woman to see a carpenter on assignment driving a $50,000 car. So the hit man said, "I'm staying at the hotel right there," he said, pointing at the hotel down the road. "Why don't I take you ladies back to the park, you can put all your goodies in your car, and then meet me at the hotel. You can change and we can go to the game."

The hit man knew that this would reassure the girls that his motives were utterly pure, and Mandy smiled with palpable relief. There was a risk, here, too-that the girls would take their loot and go home. The hit man trusted his instincts and guessed Jessica wouldn't want to end such an exciting day, and her quiet, curvy friend would come along too. So after dropping them off he drove back to the shopping center, parked the BMW, and jogged across the street to his room. The hit man took off his Polo shirt, washed his face and neck, and brushed his teeth. He was searching through his closet for a fresh shirt when he heard nervous tapping at his door. He pulled it open and saw his pretty young friends waiting with shy smiles. They hit man enjoyed watching their eyes roam over his bare chest, stomach, and arms. Mandy looked at his navel and licked her lips nervously. 

"Come on in," the hit man said. "You got here sooner than I expected." He stepped aside and let the two girls into the room. "Let me pick out a shirt and I'll wait downstairs while you get dressed." He picked a pale-blue button down shirt of light cotton material and stepped into comfortable sandals. He picked up his money clip and billfold and checked the dial of his watch. Each girl carried a small purse and as Mandy pulled out lipstick and perfume the hit man grinned. "Don't take too long getting ready. We have some time, but I'd like to get there in time to get good seats."

Jessica said, "I still live at home, I called my folks and told them I'd be out late tonight." 

"Clever girl," the hit man said, and leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. Jessica leaned into him and put her hand on his broad shoulder. 

"Do you still live at home?" he asked Mandy.

"No, I have an apartment next to campus," she said, her eyes on the floor, still shy around him.

"It's really nice, it's this condominium complex right across the street," bragged Jessica.

"Sounds nice," he said, making a careful note of that important fact, and he kissed Mandy on the cheek. She blushed bright red. Both girls were extremely keyed up, both aroused and nervous around this exciting man. He set the key on the table by the door. "Oh, and when you're ready, just meet me out front, OK?" 

"OK, Jack," Jessica sighed.

The hit man walked across the road to the shopping center and, instead of walking straight to his car, went to a large drugstore. Inside he bought several packs of lubricated condoms, and when he returned to the car he put them in the glove compartment. Before he drove back to the hotel he raised the convertible's roof. It would make it that much harder for anyone to recognize him in the sporty car. 

It took the girls half an hour to get ready, about what the hit man expected. He honked the horn and drove up to the entrance to pick up his new friends. The two looked sexy and relaxed in their new outfits. Jessica wore a periwinkle-blue blouse with spaghetti straps and a khaki skirt cut just a few inches above her knees. Mandy wore a simple white top with a scoop neckline that showed off the fullness of her wonderful breasts, and a gauzy floral skirt. She'd let her lustrous auburn hair down and it glittered in the sunlight. They both wore dark lipstick and their eyes were framed with mascara. "You both look absolutely beautiful," the hit man said as the girls got in the car, Jessica in the back, Mandy right next to him. 

"Thank you," Jessica said, and leaned over the seat to kiss him on the left cheek. "Yes, thank you," Mandy said, and nervously pressed her lips to his right cheek. 

"Do you want me to keep the top up?" he asked as he pulled into traffic. 

"Yes, please, I don't want to mess up my hair," said Jessica.

The girls helped guide "Jack" downtown to the baseball park. They parked in the lot right next to the box office, the hit man not at all adverse to paying $20 to leave his car so close. He bought box seats on the first base side and sat down with a pretty girl on each side. The hit man enjoyed the curious and envious stares of the people around him. Was he their father, an uncle, or...what? 

They enjoyed the game immensely, the home team scored early and often, and twice foul balls screamed past them. They enjoyed Cokes and nachos and peanuts, and midway through the game the hit man put his arm around each girl's chair and put his feet up.

"Nothing better than watching a ball game on a nice night with such lovely company," the hit man said.

"Jack," Mandy asked. "What did you buy at Victoria's Secret?"

He laughed. "You didn't find that bag in my room, did you? Little snoops."

"Please, tell us," Jessica pleaded. 

"If you want to find out, you'll have to be patient."

"How long do we have to wait?"

"Maybe...after the game."

"Do you promise?" Jessica asked with a wicked grin.

The hit man held up a hand. "I promise."

The game ended with a double play, and the hit man and his sexy young friends left the park and went to the car. This time Mandy joined him in the front seat, and they pulled out of the garage and sped north. "Are you hungry?" the hit man asked.

"Not really," Mandy answered. 

Good, the hit man thought. "All right then, let's just go back to the hotel." He drove for a minute of so before he said, "I'd like to thank you ladies for a wonderful time. I'd planned on spending the evening in my hotel room watching the game on TV. This was a lot more fun."

"We had fun, too," said Mandy.

"It was really nice of you to take us shopping, and take us to the game" Jessica said. 

"And it was nice of you to come with me. It gets so lonely when you're on the road as much as I am."

"Are you...married?" Mandy finally asked.

The hit man laughed. "No, no. If I had a wife I think she'd be rather upset with my taking two gorgeous women on a shopping spree." He looked in the rearview mirror and saw their Jessica's dark brown eyes. "And you are both gorgeous women."

The hit man parked the BMW next to the girls' white Neon. "Well, here we are," the hit man said. They just sat there, and the hit man turned around and rested his arm on the seat. He smiled at the two quiet girls. "What should we do now?"

Jessica smiled back at him, but Mandy was actually trembling. Jessica said, "I think you promised to give us the presents you bought at Victoria's Secret."

"Oh, that's right. Wait here." The hit man popped the trunk and returned with the striped bag. He shut the door and looked inside the bag. "Let's see, this one is for Mandy," he handed her a pink box, "and this one is for Jessica." 

The girls opened their gifts. Each girl received a teddy with thin shoulder straps. Mandy's was white satin, Jessica's the same rich material, but all black. The girl sitting next to him swallowed hard. "It's beautiful."

For a long time the girls said nothing, they just looked at the soft lingerie bunched in their hands, and at each other, but neither looked at the hit man. Mandy's cheeks were flushed a bright red. Jessica's nipples stood out against her blouse. The hit man waited as patiently as if the girls' faces were locked in the crosshairs of a telescopic sight. 

Jessica said, "Do you want us to try these on for you?"

The hit man laughed quietly. "Of course I do, but that's totally your decision." He got up out of the car and walked around to the passenger side. Mandy lowered the window and the hit man squatted down. "I would like you to join me in my room, but if you don't, I won't be at all offended. If you decide to go, then I would like to thank you for today." He kissed each girl on the cheek and turned toward the hotel. "Oh, one last thing," he said. "If you do decide to come up to my room, there's one more gift for you, in the glove compartment." The hit man smiled, turned on his heel, and walked slowly to the hotel.

The hit man took the elevator to his room, and once inside he stripped and put on clean boxer shorts. He washed his face and brushed his teeth and made sure that the room was free of distracting clutter. He wondered how long it would take the girls to decide to join him. He knew they would-curiosity as much as lust would compel them.

Five minutes later there was a soft knock at his door. He opened it, and there they were, each girl holding her box tight against her breasts. "I'm so glad to see you," the hit man said, and made way to let them come inside. He shut the door and twisted the lock. He moved close to Jessica and hugged her close, then leaned down and kissed her on the lips. He did the same to Mandy, and the girl closed her eyes and nearly fainted in his arms. 

"We need to change," Mandy said in a quavering voice. "We'll go in the bathroom..."

"No, I'll wait there. Just tap the door when you're ready for me." 

The hit man listened at the door, heard quiet rustling as the girls disrobed, and even quieter whispering. When the knock came at the door he waited a moment before opening it. He peered out, and the two girls sat on the bed, Jessica lounging back with her legs crossed, Mandy sitting straight up, almost at attention. Her breasts hung heavy inside the soft embrace of the lingerie, and he felt his penis thicken even more.

"Beautiful," the hit man said. "You're both so beautiful."

"So are you," Jessica said. 

He motioned with his hands. "Come to me." The two girls stood and embraced the hit man. His hands roamed across their backs, the satin rustling as he caressed them. The girls' hands wandered over his body as well, across his broad shoulders, his stomach, his ass. Of course it was Jessica who touched him there first, reached down with a warm hand to touch the erection jutting against his shorts. She squeezed his hard prick and her hand move along its length. "You are so sexy," she breathed. "I wanted you the second I saw you."

The hit man looked at Mandy. "Go ahead and touch it, darling."

She looked terrified. "I...I don't know. I don't think I should be doing this."

He smiled at her. "Please?"

Jessica said, "Mandy's never done this before," and the busty young redhead turned furious eyes on her friend. "Shut up, Jess!"

The hit man said, "You're a virgin, darling?" Mandy didn't answer, and the hit man said, "If you aren't ready, you don't have to make love with me. I understand."

Mandy looked up at the hit man, her eyes teary with fear and lust. "I just don't know..."

The hit man stepped back and removed his boxer shorts. His penis flared out from his groin, and he took Mandy's hand and put it on his organ. "Don't be afraid, touch it. Feel it. Just so you know what it's like."

Mandy's mouth hung open as she gingerly squeezed and fondled his cock. The hit man leaned over and kissed Jessica passionately, their tongues twining together. "I'm not a virgin," Jessica said. "I want you to fuck me, I want you to fuck me so bad..."

The hit man took Mandy's face in his hands and kissed her as he kissed Jessica, his tongue exploring her mouth, and his hands went to her breasts. He gently kneaded the soft flesh under the white satin as he pressed his lips against hers, and his thumbs found her taut nipples and plucked at them. While he kissed Mandy, Jessica slid between his legs and began nibbling at the head of his penis. He sucked in a deep breath as the teenage girl began fellating him. Compared to the woman he watched earlier in the day, Jessica was lacking in experience and technique, but her enthusiasm was obvious, and when the hit man broke the kiss with Mandy and looked down to see such a pretty young girl giving him head, he could have no complaints.

"Let me do that," Mandy hissed, her fear at falling behind Jessica making her bold. She dropped to her knees, staring at the huge erection that brushed her lips. She opened her mouth, half-closed it, and then she tentatively touched the tip of his cock with her tongue. 

"Just put your mouth on it, and go up and down," Jessica said. "That's it. And use you're tongue, too." 

The hit man smiled down at his two new lovers as they sucked and licked his cock. He let Jessica's tight, shiny curls slip through his caressing fingers, and he sighed with pleasure. "That's right, that's right," he said. Mandy looked up into his eyes, her mouth filled with him, and he closed his eyes and sighed again. "That's so good, darling."

He felt himself drawing closer and closer to orgasm, and he doubted that Mandy would react well to him ejaculating all over their faces. He stepped back and withdrew his penis from Jessica's mouth. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, darling, nothing. You'll have to forgive me, after spending all day with you I'm a bit impatient." He touched Mandy's neck and eased the thin straps of her teddy from her shoulders. "I want to see you," he ran a finger under one of the straps of Jessica's teddy, "both of you." He helped each girl to her feet and removed the satiny lingerie. He stepped back to admire their nude, young bodies. "All of you."

He led them to the bed and started on Jessica first. He lay next to her and lowered his mouth to her breast, sucking the tiny pink nipple into his mouth while his fingertips roamed across her tanned belly. "Play with me until it's your turn," he instructed Mandy, and felt warm fingers circle his shaft. She stroked him gently before returning his cockhead to her mouth. 

The hit man sucked and nibbled Jessica's nipples, the tall girl running her fingers though his fine blond hair. "Will you do that...down there?" she asked.

He looked up. "Do what?" he asked, raising his eyebrows to tease her. 

"Lick me." 

"Lick you?" he asked, flicking his tongue over her stomach. "Or suck you?"

He eased Jessica's legs apart and slid down her body until his head nestled in her groin. "Why don't you watch, Mandy," he told the other girl. "See if you want me to do this to you."

The hit man let his fingers trail up and down Jessica's inner thighs, and then he softly kissed her labia. "Oh...oh..." she whispered as his tongue slowly disturbed her moist petals. The hit man saw no need for patience, he doubted Jessica had ever known a lover with his experience, so he surrounded her clitoris with his lips and began sucking. He sucked and licked the hooded little bean, and Jessica's hips began gyrating in rhythm with his tongue.

"Oh Jack, oh, OHHH! Oh baby, that feels so nice, that's so nice..." The hit man swirled his tongue all over her and she moaned and thrust her hips into his face. "Are you gonna make me come?" she cried. "Oh, Jack! Are you going to make me come?"

"Mmm-hmmm..." he murmured.

Her breathing came faster and faster. "Please don't stop, please don't stop, oh...ohhh....OHH! Yes, yes, YES!" She twitched and struggled and the hit man kept his mouth glued to the burning spot between her legs. "UHH!! OHH!! Oh God! Oh God!!!" He let her squeal and scream until her breathing became desperate gasps. Only then did he rise up from her splayed legs, his face shiny from her juices. 

Jessica lay back, a huge smile on her face. "You're the first man who ever made me come."

Mandy, who looked like she was in shock, mumbled, "I thought you weren't a virgin."

Jessica laughed. "You don't always come when you fuck. At least not with the guy I did it with."

The hit man stood up, took Mandy by the hand, and helped her lie on the bed. "I don't know," she said, "I don't know if I'm ready for this..."

The hit man did not hesitate. "I think you are, darling." He kissed her deep cleavage. "Please, let me kiss your breasts..." and he put his mouth on one of her dark brown nipples and began sucking. The tip leapt into his mouth, and after circling it a dozen times with his tongue he moved to her other nipple. Mandy didn't make a sound. Her eyes were squeezed tight, her mouth open in a silent scream. She didn't object as the hit man kissed his way down her body, and when he reached her belly button she parted her thighs and spread her legs wide. 

The hit man licked up and down her buttery slot, savoring her feminine flavor. He tongued her pussy for a few seconds to prepare her for what lay ahead. Mandy still didn't make a sound, the only evidence she gave of being alive was when her teeth closed on her lower lip. 

The hit man gently wrapped his lips around her clitoris. Again his tongue went to work, again his mouth applied gentle and insistent suction. "Oooohh," Mandy whimpered. "Huhh...uhhh...no...no...." The hit man looked up from between her thighs, and as if compelled the girl opened her own eyes and looked down at the man giving her pleasure such that she never knew existed. 

The hit man used his tongue on her, his tongue began moving in slow circles around the magical bud, and then his tongue moved faster, faster, his sucking mouth and caressing tongue never slowing, never giving her a moment without ecstasy. He watched with delight as Mandy began fingering her own swollen nipples, the excited virgin not caring about propriety any more, only the amount of pleasure her body could endure before exploding.

"You have to stop," Mandy cried. "You have to stop, I'm going...I'm going..." But she wasn't going, she was coming, and the hit man nearly laughed as his nimble tongue brought the girl to her very first orgasm. She didn't scream, she didn't flail her arms back and forth. She arched her pelvis into the hit man's hungry mouth, squeezed her eyes tight shut, and the most beautiful smile spread over her dark lips. "Ohhh..." was all she said as her climax coursed through her.

Even before she finished the hit man was crawling between her legs. He aimed his penis between her legs and slipped inside her wet vagina. "Oh my God," Mandy said in a tiny voice. She watched his penis disappear inside her body. "Should we be doing this?"


"Yes, we should," the hit man said, quite excited now. He wanted her cherry, and he took it without asking. He moved his penis in and out of her slowly, very slowly, taking care not to hurt her or frighten her, but when she began lifting her hips to meet his thrusts the hit man started fucking her with more energy. The sexy virgin was very tight, very wet, and every time his cock thrust inside her pussy her big tits jiggled in the most enticing way.




Caught in the Crosshairs Ch. 02



"Jack," Jessica said behind him.

"Play with me, honey," he told the other girl. She looked worried, and he leaned over and kissed her. "Don't worry, I'll have plenty enough left for you."

"No, Jack, you aren't wearing a condom," Jessica said. Then she said to Mandy, "Are you on the Pill?"

Mandy's eyes were rolled back in her head, she was moaning softly with every movement of Jack's hips. "Huhhhh?" she sighed.

"You're not on the Pill, right?" Jessica said.

"Umm...ohh...ummm...no..."

"Should you put on a condom?" Jessica asked the hit man. But it was too late. There was no way he was pulling out to put a layer of latex between himself and Mandy's silky sheath. He ignored Jessica and screwed Mandy with gusto, her tits jiggling like crazy. He lifted her knees and rested them on his hips and plowed away, that delicious sensation of getting closer, closer, closer to that final peak.

He looked at the young girl moaning beneath him. "This is very special," he panted. "This is the first time, you always remember the first time..." His penis erupted inside her, his semen flooded her pussy and Mandy's eyes opened wide. "Jack...Jack..." she gasped. He thrust his cock as deep inside her as possible and pumped her full of his seed. 

When he finished, he slowly withdrew his penis from between her thighs, and lay down next to her. "That was wonderful," he said, taking her hand.

"Yes, it was." Her voice was mechanical, she was in some wonderful faraway place.

Jessica, however, was right there. "Mandy, you'd better go to the bathroom right now and, um, wash yourself. Right now." She took her friend by the wrist and hoisted Mandy out of bed. The hit man watched the two girls go off to the bathroom, and a few seconds later Jessica returned. 

"You should've worn a condom," Jessica said, trying not to show her anger. "She doesn't take birth control pills, what if..."

"Shh..." the hit man soothed. "I'm sure everything will be fine. She's lucky she has such a good friend in you." He sat up, reached out a hand, and Jessica joined him on the bed. Five seconds later his tongue was invading her pussy once again, again bringing the leggy teen to a fever pitch. Mandy returned, kneeling by the bedside, like a little girl ready to say her prayers. 

"Honey, bring me a condom," the hit man instructed Mandy, and she went to the table and returned with a blue foil square. "Tear it open," he said, and gave her instructions on how to slide it over his nearly-erect member. She unfurled it over his length, the smell of rubber and spermicide intruding on the potent human scents of their straining bodies, and the hit man penetrated his second woman of the evening.

Jessica was a screamer, a scratcher, a howler. "Oh, oh, OH! Fuck me, oh my God, fuck me!!" The hit man slammed himself in and out of her hole and she writhed like an eel. "Yes, yes, fuck me hard, baby, fuck me HARD!"

He pulled out, flipped Jessica on her stomach, and took her from behind. Her glistening curls spilled over her back as the hit man took her heart-shaped ass in his strong hands and speared her relentlessly. "UhhhHHH! OhhhhHHHH! UhhhhHHH!" she wheedled as the hit man thrust more and more forcefully. She buried her face in the pillows as she was screwed like she'd always wanted, but had up to now never enjoyed.

As the hit man pumped her saw Jessica's pink, puckered asshole and felt an electric thrill. He wanted it, he wanted to fuck her up the ass, to hurt her, for having spoiled Mandy's golden moment with fears of pregnancy. But he didn't think he was capable of that right now. His cock wasn't hard enough, though the mere thought of violating this pretty teenager in that way excited him terribly. He put his thumb over her sphincter and applied just a little bit of pressure and Jessica lowed like a cow. "What's that?" she moaned as his thumb burrowed a bit deeper. She arched her back and thrust her ass against him. "What are you DOING?"

"Oh, uhh, uhh, MMMM...," the hit man groaned, and he filled the reservoir tip of the condom with his semen. He kept thrusting as he looked at the tender asterix just above her pussy and he promised himself that, someday soon, he would enjoy that particular delight.

But that would have to come later, because they were done for the night. He removed the condom, wrapped it in Kleenex, and tossed it in the trash. Jessica went to the bathroom to freshen up, and Mandy took a turn as well. When she came out the hit man patted the bed and had her join them. 

"This has been such an exciting night for me," he said. "I don't know how to thank you."

"No, thank you," Jessica said. "This has been the most incredible day of my life."

The hit man looked at Mandy. There were tears in her eyes. "I'll never forget this, I'll never forget you, ever, ever!" He took her in his arms and kissed her forehead until the shaking stopped.

"Please, stay with me tonight," he said. "I have to leave early in the morning, but I don't want you driving home so late. Stay here, let's go to sleep, and then after I leave you can sleep in as late as you want."

"Can we see you tomorrow?" Jessica asked. 

"I hope so, I hope so. Maybe in the evening." He got up and turned off the light in the hallway to the bathroom. He came back to bed and snuggled between them. "Now let's get some rest. You two absolutely exhausted me."

For the first hour or so the two girls huddled close to the hit man, their arms crossed across his chest, but eventually their curled up on their own side of the bed and settled into comfortable sleeping positions. When they were both asleep, and Mandy gently snoring, the hit man slithered out under the covers at the foot of the bed. Sure that both girls still slumbered, he took their purses and went to the bathroom. He turned on the light but left the fan off. He quickly went through the two leather bags. His two lovers were named Jessica Ambrose and Amanda Keegan. He memorized the address on Jessica's driver's license, but he found the address for Mandy's condo on a credit card bill in her purse. It was for a Citibank Visa, her previous month's balance had been $2,836.17, and the bill had been paid in full. It seemed Mandy came from some money. Interesting.

Both girls had key rings, and when the hit man returned to the bedroom, setting the purses on the floor by the nightstand where he found them, he put their keys in a pocket of the shorts he wore to the baseball game. Then he went back to bed.

After so many disciplined years in the paras and in his own profession, the hit man could train his biological clock to wake him at any hour he wanted. His eyes snapped open at 7:45, and he gently nudged Mandy to the side and whispered, "Excuse me, darling."

Her blue eyes fluttered. "You're not going yet?" she said, alarmed.

"No," he said, kissing her forehead. "I'm going to get some coffee for us and the paper. I'll be back in twenty minutes. Go back to sleep." She obeyed, and closed her eyes immediately.

The hit man dressed quietly and took the elevator down to the lobby. No one paid him any mind as he walked outside and crossed the road. Before his first stop he examined his two collections of keys. The key to Jessica's dorm was stamped, "DO NOT COPY", so that was out, but the key to the Neon was on Jessica's ring, and that would be no problem. There were two keys on Mandy's ring that looked like they might be for her condo, so he would get those done. But his freshly deflowered friend drove a Volkswagon, and the keys for those cars are like little spring-loaded folding knives, you press a metal stud and the key pops out from inside the black plastic housing of the automatic door lock. So that was out. But still, a promising haul. 

In the shopping center across the street was a small hardware store that, in its vain effort to survive in a world dominated by Home Depot and Lowe's, opened at 8 o'clock. The hit man walked in and handed the keys he wanted made to the man behind the counter. "I'll be back in ten minutes," he told the proprietor, and he walked over to the Mailboxes Etc store and pushed open the door. "Howdy, Dave!" he said to the man behind the counter.

"Hey, how ya doin'?" the pleasant, eager man behind the counter replied. He reached in a plastic tub and pulled out a white FedEx envelope. "Waiting for this, I guess?"

The hit man grinned. "You got it."

"Perfect timing, they just dropped it off five minutes ago. Didn't even get a chance to put it in your box." The hit man signed for his package, chatted pleasantly with Dave for a few more minutes, and then he took his leave. He tore open the envelope, put his new, stolen cell phone in his pocket, and shredded the envelope, tossing bits of it in four different trash cans. He went back to the hardware store, paid for and pocketed his new keys, then jogged to the only other store open at that hour, Starbucks. He bought three triple lattes and headed back to his hotel, and his two slumbering lovers.

He woke them with kisses and the smell of hot, strong coffee. They came awake like kittens, yawning, stretching, testing the air with their noses. He handed them coffee and, as the took their first cautious sips, he dropped their keys back in their purses.

"I have good news and bad news," he said. "While I was downstairs I called my office, and my early meeting was cancelled. That's the good news. The bad news is I'm going to be locked up all day today and probably most of the weekend. So we might not be able to get together for a few days."

"But, you'll call us, right?" Mandy asked, her eyes so innocent and trusting. "You're not going home yet, are you?"

"No, no," he soothed. "I'll be here another few weeks. But it might be a few days before I can see both of you. But I will see you again...that is, if you want to see me."

Of course they did, they protested. They both wanted him to make love to them again but the hit man said he didn't have enough time, or enough stamina. "You forget, I'm an old man!" he said, and Mandy's eyes took on a hungry look that amused the hit man. "There's nothing old about you," she said, and the hit man knew he could make this girl eat out of his hand, a fact that could prove very useful in the future.

"I have to ask you not to call me here, or ask for me at the front desk," he told them. "Several of my business associates are on this floor as well, and I don't want them going back telling everyone about these two sexy girls who seduced me. These trips are supposed to be all business and no pleasure, and I might get in trouble if anyone knew that I was actually enjoying myself."

The girls promised not to bother him at the hotel, but only after he swore that he would call them. He got them dressed, got their phone numbers, and got them on their way. He kissed them goodbye, and they tiptoed past the rooms the hit man said contained his phantom coworkers. He waited with them for the elevator, and when the metal doors slid shut he padded back to his room and shut the door. It was a quarter till nine, he guessed his client had received his package by now. He pressed the number on the speed dial, the number that corresponded to the phone mailed to his client.

"Hello?" came the tired-sounding voice.

"Good, you got the phone."

"Yeah," the client said. There was a pause. "There's no way you can kill her today?"

"Probably not, no."

"I can't get the image out of my head, of her fucking that gorilla. I thought maybe in the morning I'd feel better, but I don't. I want her dead so bad it's driving me crazy."

"Maybe on Saturday. If she's outside on Saturday I'll take care of it."

"Are you sure you can't find a way to do it today?"

The hit man was just nine hours removed from fucking two gorgeous teenage girls, yet his penis twitched at the thought of the client's wife. "Where does she go for her massage?" he asked.

"It's a spa called Finlandia. She goes there around noon, gets a facial, pedicure, massage, the works. Then she has lunch with her friends and goes shopping at the mall."

"She follows the same schedule every week?"

"Like clockwork."

"It won't hurt to keep her under surveillance. I'm not promising anything, and I'm certainly not going to do anything rash. If I have an opportunity, I'll take it. If not, I'll wait until tomorrow."

"I want her dead by tomorrow. If she's not, then I'm canceling the whole thing, I'll find someone else to do it."

The hit man's voice was calm. "No, you won't. The job is mine. I would take it as a personal insult if you fired me, especially since you blocked me from three easy opportunities to eliminate her."

The client was apologetic. "I'm sorry, no, you're the man for the job, I'm just impatient to have it done."

"Impatience will get you a date with the electric chair. Go about your business. I'll take care of it."

He hung up. If he wanted to intercept the client's wife at the spa he needed to hurry. He stripped naked and got under the hot spray of the shower. There was no way he could kill the woman today, she would be out in the open, any attempt would be insane. So why am I hurrying, the hit man asked himself. He looked down, and saw that his penis was fully erect. He laughed. His body was making the decision for him. He would take a closer look his client's wife. How close a look would depend on the beautiful blonde woman he was contracted to kill.



Caught in the Crosshairs Ch. 03



The routine of Jenna Ranier's life varied only slightly from day to day. She typically woke around 8AM, breakfasted on fruit and coffee, then worked out for two hours in the well-appointed gym her husband built for her. Her husband agreed to the considerable expense of gutting two rooms and filling it with enough fitness equipment to satisfy a pro basketball team after she told him about the buff young men who relentlessly flirted with her at their club. Jenna knew her husband well enough that the little green imp of jealousy need only dance a few mocking steps before he catered to her every whim. 

Her workouts provided some variety. Monday and Wednesday she did her hard cardiovascular work, running on the treadmill, spinning, aerobics. Tuesdays and Thursdays were dedicated to weight-training, using the gleaming machines for her heavier lifting and barbells for sculpting. Every Friday she went to her spa for massage, and her Saturday workouts focused exclusively on stretching and yoga. Sunday was her  day to rest and recuperate. She didn't work out with a partner. No one needed to motivate Jenna to keep her body at the peak of physical perfection. 

If she took her exercise at home, Jenna would shower quickly with cold water and lay out by the pool for exactly one hour. Then she would take a hot shower in her ornate marble bathroom and dress for the afternoon. She lunched with friends every day at 1PM, Jenna usually picking up the check, and then she would spend the rest of the day shopping. If her husband was in town she would arrive back at the house by 5PM so she could dress for dinner. She and her husband would dine and talk about each other's day, and when they returned home Jenna would take her husband to bed and make love to him until he was completely exhausted. 

If her husband was out of town, as he inevitably was these days, Jenna would either scan through her vast mental Rolodex of men she could easily seduce and select one, or she would just find someone during the course of the day who interested her. She would allow the man she picked to ask her to dinner, and afterwards she would take him to her bed and make love to him until he was completely exhausted. 

Her exercise, her meals, and her lovers provided the only changes of melody in the symphony of her life.

That particular day was a Friday, and though Jenna could not have known it, this would be the last Friday of her life. She showered quickly, put on lipstick, and filled a bag with clothes to wear after she left the spa. She also tossed her silver Beretta automatic in the bag. After the incident yesterday she wasn't going out unarmed. 

She'd made love to the sexy bodybuilder who worked for her lawn company, finally indulging herself with the handsome, hunky man who propositioned in the crudest and most direct manner every time he worked on the grounds. He had one of the largest penises she'd ever enjoyed, but he was barely passable as a lover, with no self-control, and no stamina. When she playfully taunted him after he ran out of steam after just two orgasms he flattened her with one fearsome swat and might have done worse had she not had her pistol handy. Her muscular lover was one of those tiresome macho types who couldn't abide any criticism of his virility. He'd threatened to kill her, and Jenna knew enough about men and sexual rage to sense that he was serious. In case of any unpleasantness the gun would tilt the playing field in her favor.

She drove to the spa in her Mercedes and parked in the secured lot at the back of the building. Had she looked in her rear-view mirror during the drive she might have noticed a BMW convertible following her, but she hadn't looked. She went to the locker room, removed her clothes, and went to her assigned room. She lay face down on the cool, soft couch and waited for Marcel to appear. A minute later the door opened, and a deep voice said, "Ah, Madame Rainer, how are you today?"

"Fine, thank you," she said in a voice that was also rather deep, surprisingly so for such a lithe woman. 

"Any troubles, any pains we should concern ourselves with today?"

"I took a bit of a tumble yesterday by the pool, my shoulder is a bit sore."

He removed the towel and looked her over. "Ah, yes, we have some bruising there. Just a bit, but still." He took a bottle of oil from the small table next to the couch. She rested her head on her folded arms and felt oil drizzling over her bare back. Marcel's strong hands dug into her flesh, kneading and probing. His were not the soft caresses of a lover, but the powerful, healing touches of a shaman. 

Jenna had never gone to bed with Marcel, because she knew that if they made love he would never again be able to touch her body without desire, and she valued him too much as a masseur to risk that. She knew Marcel would never dare cross that line because she was one of his best customers, always tipping him very generously. Maybe, if Marcel decided to go back to France, she would fuck him. It would probably be very good, and she found herself looking forward to the day when she had sex with this talented man. In a life filled with easy, instant gratification, forcing herself to be patient was rather exciting.

He worked her over for forty minutes, and when he finished her body felt loose and limber. She thanked Marcel, handed him his envelope, and wrapped a towel around her body. She walked upstairs and took a seat before a slim Asian woman wearing a surgical mask. Jenna daydreamed during her manicure, thinking about the day before, the good parts, when she had squatted over her gardener and slid up and down his gigantic penis. She preferred a man with a large cock, but he had been TOO big, it took forever for him to get hard in her mouth and even while fucking her she felt him going doughy inside her.

She thought about her husband's cock, much smaller than Diego's, but always hard as a rock for her. And when they made love he could go three, four times in one night, she excited him so much that when his dick finally gave up for the night the two of them were usually covered in sweat, panting for breath, unable to even speak. She missed him terribly, missing feeling him on top of her, thrusting inside her. She hated him leaving her so often, jetting all over the world, trying to drum up new business, all because he needed to impress his witch of a mother. He could stay home, fuck her every single day, and let some money manager double his money every eight years, but that wasn't enough. He had to prove himself to that living corpse. 

And Jenna, bored, lonely, and horny, passed the time by indulging herself with every man she wished.  

Her nails sculpted and buffed to perfection, Jenna checked the clock and decided she had time for the sauna. She walked down to the ladies' locker room and, opening the heavy wood door, saw three familiar faces clustered on the back bench. She joined them and the four women spent twenty minutes gossiping about those women they knew who hadn't shown up that week. Jenna waited until glistening sweat covered her body, and then she wished them a good day and headed for the showers. She let the cool water caress her skin, tightening the pores, and washed herself with fragrant soap. She slipped into a pale-blue sundress, wearing no brassiere or panties, and stepped into her favorite white sandals. She brushed out her long, golden hair, put on a bit of lipstick, and left to meet her friends at the restaurant. 

This time she did notice the BMW convertible, because it pulled into the spot right next to her. She looked out her window and saw a tall, blond, and very handsome man speaking on a cell phone. Jenna opened her door and looked at the man as he too got out of his vehicle. He was dressed in a loose white shirt open at the throat and sand-colored slacks, and as he talked into the cell phone she was surprised to hear him speaking with a pronounced Irish accent. 

"Of course, Oscar, I unnerstan' " the blond man said. "I'm a' the place now, if you make it, good, if not, doan worry about it. Cheers." 

The man wasn't looking at her, hadn't as yet even acknowledged her presence, but as they approached the door he skipped past and pulled it open for her. "Thank you," she said.

"My pleasure," he said in a surprisingly neutral tone. Jenna was used to handsome men jumping at the chance to be solicitous to her, but this man appeared to act out of simple courtesy. Inside the restaurant she saw her friends waiting at their usual table and waved, but before she left the foyer she heard the blond man tell the hostess, "I'm waitin' on a friend, I'll sit a' tha bar, if that's a' right." As she walked to her table she watched the blond man pull up a stool and say something that made the bartender laugh. She accepted the hugs and kisses of her friends, took her seat, and saw the bartender bring the blond man a pint of dark beer. 

For lunch Jenna had grilled sea bass with summer squash, and then fresh pineapple for dessert. She held up her end of the conversation, but most of her attention was focused on the man at the bar. He read a newspaper while he drank his beer and waited for his friend, and she saw him check his watch twice, not showing any annoyance or impatience at what it told him. When he raised his hand for the bartender she caught the motion out of the corner of her eye and her head swiveled, and her friend Claudia saw where her gaze fell. "I noticed him too," Claudia whispered. "He's gorgeous."

"He's Irish," Jenna said. "He was talking on his cell phone when we came in, he has the sexiest accent."

"Ooh, I love Irish men. Pierce Brosnan, Sean Connery..."

"I think Sean Connery is Scottish."

Claudia shrugged. "Same thing."

While they waited for the check  Jenna looked over at the man almost every other minute, and she was somewhat irritated that not once did she catch him staring back. She was used to men's eyes roaming over her body, and when a handsome man didn't show the proper amount of interest she started wondering, wondering what it would take to make him interested in her. Perhaps if she sat down next to him, crossed her legs, and gave him the full Medusa force of her blue eyes, then she would break that cool façade. 

But she didn't get the chance, because the blond man suddenly stood up, tossed a bill on the counter, and walked to the door. He was a well-built man, but he glided across the floor like a dancer. "Oh well, there's one that got away from you." Claudia said.

Jenna sipped her iced tea. "Who said I wanted him?"

Claudia snorted. "I saw you looking at him."

She waved a dismissive hand. "He didn't look at me once. Probably gay."

"Oh, he looked you over, top to bottom. Didn't you see him grinning at me when I caught him?"

"When was that?"

"Right before he left."

She could have strangled Claudia, because now it was too late, the blond man was gone. She let Claudia pay for lunch today, her friend grimacing at the size of the bill. Another round of hugs and kisses, and the group left the restaurant together. When she went out to the parking lot the empty space next to her Mercedes stood out like a missing front tooth. She sighed, quite disappointed. He'd been interesting, the blond man with the lovely Irish accent, more interesting than any man she'd seen in months. And she hadn't even spoken with him, just brushed past him walking through the door. Well, maybe that was why she found him so fascinating, he hadn't had time to bore her. She opened the door and slid into the smooth leather seat.

As she put the key in the ignition the passenger door flew open and blond man eased into the seat next to her. "I hoped we might get a quiet moment alone," he said in his charming accent.

It was so sudden and surprising it was a few seconds before she found voice. "What are you doing?" Jenna asked, because she couldn't think of anything else to say. The man was sitting right next to her but he was leaning back in his seat, completely relaxed, and she didn't feel especially threatened.

"I have to apologize, I did'n want to barge in on your lunch party and pester you and your friends, but..." he looked at his shoes and smiled, "I could'n let the most beautiful girl I ever did see just walk away without tellin' her so."

Jenna leaned back in her seat now, feeling much more in control of the situation. "That's very nice of you to say."

The blond man shrugged. "I'm sure I'm not the first man to say that to you."

"No. My husband tells me that every day."

The man wasn't fazed by the specter of her husband. "I'm sure he does," he said, and paused a bit before he said, "the lucky goddam bastard." He kept his face straight until Jenna couldn't hold back her smile, and then they both enjoyed an intimate chuckle.

"Yes, he is lucky," she said. "It's too bad he doesn't appreciate how lucky he is."

"Well, I don' know about that," the blond man said, and he reached out and took her left hand in both of his.  "That's a right lovely ring, that is. Must think the world of you to give you such a pretty stone." He lifted her hand to his eye and carefully examined the 3.5 carat diamond ring her husband gave her at the altar on their wedding day. His hands were rough and hard, like a laborer, but his touch was as gentle as Marcel's. She felt herself warm between her legs, where only the thin hem of her sundress hid her moistening pussy from his light blue eyes.  

He turned her hand over. "Did'ya ever have your palm read?" he asked. His hard index finger probed the soft flesh of her palm, tracing over the thin lines. 

"You're an expert at this?" she asked as he spread out her fingers.

"Not an expert, exactly," he said. He carefully examined her palm. "What's your name, lass?"

For a second she couldn't remember. "Jenna."

"Jenna. I like that." He caressed her hand for several luxurious seconds before he looked up and said, "My name's Jack."

"I like that name." Jenna said. "What does my palm tell you, Jack?"

"Well," he traced a line. "you'll have a long life, that's plain as day. No children, alas."

"I don't want children."

"Ah, now that's too bad. Children are a treasure."

"You have kids?"

He looked up and grinned. "A' course not."  He pointed at a spot on the heel of her hand. "Now, this is your love line." His finger traced all the way up to the base of her middle finger. "Now, this is a long, long line indeed."

She rubbed her thighs together. "What does that tell you?"

"Well, it could mean that you're a kind, loving person." His finger drew tightening circles in her palm.

She narrowed her eyes and nodded sarcastically. "Oh, that's me."

"Or it could mean that, when you love someone, your love is intense, savage, possessive."

"That's a bit better." She closed her eyes for a moment, she wanted his fingers between her legs. When she opened them his face was six inches from hers. 

"I think what it means, what it really means, is that you have too much love to give, too much love for one man to handle." The blond man looked down at her hand. "You take lovers, I can tell that."

"Oh, you can."

He nodded, staring intently at her palm. "You meet a man you like, you don't just look. You don't just think about it." His eyes rose and bore into her own. "Not you. You, Jenna dear, you take men to your bed and love them with your beautiful body."

Jenna couldn't believe how excited she was, she was breathing through her mouth, her nipples were stiff, her pussy so moist she thought the man must be able to smell her. "Yes, I do."

The man leaned down, slowly, slowly, and she watched him open his mouth and touch her skin with his tongue, he licked her palm from her wrist to the tip of her index finger. Then he took her thumb in his mouth and gently sucked on it, his bemused eyes staring at her. Her mouth fell open, she stared back at him and felt his wet mouth suckling her thumb. 

He drew his mouth away and said, "I want you to make love with me."

She wanted to fuck him more than any man in years. But all she said was, "I know you do."

"I want to spend the rest of the day making love to you."

Oh, God, she hated this, she HATED how badly she wanted him. Jenna always wanted to be the one in control, wanted to use her body to dictate to men, but how her body was dictating to HER. If she didn't have him inside her she would start screaming. She grabbed his hand and thrust it between her legs, and he smiled and caressed her pussy with all the strength and tenderness he used while reading her palm. She crushed her lips to his while his fingers burrowed between her legs, alternately probing inside her body and diddling her clitoris.

"I'll bring you along this way fer starters," he whispered, "but then I wan' us to go somewhere a little more private."

"Ohhh....ohhh...oh God..." This man was going to make her come in seconds, using just his fingers. What would he do with his tongue, with his cock? She had to know, she would take him home and spend the rest of the day with his penis between her thighs. She put her arm around his neck and shoved her hips against his insistent fingers. "I'm gonna come," she panted. "I...oh...OH! UHHH! OH! OH!" Her right ankle shot up until it rested on the dashboard and she squeezed her eyes shut and moaned in ecstasy as this man tickled her to orgasm.

"Are you a'right, my darlin'?" the blond man said softly.

She nodded, a slow, wide smile blooming on her face. She was about to say, "Now, FUCK me," when the man said, "Do you need to answer that?"

It was her cell phone, it was ringing, had been ringing, she'd heard it as she came. She said, "I don't fucking care who it is."

"It's been ringin' for some time now, you might want to turn it off."

She dug her phone out of her purse and saw the number on the screen. "It's my husband," she sighed. 

"Turn it off," Jack said with a grin.

"No, I'd better see what he wants, make sure he isn't coming home right now. I don't want him surprising me." She pressed the button and said, "Hello?"

Her husband said, "What took you so long to answer, it must've rung ten times!"

"I was in the ladies' room at Dario's, I got back to the table and Claudia told me it was ringing off the hook. Why don't you just call me back if I don't answer?"

"Because you always have it on. If you don't answer, I start to worry."

"Well, no need to worry, darling. Why are you calling? Are you coming home tonight?"

"I can't, I have to stay a few more days."

She smiled at the blond man. "That's too bad, honey. Get home as soon as you can."

While her husband told her he hoped to be home by Monday, the blond man quietly unzipped his pants and pulled out his erection. His cock was beautiful, thick and smooth and so hard she could see it throb with every heartbeat. She wrapped her hand around the shaft and started pumping. "What were you calling for, darling?"

"I need you to do something for me. Go home and get all the files out of my desk marked "Legal". My attorney is going to be at mother's in an hour and I need you there to give the files to him and get him through security." 

Jenna pulled her hand off the blond man's penis. "Jesus fucking Christ! No, Charlie, no way! I am not holding your goddam lawyer's hand so he can show that old bat some worthless contracts."

"Honey, I'm sorry, but you have to. Mother says she wants to see them before she'll release the funds, and if you don't take Harvey to see her, she's coming to the house. And if she does that, you know she'll stay for a couple of days, you know it."

Jenna felt her face go red, she put her hand over the receiver and screamed, "Jesus CHRIST!". She looked at the man sitting next to her, and she leaned over and put his penis in her mouth, for just a few seconds, just so she could taste his flesh. He groaned and caressed her hair. "Oh, girl," the blond man sighed. 




Caught in the Crosshairs Ch. 03



She spat out his cock, sat up, and said, "I'll be home in twenty minutes. This is the last time, Charlie, I fucking mean it."

"I'm sorry, baby."

"You'd better be." 

She hung up, and turned to the man next to her. He looked at her with a cool expression on his face. "I take it there's a problem?"

"There is," she said. "I'm sorry, my mother...she's insane. Paranoid, sees conspiracies everywhere. I hate her fucking guts, and she hates me. But she controls a big part of my husband's company, and she won't let anyone in to see her unless someone she knows brings them. So I have to escort my husband's attorney in to see her."

"I unnerstan'," he said quietly. "Why don't we meet after you get back?"

She sighed heavily. "I don't know when I'll get home. Knowing her, probably not until late. She'll insist I have dinner with her, so she can interrogate me all evening. I have no idea when I'll be home."

The man took her hand and put it on his penis. "I'll wait, no matter how late it is."

The pause in the foreplay and her fury at her husband helped Jenna regain her equilibrium. "No, we'll have to wait until tomorrow. I'm free all day, I'll give you directions to my house." 

She stroked him a few times, then removed her hand. He said, "When a woman puts her mouth on me, I'd like to think it will lead to something."

"It will, Jack, it will. I want to make love to you. But it will have to be tomorrow."

"Tomorrow...isn't very good for me."

She put her hands on either side of his lap and captured his cockhead in her mouth. She moved her lips up and down his shaft a half-dozen times before she sat up, licking her lips. "Find a way, Jack."

He smiled at her, and Jenna was so excited by the taste of him in her mouth that she missed the sadness in his eyes. "All right, lass, I'll see what I can do."

She pulled a pen out of her purse and scribbled a number on a scrap of paper. "This is my private cell number. Call me tomorrow after one, I'll be free, I promise."

He put the paper in his pocket. "You're busy in the morning?"

"Yes, I am," she said without elaborating. "But I don't have any plans after one, other than sucking on that beautiful cock."

He smiled. "I'll call you tomorrow, love."

He kissed her, and then he exited the car. Jenna felt an odd mix of relief, rage, disappointment, and delight. She wanted to fuck him, right now, but it would be SO delicious anticipating making love to him tomorrow. But she was still angry with her husband, and disgusted that his mother was the cause of yet another inconvenience. She looked in the rear-view mirror and gave her sexy new friend a coy wave, and then she pulled out of the parking lot. She couldn't help the smile on her face. Tomorrow would be a most exciting day.

*****

The hit man stood quietly as Jenna backed up, and he sighed as he waved goodbye. "The next time I see that lovely face," he thought, "it will be centered in the crosshairs of a telescopic sight." His dick still throbbed in his slacks, and he stood next to his BMW a few moments to allow his penis time to relax. While he was waiting his cell phone rang. Only one person could be calling, and somehow the hit man expected this.

"Yes?" he said.

"Any luck today?" his client asked.

"Not really," he said, the faux Irish accent gone. "I followed her all morning, and as I expected there was no opportunity to make a move. I tailed her to a restaurant, but she got a phone call that seemed to anger her and she bolted out of the parking lot. I couldn't follow her, it would have looked too obvious."

"Oh, it was me who called her. I told her my attorney was coming to get some files. I thought it would help if she was at the house, she might go outside and you could...take care of things."

The hit man leaned against the car and rubbed his eyes. "I don't have my equipment, I can't do anything at the house today."

"Can't you go back and get it?"

"No, I can't. You mean your call to her was just a ruse?" 

"Yeah, I thought it would help if she was at the house, I..."

"Mr. Ranier, if you interfere with my work again I will cancel our agreement, and I will keep the retainer you paid me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, but..."

The hit man hung up, and turned off his phone. He laughed, he had to, else he would smash the cell phone on the ground. If Charles Ranier hadn't felt the need to meddle yet again the hit man might be en route to his client's house right now, mere minutes away from spending the rest of the day making love to the sexiest woman he'd ever seen. He jumped into his car and thumped his head against the headrest three times. Could he delay one more day? No. That would not just be unprofessional, it would be dangerous. He couldn't risk angering his other client. It was time to conclude the business. 

"Jenna, darlin'..." he said in his Irish brogue, "it wasn't mean' ta be." He started the car and pulled out into traffic. He could still feel her mouth on his cock, taste the sweat from her palm on his tongue. Making love to her would have been...extraordinary. He would never forgive his client for keeping him from enjoying that singular pleasure. What a wretch that man must be, to leave that goddess home alone for weeks at a time, trying to prove to his mother that he was the second coming of John Rockefeller. 

He popped a mint into his mouth to cleanse away the taste of sexy young blonde. There had been something terribly ironic during their brief time together in the car. He had lied to her when he read her palm. Her love line was indeed very long and twisting, but her life line was actually very, very short. Only he knew how short a time she still had on the Earth. Allowing her to live and just killing her husband never crossed the hit man's mind. He stood to make a quarter-million dollars by fulfilling his contract, and he was not about to pass up that kind of money just for sex, not even for an exquisite creature like Jenna Ranier.

He was halfway to his hotel when his penis began to throb again. He wanted sex, he wanted a woman. Or, he thought, a girl. He smiled, a big, happy grin, and he gunned the convertible past his hotel. He drove north for ten minutes, until he reached the campus of the small college where his conquests from the night before went to school. Mandy, he knew, lived in a condominium just off campus, but Jessica lived in the dorms. He knew the address because, after he made love to them, he'd rifled their purses as they slept. He didn't have the key to Jessica's room, but he did have her phone number, and he dialed it while sitting in the parking lot.

A girl answered, "Hello?" 

"Is this Jessica?"

"Um, yes, it is." She didn't recognize his voice.

"It's Jack, Jessica."

"Jack!" she exclaimed. "I'm so happy you called, we were hoping you'd call but we didn't know if you would, and..."

"'We, Jess?"

"Mandy and me, we..."

"Jessica, are you alone right now?"

"Yeah..." her voice was suddenly kittenish. "I'm all alone, my roommate is home visiting her parents for the weekend."

"Is that a fact?" the hit man said. "I was wondering, would it be OK if I stopped for a visit?"

"I'd love that...just me and you?"

"Just me and you, honey. Would that be all right?"

"Yes, that would be wonderful!"

"Would it be wonderful if..." he let her wait for it, "...if I licked and sucked your pussy until you came over and over and over again?"

"Jack," she groaned, "please, hurry, get over here."

"I'm already here, darling. I'm in the parking lot. Do you need to escort me up?"

"Yes! I'll be down in five seconds!"    

The hit man strode into the lobby and was pleased to find that it was empty, no suspicious teenage eyes watching him and wondering why a man twice their age was hanging around. The elevator pinged and when the steel doors slid open a very pretty girl with light brown curls pranced out and leapt into his arms. "I'm so happy you came to see me," she said, and dragged him into the elevator. She kissed him passionately, thrusting her tongue into his mouth and squeezing his hard biceps with her fingers. She wore only a white T-shirt and gray cotton shorts, and he moved behind her and slipped a hand under her shirt and down the front of her pants. By the time they reached her floor Jessica's nipples stuck out under her shirt and the hit man's fingers were moist with her juices.

She threw open her door and the hit man threw her on the bed. He wasted no time, yanking off her shorts and panties and tossing them on the floor. Without a word he bent down and went to work on her with his tongue, using his fingers to isolate and expose her clitoris and then trilling his tongue over the tender bud. His teenage partner moaned and writhed under him as he quickly brought her to orgasm. She rose up on her elbows and looked between her spread legs with a look of incredulity at the sensations his tongue created in her young body.

"Jack...Jack..." she whispered. She shook her head from side to side, unable to say anything more. She watched as he stood up, stripped nude, his erection sticking straight out. 

"Give me a kiss, darling," he said.

She crawled to the end of the bed and took his penis in her mouth. He closed his eyes as she frantically fellated him, she groaned as she slobbered over his cock, trying desperately to give him as much pleasure as he'd just given her. He gently stroked her hair as she gave him head, but he didn't want to come in her mouth. Or her pussy. He remembered back to the night before, and a promise he'd made to himself. 

"Get under the covers, honey. I want to be inside you." She pulled down the cool white sheets and they got in bed together, side by side, and he kissed her tenderly while her hands caressed his thick frank. "Wait, wait," she breathed. She lifted the drawer of her bolster and fumbled inside a small cloth bag.

"What is it, darling?" he asked. He pressed against her opening but she pulled her hips back.

"You need to wear a condom, I'm sorry," she said.

The hit man smiled. "I thought you were on the Pill."

"I am, but I just started, and...I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about, you're actually very smart." Very smart, the hit man thought, the fucking bitch. No, no reason to be upset, she was just a very cautious, a very clear-thinking girl. Even with him tonguing her to orgasm and about to penetrate her, she was practical enough to insist that he wear a condom. That was a quality worth keeping in mind.

His penis sheathed in lubricated latex, he moved on top of her, nudging her long, sexy legs open with his knees, and entered her with an easy movement of his hips. The girl beneath him shut her eyes tight and her mouth opened wide. "Oh my GOD!"

He slowly thrust his cock in and out of her slippery box, very slowly, kissing Jessica with his eyes open, staring into her own star-struck eyes, filling her over and over with his hardness. Her hands moved over his back and shoulders, feeling the bulging muscles, and feeling deep inside her the biggest, most bulging muscle of all.

"Faster, please," she moaned. "I want you to just pound me."

The hit man kissed her again, crushing his lips against hers, and then made a series of fierce, stabbing thrusts with his cock, slamming into her a half-dozen times, and the pretty teenager whimpered with lust as her craving for friction was finally satisfied. But only for a moment, the hit man slowed the pace again, deep, penetrating thrusts...followed by fifteen seconds of sharp, powerful fucking.

He kept at her this way for nearly ten minutes, his own orgasm never a concern, Jessica climaxing three more times as his thick penis electrified every greedy nerve ending inside her tunnel. "Oh, oh Jack, this is heaven, this is heaven on earth."

He kissed her again and said, "Will you indulge me, my darling?"

The eyes that met his brimmed with tears. "Anything. Anything you want."

He made her get out of bed, made her lean against the dresser, the one that had a mirror attached. "I want you like this," he whispered in her ear, "so I can FUCK you." He rolled the spent condom from his cock and slipped a new one over his fiercely erect organ. This condom was fresh with lubricant, and the hit man looked down with delight at Jessica's tight little buttocks, and the tiny star nestled between the two lush swells. That was where he aimed his panting manhood, at that pink, innocent, unspoiled oriface.

He was not gentle as he introduced himself to her ass, he grabbed her around the waist and speared her with his dick. He looked in the mirror and saw the expression of pain, surprise, and incredulity that came over her lovely young face. "Jack!" she shrieked. "You, uhh...UHHH! You..." she squeezed her eyes tight and two tears streaked her face. "Jack, that's my ass, you're...uhh...ohh...ohhhh...you're in my ASS!"

"I know, darling," he panted. "Isn't it...wonderful?"

He fucked her, not hard, not fast, but he wasn't slow and gentle either. He could see her face in the mirror, see her expression of horror and pain and confusion, and it thrilled him to the marrow. She bucked and twisted, trying to extricate his penis from her rectum, but he was too deep inside her, and his hands on her hips held her firmly in place. She looked into the mirror, her eyes glazed with tears.

"Jack, please, it hurts, stop, please!"

He didn't stop. "Didn't it hurt when you lost your virginity?"

"Uh...oh...yes, but...oh, oh, this hurts worse!"

"You'll like it, I promise."

When she cried, "Please, it hurts, it hurts, stop!" 

He kept fucking her, and the tears rolled down her face. The expression on her face wasn't one of pain anymore, or fear, just...confusion. It was like she'd just been asked to stand up in front of a crowded auditorium and ordered to solve a quadratic equation. She kept lifting her eyes to the ceiling, and then back into the mirror to stare at the man reaming her, and then back to the ceiling, maybe searching for divine intervention. 

She looked at him again. "It hurts," she whimpered. And then she said, "But I don't want you to pull out of me."

The hit man slowed his thrusting. He knew why he was fucking this lovely young girl in the ass. He was angry, angry because he couldn't enjoy Jenna, and he wanted to take it out on someone. And this was such a delicious way of working through that rage, defiling a pretty teenage girl who thought she was more worldly and sophisticated than she was. During his travels around the world he'd seen girls Jessica's age who were so hardened by cruelty and suffering that nothing would ever penetrate their shell, not love, or tenderness, or savagery. He could hurt this girl, really hurt her, and he was aware enough of his own character to know that he would enjoy it. 

But destroying her would be a terrible mistake. What if she told someone? Told a friend, who told another friend, and pretty soon the whole school might be talking about it. And then maybe someone calls the police, and then they show up at his hotel, and...and...and...

He buried his cock inside her. "Do want me to stop?" he said, his tone mildly disapproving.

"I don't know," she groaned. "It feels...wrong. It hurts but it feels so strange that I don't know..."

He pressed close to her, and slithered a free hand between her legs. He gently caressed her pussy, manipulating her with his fingers, and her cries finally turned to desperate moans. He moved, slowly, in and out, and did it again, and this time she arched her back and moved her hips back against his pelvis. 

"Oh, oh my God, I'm so FULL of you, I can feel you inside me...I didn't know I could feel this full!" His fingers danced over the moist folds of her pussy, and her face contorted in mask of ferocity and want, and at last Jack saw that, while she didn't know what was happening to her, she wanted more of it. 

"I can't believe you fucked me in the ass, Jack," she snarled, wrinkling her nose. 

He started thrusting faster and that bludgeoned some of the spunk out her. "Do you like it, Jessica?"

Tears came to her eyes again. She gritted her teeth. "I like it so...fucking...MUCH!"

He didn't want to saw away forever, because he didn't want to leave her so sore that she couldn't walk. He also wanted to finally satisfy his lust after a whole day watching Jenna. Jenna...he imagined having sex with her, lying naked in bed with her, his bare penis sliding in and out of her mouth, her ass, her vagina, his semen staining her magnificent body. The girl grunting under his jackhammer thrusting was young, beautiful, sexy, but she wasn't Jenna. And the hit man resented her for that shortcoming. 

He pounded her with so much force that her buttocks rippled from the force of his assault, and when he started to come he yanked his cock out of her ass and twisted her around. "From now on," he gasped as he ripped the rubber off his trembling organ, "I don't wear a fucking condom!" His penis erupted, showering Jessica's lovely face with come, thick ropes of hot, white fluid splattering her forehead, eyes, nose, lips and jaw. His orgasm was extensive and copious, he covered her face with a dripping mask of semen. She opened her mouth as if to scream, but his sperm flooded her mouth and instead she used her tongue to lap up as much as possible.

She collapsed in a heap on the floor, whimpering, crying. A small pile of fresh laundry sat on the floor and the hit man took a towel and tossed it to her. While she slowly wiped her violated face clean the hit man scrubbed at his sopping genitals and dressed. She was still on her knees when he was ready to go.

He walked to her and gently picked her up in his arms. She put her arms around his neck and buried her face against his shoulder. "Are you all right, honey?" he asked.

She shook her head, but she said. "Yes." He set her on the bed and she looked up at him with tears in her eyes. "You..." she couldn't think of what to say.

"I hurt you," he said. She nodded like a little girl who just found out there isn't a Santa Claus. "I hurt you, but by the end, you loved it, didn't you?" She nodded again. "You loved it, and you hate yourself for loving it. You hate how much you loved feeling me hurt you." Again, a nod.

He kissed her. "I thought you were ready for that, to experience a man in that way. Dangerous. Painful. But thrilling. Wasn't that the most incredible experience of your life?" Her head moved up, down. "Mandy isn't ready for that. Mandy would be a wreck. But you were ready, weren't you? Because you were ready to accept me totally." 

What he was saying was nonsense, but telling her that she was more mature than her curvaceous but innocent friend helped Jessica find her footing. "I did love it," she said. "It was just...such a shock. To feel you in there..."

"But it felt good, yes?"

Her eyes burned. "Yes," she said.

"I will see you again very soon, Jessica. As soon as I can."

"Call me anytime you want, I'll do anything you want."

They kissed, and at the door he said, "Jessica, don't tell Mandy about this. About us. I think it would upset her."

"Yes, it would," Jessica said gravely, already thinking herself so mature that she had to shield her friend from this affair.

"Thank you, darling. Good night."

"Good night, Jack."

He took the elevator himself, not caring if anyone caught him now, but no one did, the dorm was still quiet as a tomb. He drove away from the dorm and cruised back to the parking garage where he hid the BMW. The hit man was hungry, so he walked to a Chinese take-out place and brought a paper bag filled with chicken lo mein and beef with broccoli and egg rolls and wonton soup back to his hotel room, and he spent the evening watching a baseball game and gorging himself. He turned in early, knowing that tomorrow would be a most busy day. He thought about Jenna one last time, thought about her body, her lips, her hair, and then he put her out of his mind utterly. She was no longer Jenna Rainer-she was his target. 




Caught in the Crosshairs Ch. 03



And tomorrow they had a date he would not allow her to break.