13 comments/ 32763 views/ 12 favorites Bahamian Arms By: pseudonym2005 Author's Note: This story is an original work of fiction. Future stories starring some or all of these characters might also be forthcoming based upon response and demand. Certain characters featured herein may also be found in other works by the authors. Feedback is desired and greatly appreciated. Email comments to the address in our profile. Thank you for reading. Copyright 2009 by Jack and Josephine Cutter. This story stars: Addison Cross and Carter Donovan. This story contains: male-female erotic coupling, fellatio, cunnilingus, anal, showering, a vacationing high school principal, a professional hitman, and an evil arms dealer. This story begins on Saturday, August 27. * * * * * There were three men present on the tarmac, huddled near the steps of the luxurious private jet. The first man was bearded, heavy and black with flecks of gray, though the hair did little to conceal the glare on his face. The second man was clean-shaven with wide dark eyes that shifted from place-to-place, never keeping still; he carried a briefcase handcuffed to his arm. The third man, without question the most important of the three, was also heavily bearded and covered with an elaborate assortment of expensive robes, and there were golden rings on his fingers and dark shades covering his eyes, despite the night. "Everything is prepared for your arrival," said the first man in a language that was not English. The man in the robes nodded. "The shipment?" he asked, heavily accented in that same tongue. "Two days," the first man replied. Another nod. "We will meet our contacts tomorrow morning to negotiate the exchange," the man in the robes stated. "When we return, it will be as like the dawning of a new day. Praise be." "Praise be," the first man replied formally. "Praise be!" exclaimed the clean-shaven man. "Praise be," repeated the man in the robes with satisfaction on his face. Part One: Paradise It was another beautiful day: the sun was shining in the center of a bright blue sky, the waters of the ocean were sparkling and warm, and the breeze off the surface of the sea was enough to cool the skin, but not chill it. Addison Cross lay on her back on a towel on the beach, her eyes shut ever-so-lightly, and luxuriated in the sensations of vacationing abroad, sunning and sipping on fruit cocktails, and relaxing. It was the penultimate day of her trip to the world famous Atlantis Resort on Paradise Island in the Bahamas. It was a trip she took once a year in the late days of August, by choice unaccompanied, her way of cleansing her mind and body and soul before the rigors of her professional life took root: in the field of preparatory education, September to June was quite the grind. "Excuse me, miss?" a male voice asked from somewhere close by. Addison opened her eyes and found a hunky young man standing over her, smiling down. He looked to be in his early twenties with sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes. His body was very nice, indeed. He was American, though it was difficult to pinpoint an exact region by his speech. "Hello," she said, rising up to her elbows, her eyes shielded from the sun by the man's head and the pair of dark glasses she wore. "I was wondering if you might like some company," he said in a low and conspiratorial voice. "Hoping, actually." Addison never minded being hit on, not as long as the man in question was respectful about it. She also did not mind company on occasion, although she would not lead him on. "Have a seat," she said pleasantly. The hunk extended his hand as he sat. "I'm Jake," he told her. "Addison," she replied as she took it. He held her hand softly, as if it might break. "What brings you to the Bahamas, Addison?" he asked. She smiled. "Just a little vacation before the busy season at work," she answered honestly, then laughed as she looked at her arms and added, "and to work on my tan, of course." Jake used the opportunity to study her body without restraint. "Mission completed," he said with a flirty little grin. "You're gorgeous." Addison smiled graciously. She took very great pains to keep herself in shape and her body was evidence of her labors: a willowy figure with large breasts, lean legs, and a flat stomach. She knew very well the effect her body in a bikini could have on men, as it currently was. She looked a great deal younger than her thirty-four years. "Thank you," she said. Which brought them to the turning point of the conversation. A little more hesitantly than his previous conduct would have had her expect, Jake asked, "Are you hear alone?" Addison smiled sweetly. "You're a good-looking young man, Jake," she said, "and there are lots of beautiful girls on this island you could sweep off their feet with the barest hint of that smile, but I'm not looking for any romantic entanglements, nor a passionate fling with a younger man, sadly enough. I leave tomorrow afternoon and my goal is to relax as much as possible." Jake was silent for a moment, then he smiled and nodded. "I understand," he replied. "Thanks for letting me down easy. Speaking to someone as beautiful as you had me very nervous." She smiled. "You did just fine," she told him. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Addison," he said as he rose to his feet, his young male body glistening in the sun. Another time, another place, maybe, and Addison would have ravaged a body like that . . . or let it ravage her. "Likewise," she agreed, and lay back on her towel and closed her eyes. Just another day in paradise, she thought happily to herself. * * * The night sky glittered with the light of a thousand stars. Steel drums pounded out a soothingly rhythmic beat as throngs of bikini-clad women and board-shorted men grooved to the music. It was an ocean-side bar with light food and a live local band, and very popular with the young and unmarried crowd. Darkened tables ringed the edges of the straw-hut covering the dance floor. The man seated at the darkest and most secluded of those tables flipped open a miniscule black laptop in front of him. He was steeped in shadows and the momentarily flicker of bright light as the screen flared to life did little to illuminate him. The computer was encrypted. He entered the password and waited, and soon he was rerouted to a secure section of the hard-drive. There was a message waiting for him, which read: MARK EN ROUTE ON SCHEDULE. PRIMARY WITH SIX SPARES. LOCATION ALTERED TO IMPERIAL SUITES, NO FURTHER INTEL. RECOVERY AND COMPLETION. The man closed the computer and turned his eyes to the crowd. His preparations were in place; the location of the room did not yet matter. There was significant time to kill prior to initiation and there were worse places to be when it came to killing time. He scanned the crowd and almost instantly noticed a woman seated alone at one of the tables on the opposite end of the dance floor. She was moving ever-so-slightly in her chair to the rhythm of the beat, sipping a red-colored cocktail, perfectly content with her situation. He noticed those things in the span of an instant and immediately formulated his read on her. He noticed those things, yes, but he also noticed how strikingly beautiful the woman was: long brunette hair flowed off her head and swept over the graceful curve of her shoulders, piercing blue eyes recognizably brilliant from across the dance floor, and a generous swell of bosom on her chest, neatly tucked into the cups of a conservative bikini top. The man rarely mixed business with pleasure, but there was something so intriguing, so enticing about the woman that he decided to bend his usual rule: he was not one very easily intrigued. He tucked the laptop back into his bag, rose to his feet, and approached. * * * Addison noticed the man seated in the shadows across the dance floor, but did not give him much thought beyond that he seemed, although draped in darkness, to be decently attractive. She was not looking for anything romantic, however, as she had told the young man on the beach earlier that very day, not to mention numerous other men since her arrival on the island five days prior, but was rather perfectly content to soak in the sights and sounds of the party atmosphere surrounding her without actually taking direct part. And yet when she saw that same man moving towards her, staring intently at her with eyes so dark she wondered fleetingly how it was he could see out of them, something stirred in the depths of her that was very much uncharacteristic, and slightly unsettling. The man reached her and Addison realized her initial impression had not done him justice: he was not just decently attractive, he was gorgeous. Dark hair fell from his head in thick straight locks, while those incredible dark eyes combined with chiseled features to form one very handsome face, and beneath the tight black polo shirt and dark linen pants it was easy to tell that his body was strong and well-shaped, and he moved with the kind of cat-like grace that spoke of abundant athleticism. "Hello," the man said in a soft voice. "Hello," Addison replied. She was surprised to find she was a little nervous; not since college had a man made her feel nervous at the outset. "Might I have the pleasure of a dance?" he asked. Addison was surprised and it showed on her face. It was not the kind of question she expected, nor was it phrased in a way that was often heard. The phrasing showed a command of language rarely seen anymore, as well as intimated respect of a bygone era seldom found in men of the younger generations. Before she knew what was happening, Addison extended her hand for him to take, which he did, leading her out to the dance floor with a hold on her that was as strong physically with his hand over hers as it was mentally. And then her body pressed against his, her breasts coming into and against his chest, her arms wrapping around his midsection as he took firm hold of her shoulder blades, and then they were moving as one to the beat of the drums, and she could feel her heart fluttering in her chest. He moved his head to whisper in her ear as they moved. "Don't be frightened," he breathed, and the heat of his breath caressed the skin of her upper neck. It was then that she realized she was trembling. "I'm sorry," she whispered back, and for one of the few times in her life, Addison felt vulnerable and exposed, and more than a little helpless. Which is she heaved a deep sigh and sagged further into his muscular arms when he answered, "Don't be sorry. Beautiful women need not be sorry for the ways they affect the men around them. You have very much affected me." And the steel drums echoed and the dance floor pulsed, and the revelers rocked and swayed their hips and heads in time with the beat, and rum of myriad colors and proofs flowed like water from the fountain of youth. And in the center of the throng, wrapped in a bubble that blurred the edges and an embrace that was tight and comforting and alluring and completely unexpected, heart fluttering wildly and heading south to soak the cloth between her legs, Addison knew in the depths of herself that she would not leave the bar alone. * * * The limousine driver stood at the side of the car, watching the entourage approach. There were four individuals, two of whom were carrying automatic weapons, while a third carried a metal briefcase handcuffed to his wrist. The fourth walked one step ahead of the rest of the group, which made him the primary client in the driver's eyes. It was a different kind of job. First, he was told there would be no luggage responsibilities. Second, the driver knew none of the names of the men he was driving and nothing of their business on the island, only pick-up and drop-off instructions and the clear direction that he was not to engage any of the men in conversation of any kind. No one would have to tell him twice about that last bit: when guns were involved, he did not want to know. When the entourage reached the car, the driver opened the door and held it as they piled in without word or thanks of any kind. These were men of power, which meant they had either little time or little inclination for minor pleasantries with the hired help. The driver rolled his eyes as he closed the door. Their destination was a special entrance to the Atlantis Resort. The men, the driver knew, would be staying in expensive suites at the Royal Tower Imperial Club, which meant they were not only wealthy and powerful, but also well-connected; the driver had it on decent authority that the reservation was last-minute and those types of power suites usually had a significant wait-list. The drive was a short one, mere minutes from the private landing field to the hotel. The divider was up and the driver heard nothing from the back. They reached their destination and the men shuffled out as quietly as they had come and swept through the gold-plated double doors without acknowledgement of any kind. That was the third thing the driver had been told: this was not a tip-generating job, which was just ridiculous. It never ceased to amaze him how wealthy people were the cheapest of all travelers; perhaps, he figured, that was why they were wealthy to being with. And just like that the job was done. The driver had been involved for no more than twenty minutes, which for five hundred bucks was nothing to be too upset about. He grinned to himself: if he hurried, he might be able to make one of the many parties the resort was sure to have going on at the moment, maybe spend some of that not-so-hard earned cash and get a little action from a hot young tourist. Not too bad for a random night in paradise. * * * He kissed her for the first time while they were still on the dance floor, the barest hint of his lips upon hers, a maneuver designed to enflame what was already simmering. She melted into his arms and into his mouth, and in that moment he realized he would have to amend his plans for the night to accommodate her inclusion. Which, he quickly determined, would not be difficult with the current timing pattern. He kissed her for the second in the elevator on the way up to his room, his mouth more insistent this time, his hands skimming down across the skin of her back and the track of her spine, teasing and respectful, but unmistakably clear. She was more animated now away from the crowds, returning the advance with fervor, and he was pleased. It was clear she would be an excellent partner. Their third kiss, the kiss that truly ignited the night and set it to burn, occurred just inside the door of his suite, even before he got the lights on. She was buzzed, but not drunk; the perfect position, as she was coherent and thoughtful enough to make decisions and remain involved, but loose enough to throw caution and inhibition to the winds. And her first decision seemed to do exactly that: she rammed her tongue practically down the back of his throat. Her arms wrapped around his head, pulling him closer, and labored breathing and the wet slapping of lips filled his ears as the taste of her practically set his blood to boil. He had chosen very well with this one, he knew. When finally they broke for air, the woman drew back with a wild look in her brilliant blue eyes. "The bedroom," she whispered fiercely, "before I lose my nerve." He did not need to be told twice. "Behind you," he told her, pointing, "through there." She grinned wickedly. "Follow me," she cooed, and swiveled on her heels. He was only too happy to follow as she sashayed purposefully across the room, swishing her hips in that sensual sort of way only women of greatest innate womanliness are able to properly perform, arms arching out and up to draw her hands through her beautiful brunette hair before dropping to her waist to tug at the knot of her patterned sarong. The wispy cloth fluttered through the air as she tossed it aside and he took the opportunity to ogle her exceptional body, displayed utterly but for the small white string bikini. She was lithe and lean with a long sleek back and nicely curved hips, and a pert little bottom. He was already well-informed on the size of her breasts, despite having not yet viewed them in full, but the way the large mounds peeked out around the sides of her slim torso was a glorious sight, indeed. The bedroom held more delights, however, and so he followed, stripping off his polo as he went. Adrenaline coursed through his veins in such a way as he had not experienced in quite some time; his business required an unusual degree of composure, which at times meant he was difficult to please in the bedroom. A woman would usually have to work at it somewhat, but this woman had him riled and ready with hardly any effort at all, and it thrilled him. Still, he would not rush. He would take his time with her, savor as much of her as he could in the short span of time they were together. She stopped at the edge of the bed and he closed the distance between them, and together they tumbled softly onto the luxurious mattress, arms encircling as their mouths found one another once more. The kissing lasted for a long time, longer than he could remember kissing anyone since his earliest days learning about women, and yet he was satisfied. Her lips, her tongue, her mouth; all worked in tandem to produce wonderful sensations, sensations he hoped he was returning to her. Their hands were not idle either, exploring and measuring and teasing any and all non-erogenous areas within reach, as if saving the best parts for later. And then, quite suddenly, it was not enough. She growled and rolled on top of him, straddling his waist. Her fingers raked along the bulging muscles of his chest, then dropped to the belt and zipper of his pants. She was wild-eyed again, seemingly on a mission, and he was not about to stop her despite wanting desperately to see and touch and taste her luscious breasts. It was not to be, however. At least, not yet. She slipped down his legs and off the bed, coming to rest between his thighs with her knees on the floor, and as she went she deftly pulled his linen pants along with her. His boxer briefs followed soon thereafter, leaving him naked and exposed, his seven-inch column of a cock rising like a monument from his neatly trimmed crotch. "Oh my," she breathed, and their eyes met, his dark and her bright, and the look she gave him said more than words ever could. He sagged back against the mattress, preparing for the pleasure she desperately wanted to give him. He jerked when he felt a cool stream of air swirl around the tip of his cock, and he raised his head to watch as the woman opened her mouth wide and carefully guided the mushroom head inside. It was one of his favorite sights, a beautiful woman taking his penis into her mouth, and this one did not disappoint. She surprised him then, however, by exhaling another hot, moist funnel of air around his shaft. The sensations were magnificent, but merely the hors d'oeuvres. "Tease," he murmured, one of a select few words spoken by either of them since their meeting. She smiled, lighting up her eyes. "Yes," she answered breathlessly. And then she swallowed him. It was one of the most extraordinary maneuvers he had ever seen; the woman opened her mouth wide, and the next moment her lips were nestled against the flesh of his groin, the head of his cock lodged several inches down her throat. There was no gagging, no jerking, no excess motion of any kind; it was as smooth as he imagined it would be slipping past her nether lips. And then she went to work on him. She murmured softly as she lifted her head, pulling back but never quite off. Her gorgeous eyes sparkled mischievously, the sight of which he enjoyed almost as much as the blowjob. He trailed his fingers through her bounty of hair and clutched the back of her head, holding it as she resumed her ministrations. Bahamian Arms She started slowly, bobbing her head up and down at a leisurely pace, not using her hands at all to assist her. It was tender and she was talented, using her tongue liberally and to great effect, and glorious sensations pulsed up and down the length of his column. And then the rhythm increased and her fingers came into play, tickling his balls with the nails of his left hand as her right wrapped around the base of his shaft and stroked it gently. She was humming now, the vibrating tremors an exquisite form of complementary pleasure, and bobbing her head nearly from tip to base, a deep up and down motion that worked her hot mouth in perfect concert with the pumping of her hand. He was a man known well for his control, but this woman was bringing him swiftly near the brink, which was not a line he was yet prepared to cross, which is why when her tongue swirled around the crown of his penis, palm squeezing, nails tickling, mouth humming, and lips sucking, he realized he would have to intercede before the tension growing in his testicles exploded. He placed a finger beneath her chin and drew her mouth up and off his cock. "Come," he told her quietly, but firmly, beckoning her with his eyes. She wiped the spittle from her lips and chin, and smiled as she crawled up his length to meet his lips once more. His hands skimmed over her shoulders and down her back to where the ties of her bikini bottoms hugged her hips, and tugged at the strings. She sighed into his mouth as the cloth fell away from her body, baring her. He clutched at the rounded cheeks of her bottom, kneading the firm flesh, relishing the sweet feel of such a well-sculpted rump. But massage was not his intention and the next instant the hands palming her backside were pulling that backside forward, bringing her further up his body. She realized what he wanted, of course, and giggled with delight as she straddled his head, hovering her nether regions just above his face. He stared up at the pretty pink folds before him, glistening with juice that looked nearly ready to dribble down onto him, swollen with need and begging for attention. He lifted his head and extended his tongue, and burrowed the muscle into her folds to draw a languorous line from the bottom of her pussy to the top, all the way up to her hardened clitoris. The woman whimpered and threw her head back, then outright moaned as he wasted no further time savoring her sacred recesses, using every technique at his disposal to lick, caress, suckle, tease, and titillate her in every possible way. He was determined to bring her swiftly and mercilessly to the heights of pleasure. It worked. Her hips began grinding in tight little circles, working against the ministrations of his mouth and yet somehow granting her even greater joy. Every minute her folds dropped further down into his face; soon, he knew, he would not be able to breathe easily. He speared his tongue into her hole and swirled it around, and the woman shrieked and rubbed her pussy harder against his face, bucking her hips, smearing him with juice, letting gravity do much of the work. His hands cupped the cheeks of her ass and fondled them, while his nose did much of the work on her clitoris. And then she began to tremble and lost control completely, shrieking out loud how close she was, and all of a sudden her entire body stopped its motion and went fiercely rigid. He could hear her trying to speak, trying to breathe, but both attempts were unsuccessful, until suddenly she was moaning and quivering, and whimpering, and the strength left her legs and her pussy mashed down into his face, cutting off his air. He did not, however, stop suckling her; he actually increased the speed of his attack, wanting to squeeze every ounce of exquisite pleasure he could out of her. And then she collapsed in a heap next to him, falling softly and silently to the mattress, eyes closed, limbs trembling, pink folds twitching, a light sheen of sweat coating her flesh. He took the opportunity of her recovery to untie the strings of her bikini top and remove it from her body. She was on her back now and he could see that her breasts were bigger than he had estimated earlier, more ample and fully formed. They were exquisite, her breasts, and he could not help cupping one in his hand. She stirred and opened her eyes, and smiled, then closed her eyes and sighed. This body is yours, her movements told him, and he intended to take advantage. He lowered his head and sucked her shriveled nipple into his mouth, suckling it with gentle lips. He used his teeth with restraint, nibbling only enough to pleasure, not to pain. It amazed him how breasts could have such fantastic shape, and also be incredibly firm, but also soft at the same time. It was long minutes that he worshipped her breasts, long minutes spent exploring to his heart's content, but the moment of her full recovery from the heights of her orgasm was crystal clear: her hands grabbed his head and pulled his face close to hers, and the wild look was back in brilliant blue eyes. "Fuck me," she whispered fiercely, and so he did. He moved, flipping her onto her back with deft precision as his strong hands snatched her legs at the ankles, forcing her body to bend inward on itself as he took his position before it. When her knees reached her shoulders, legs spread, the puffy pink folds of her labia gaping wide and open, he guided his mushroom tip to the entrance and aimed it dead center the hole. "Beg," he ordered. "Fuck me," she breathed. "Louder," he demanded. "Fuck me!" she cried. "Louder!" he growled. "FUCK ME!" she screamed, and as her voice hit its highest pitch he thrust forward to bury himself to the hilt in one ferocious thrust. Her scream melted into a wail. "AAAAAHHHHHH!" He hammered her as hard as he could, furiously, mercilessly, driving his hips downward again and again as he pounded his cock through to the back of her womb. Her eyes fluttered shut and her breathing grew ragged, and less than a minute later those eyes flew open. "OH MY GOD . . . I'M . . . I'M . . . I'M. . . I'M CUUUMMMMMIIIINNNNGGG!!!" The muscles of her pussy clenched and contracted, milking his cock as the throes of climax overwhelmed her completely. Her knuckles were white where they gripped the mattress, her body tensed viciously, the pleasure nearly turned to pain. He did not stop fucking, however, maintaining his speed and rhythm as the beautiful woman creamed his cock. Her shrieks began to rise, spiraling upward almost crescendo-like, before all the breath seemingly left her body at once and left her gasping for air. Her mouth was open, jaw slack in a silent scream, moisture filling her eyes. Still, he wanted to sample as much of her as he could, and when she paused to catch her breath in the aftermath of her tumultuous orgasm, he pounced on the opportunity, clutching her hips and flipping her onto her stomach. With a swiftness borne of vast experience, parted the supple thighs of the woman and positioned himself once again, and before she had time to think about what was happening, he was shoved full inside her pussy once again. The woman groaned. "Sooo bbbiiiiiggg," she whimpered. His crotch rested snug up against the rounded flesh of the woman's bottom, and he relished the look and feel of it for a long moment before he went to work again. It was an exquisite ass, apple-shaped and lovely with curved hips flared perfectly around a pair of shapely cheeks. Her skin was tanned and smooth and flawless. He reached down and spread the cheeks with his thumbs to gaze upon the wrinkled little hole set between them, light pink and pursed tightly shut. And then he went to work again. He did not start slow; he went past first and second gear and right on into third, his cock pistoning in and out of her oven-hot, vice-tight recesses. He was fucking her relentlessly, brutally, but skillfully, and her whimpers and moans and shrieks were enough to let him know she was loving every minute of it. She climaxed twice in the span of time it took him to reach his first, which was his purpose, but when her body began to tremble for a third time and she whimpered a deeply pleasured, almost pained, "Oh my god . . . no more . . . oh please god . . . I'm cuuuuummmmmmiiinnnggggg," he knew it was time to finish the job. And so he let himself go. His testicles tightened and his body readied itself, and he thrust forward one final time before pulling back and off and out of the woman's sumptuous pussy, the barest instant before his cock exploded. It had been some time since he last felt the sweet release of orgasm, and the result was more fluid than he could remember in quite some time. It erupted from his cock like a geyser, wave after thick ropy wave of white hot syrup, spraying out over the quivering flesh of her bottom and lower back, and even higher in some spots despite the distance. And then it was finished, his balls drained and his body spent. The woman was a shivering heap on the bed, her backside coated with cum, her saturated folds twitching uncontrollably from the lasting touch of four orgasms. She tried to raise her head, but had not the strength, and so she groaned instead. Recovered, he stepped forward and scooped her into his arms, not caring where the cum upon her fell, and cradled her against his chest. She was an easy carry, light and luscious, and he did not mind the labor. "Let's clean you up," he whispered. Her brilliant blue eyes were wide and wondrous, and he could not help leaning in to kiss the glistening skin of her forehead. She closed her eyes and nestled her head against his strong chest, content to be carried. "Thank you," she whispered, and it was clear she meant for many things. Part Two: Business On the twenty-fourth floor of the Royal Towers at the Atlantis Resort in the Bahamas, the man known as Kayyed situated himself in his lavish suite and reflected upon the coming day. It had been long, the hours of travel, and the entire time he had been forced to speak in the terribly dull language of his current companions, which they did not know was not his native tongue. To look at Kayyed as he currently appeared was to believe him of purest middle eastern descent, although he was not. Come across him in Paris, however, and in speaking with him one would believe him a bona fide Frenchmen, right down to the heavily romanticized accent. In Spain, he is readily considered a tried-and-true Spaniard by those who know him. Indeed, few knew the real history of the man named Kayyed, which was exactly the way Kayyed himself wished it. His life was a tangled web of rumors, lies, deceptions, and secrets, which is precisely the kind of atmosphere a black market arms dealer with ties to myriad competing countries prefers. Often in the wars of the world, the men fighting and shooting each other from opposite sides had their weapons and munitions supplied by Kayyed the Chameleon, whom few knew and fewer still would ever want to know. The coming day would see the culmination of eight months of planning and negotiations. Emissaries of two radical extremist groups and a tyrannical government in the middle east were coming to bid upon his next load of weapons, as yet unattained but guaranteed (by knowledge of his track record) to be exceptional in quantity and quality. He was not one of the top illicit arms dealers in the world for nothing. He would take bids on the merchandise after outlining the specs of what he expected would be his latest haul. No one but Kayyed himself had seen the specs; currently they were being carried in the password-encrypted briefcase attached to the arm of his courier. No one knew he was actually in the Bahamas; Kayyed never telegraphed his movements and rarely allowed information to break free of his inner circle, which was small. The emissaries all believed their meetings would be taking place on a boat bound for Nassau later in the week. They were notified to arrive Friday and wait for arrival of the boat sometime Saturday, but he would intercept them almost the moment they stepped foot on the island. It was all part of his business plan: confuse and disorient the buyers, overwhelm them with information, and then play the take-away game. His plan had been successful to the tune of several hundred million dollars over the past decade, and he was still growing. But the coming day would top them all: four hundred million for one job. And Kayyed the Chameleon, born in the United States as Eli Grouper, the son of honorable and affluent parents of mixed European ancestry and educated at Harvard University, who had taken his heritage, looks, and intellect and exploited them to the detriment of the world, smiled. * * * Carter Donovan opened his eyes. Darkness blanketed the room. The heavy curtains were drawn and the lights and candles were out, and the only source of illumination was the weak red glow of the clock on the nightstand, which read twenty minutes past two o'clock in the morning. Another round of lovemaking had followed that furious first, and it had been equally fantastic: in addition to being beautiful, the woman in his bed was talented and uninhibited, and enthusiastic. It had proven one of his more memorable romps. The woman lay on her side facing away from him in the darkness. It was difficult to see her very well (the room was exceedingly dark) but a shaft of wispy red light from that clock caught her flesh just where the sheet contacted it at the small of her back. Carter considered touching her, but she was sleeping soundly after a long stretch of hard sex and was in the perfect position to allow execution of this newest phase of his plan. He slipped from the bed, taking great care not to make noise or shake the mattress, and went immediately to the thick black case lying on the desk. He moved easily through the dark, his eyes well accustomed to shadows. The case was secured with a state-of-the-art electronic keypad requiring a fifteen-digit alpha-numeric pin. Carter typed in the access code (3-5-E-C-A-L-P-R-E-D-L-I-W-6-4) and with a whir and a click, the case unlocked. He reached inside and pulled out a miniature syringe and small vial of liquid, and went back towards the bed as he prepared the instrument. This was a necessary part of the plan to ensure the woman would not wake up while he was gone. Gently he tugged the silk sheet down from her body until the whole of her luscious rump was exposed. She was wonderfully curvy and he had enjoyed those curves greatly, and hoped to have further opportunity with them in the future, but for now, he stuck the needle into the flesh of her bottom and released the liquid. She stirred and whimpered just a bit in her sleep, and likely would have woken from the prick of the needle if the sleep agent was not so swift to act. In moments, however, the deep breathing returned and the woman was again sleeping soundly. Carter looked at the clock: two twenty-three. The schedule was clear: he would prep himself, wait thirty minutes, and then initiate the plan as previously concocted. If successful as imagined, he would need another thirty minutes to allow full completion, which would put him back in the hotel room just before half-past-three. The drugs would wear-off sometime after four, which gave forty-five minutes of cushion to account for any adjustments. The timing was perfect, he thought. * * * The guard stationed in the stairwell had specific instructions to monitor the elevator hall, which is why he was occupied with peering out a small window set in the center of the door separating the stairs from that place. There had been little activity of note on this, the twenty-fourth floor, but that did not stop the guard from remaining vigilant; it was an essential aspect of bodyguard work for a man as powerful as Kayyed. His vigilance proved to be very one-sided, however; the guard was so intent upon tracking the goings-on in the hall that he did not notice the man slipping silently down the stairs behind him and had no time to register the pain of being struck in the back of the head before blackness took him. His discovery some time later by one of the maids on the morning shift would go down as a particularly unpleasant moment in his life, what with the wickedly bad headache he would have, not to mention the knowledge that the initial breach was made at his post. * * * The man with the briefcase was already a nervous sort of man in general, which meant that at the current time his anxiety was off the charts. It was one thing to be involved in black market arms dealings with powerful men with low morals and experience with murder and mayhem, but it was quite another to be the one connected to the case carrying much of the vital information necessary to complete said arms dealings. The man wondered, and not for the first time, just how in the hell he got connected to Kayyed in the first place. Which was silly, really, because he already knew the answer: Kayyed paid extraordinarily well. The man with the briefcase was alone in his suite, happy to know about the guards outside and nearby. There were four guards in total, two brought by Kayyed himself and two posted by a private security force on the island. The two guards brought by Kayyed were stationed outside in the hall with excellent visibility in both directions. In other words, he was well-protected. Which is why the dark figure that swept from the shadows of the balcony (twenty-four floors up) and pressed a gun to his temple at once stunned and terrified him. "The case," the masked figure said in a calm voice. "They will kill me if I let you have it," the man with the briefcase whispered. He was petrified by the strength of the man, the speed of his attack, and the knowledge of how their encounter would likely end, and it showed easily in his voice, which cracked and warbled. There was a momentary silence before the man said, "Very well." And it was then that the man with the briefcase felt the sharp pain across the back of his head and the sensation of falling, and the last thing he remembered before waking up to find himself in a strange hospital room bed was the sight of the ground rushing up to meet him. * * * It was said in the circles of the black market that Kayyed the Chameleon did not sleep. It was said men of his power had no time for sleep, nor the inclination for it. While these rumors were, of course, patently ridiculous and untrue, on this particular night, the night of his arrival in the Bahamas, the night of his death, the man at the heart of the rumor was not sleeping despite the lateness of the hour. There had been time for sleeping enough on the plane flight from Qatar; it was time now to hone his presentation and compile his thoughts for the negotiations the coming day. It was the fluttering of the curtains by the doors to the balcony that alerted him to the fact that something was not right; Kayyed had not yet ventured out onto the balcony and the doors had been closed when he arrived. "Who are you?" the arms dealer called quietly. A figure emerged from the darkness, swathed in black. The figure was not wearing a mask and Kayyed could see it was an attractive man with very dark eyes, focused intently on his own. It was the fact that the man was not wearing a mask that told Kayyed, more than anything else, that the end was coming. "I have many names, but I have been called the Shade in some places," the man replied. Kayyed closed his eyes and took a deep breath: the Shade was one of the most successful assassins working in the world at the current time. There would be little he could do at this point. "And why have you come?" he asked, resigned to the fate at hand. Bahamian Arms The assassin spoke softly and willingly, which was more than Kayyed expected. "You know why I have come, Mister Grouper. You have heard of me, it says so in your eyes. If your question pertains to those who hold the contract, I can offer little in the way of information you would find useful. I am sorry." Kayyed nodded. "It does not matter," he said with a sigh, and it was the very next moment that Kayyed the Chameleon, in the last act of his life, chose to reach for the gun hidden from view in the open briefcase next to him, and raised it to fire upon the one come to kill him. It was also the one thing the assassin had been waiting for. * * * The two burly men standing guard outside that very same suite did not hear the sound of bullets nor the pained groan of the man who had been shot, but they did hear the muffled grunt of the body striking the floor and the crash of the lamp that a flailing arm caught with it as it went. In moments they entered the suite to find to their great dismay their employer sprawled on the floor with two bullets to the chest and one to the head. Their guns were drawn but there was little need for them; the suite was empty. And the guards looked at one another with incredulity written plainly across their face, for how could someone enter a suite without using the door when the suite sat twenty-four floors up from the ground? Their questions, however, did not change one vital fact: Kayyed the Chameleon was dead. * * * Carter Donovan slipped into the master bed of his suite, some eighty minutes after his professional life had required he leave it, and discovered the warm body of the woman in the same position it had been in when he left, which is to say breathing deeply and sleeping soundly. It was a rare thing for the man to have someone waiting in his bed when he returned and the general sense of contentedness he felt as he snuggled up next to her was also unique, and very much unexpected. And so Carter Donovan promised himself right then and right there that he would try to remedy the loneliness of his personal life in the coming weeks. It was time for him to start living a little bit, which for years seemed to have been relegated to the back-burner. He closed his eyes and fell asleep. Part Three: Pleasure It was warmth across her face that woke Addison in the early hours of the morning. Sunlight streamed through a crack in the curtains and fell across her face, and drew her pleasantly and leisurely out of the depths. Her body was still on its summer schedule and not yet accustomed to the sunrise wake up she trained it for during the school year, but despite the earliness she felt wonderful and refreshed, which was no doubt due to the events of the previous evening. Great sex always made her feel . . . well, great. Her eyes fluttered as she stirred and stretched her limbs, then opened fully to take in her surroundings. She had not studied them much before as her attention had been pleasurably occupied, but she studied them now. The suite was fantastic, very luxurious. Not the biggest or the best, but a comfortable step up from the norm and very well-endowed. It seemed to fit the personality of the man lying next to her in the bed, a man whom she knew intimately and yet, hardly at all. She turned to look at him. He was lying on his back, his left arm bent up and back underneath the pillow, his head turned to the side and away from her, the sheets covering his legs and waist up to three inches below his navel. His upper body was sculpted, the muscles lean and very defined, his abdomen like a rigid washboard with eight distinct quadrants. His arms were thick and strong, and the whole of him was golden brown. She propped herself up on her elbows and gazed upon him. Men were not supposed to be beautiful, she thought, but this man was exactly that. Beautiful, and yet somehow more masculine than most other men she knew. It was a paradox she could not explain. She traced a gentle finger down and across the lines of his stomach, lightly as not to wake him, then lower into the trimmed black hair below his navel, all the way down to where it disappeared beneath the sheet. She had not had much time last night to truly enjoy his body; she was going to take her time now. She tugged at the sheet and watched it slide from his body, and reveled in the sight of his manhood as it emerged from concealment. It was soft, but the four inches were not minor or slight in any way; it was heavy, and looked very much like the picture of what a penis should look like. Like the rest of him, it seemed, his cock was beautiful. Addison was still feeling naughty and smiled with a flash of sudden inspiration. Not since her last serious relationship ended had she woken a man up with a blowjob, which had always been one of her favorite things to do; here was an excellent opportunity. Her fingers wrapped gently around the flaccid shaft of the man's cock and gave it a squeeze, ever so lightly. It felt marvelous to hold such an impressive member in her hand and she handled it reverently, squeezing gently, stroking softly, pinching at intervals. Her nails tickled the underside of his testicles and he stirred, but did not wake. Her mouth watered. She lowered her head and lapped at his shaft with the flat of her tongue, long and lazy up to the head. It was growing now, responding to her manipulations even as he remained asleep, which was not uncommon in her experience. When it was stiff enough, she stopped her cat-like lapping and held the column out into the open air, then went about suckling and licking the mushroom crown, twirling her tongue around the ridge. Addison was a big fan of balls and dipped her head, cupping his testicles in her hand and bringing them into her mouth. She suckled them tenderly, rolling them on her tongue, testing their weight and texture, twisting and turning them. By the time she returned to his cock, it was hard as a rock, and she began to stroke it with her hand even as her mouth and lips and tongue continued to rain down kisses and suckles and licks to the mushroom tip. He murmured in his sleep, close to waking but not yet arrived. It was time to take him inside, she thought, and her mouth opened and her head descended, and inch by inch she swallowed all eight of his thick inches, several of them down the back of her throat. She was an experienced cocksucker and this was one of her finest skills. She began to hum gently, the vibrations running along the length of his shaft and down his balls, and she knew it would not be long before he woke. She was not wrong. "Very nice," he said in a deep morning voice. She came up and off his cock to flash him a quick smile, followed by a cheerful, "Good morning," and then she was right back to her task. She developed her rhythm quickly: slow and steady, up and down, swirl her tongue around the mushroom crown, stroke the base of his shaft with her hand, and tickle the balls with her nails. She kept a leisurely pace, designed to bring from simmer to sizzle over time, a long build into an explosive release. Addison prided herself on the use of her tongue during blowjobs and this particular session was no different. Her tongue was everywhere; licking, sucking, wrapping, and bathing every square millimeter of his cock with spittle. She zeroed in on the über-sensitive crevice on the underside of the ridge of his mushroom head, which for circumcised men was woefully underappreciated. She crushed it, and yet the man seemed to be maintaining his control. Addison had a feeling the man could go for hours without faltering, and decided to help him along. "When you're ready," she whispered, "come in my mouth." Her words seemed to trigger something within the man, because she could sense the change in him. He wanted to come and was preparing himself for release, it seemed. The end would not be long in coming. And so she ended it by deep-throated him again, squeezing him with every mouth muscle at her command. When she felt him tighten, she backed off partly, leaving four inches inside her mouth, and waited for the first burst. He exploded an instant later. Spurt after spurt of thick salty syrup filled her mouth and Addison swallowed it all down like a pro, losing no drops, missing no beats. She lowered her head again until the last ropy waves when right from his tip directly into the depths of her throat, and as she swallowed she milked the deflating shaft of any lingering residue. When the shaft popped free of her mouth, Addison continued her worship, lapping tenderly to cleanse the cock of any and all of its own juices, and she did so until the moment he pulled her up to meet her lips with his. * * * The instant she woke up, he knew it. He feigned sleep, interested in what she might do, and was not disappointed when she set about exploring his body. The exploration ended, of course, at his cock, which promptly found itself the recipient of a masterful blowjob. She was patient and skilled, an excellent combination, attending to all parts of him from tip to testes. Her mouth was eager, her tongue active, her hands gentle and unobtrusive. She was, simply stated, an excellent lover in myriad ways. In time, he made his awareness known, wanting to watch the action for himself with open eyes. She was a very beautiful woman, after all, and the sight of a beautiful woman worshipping his cock was one of his favorites, for obvious reasons. She surprised him when she told him to come in her mouth, pleasantly so, and so he complied with her request, setting free his self-control mechanisms to settle in for climax. It was a wonderfully sweet release, aided by a masterful moment of deep-throat. When finished, he allowed them both a few long moments of reflection and recovery before he tugged her up and brought her lips to his. He did not mind kissing a woman after having come in her mouth and his lovers always seemed to appreciate it; she was no different. The kiss was soft, very soft, and a marked contrast from the frenzy of their previous encounter. Long minutes of kissing cuddling followed, tender petting and mild groping as he recovered from orgasm. His hands swept over her skin, reveling in the sensations of her cool naked flesh beneath his fingertips. He cupped her breasts, stroked along her spine, and took healthy handfuls of the rounded globes of her ass. Her hands touched his face and ran through his hair. And then suddenly the frenzy returned and the two were practically devouring each other, although Carter had no idea when or how exactly their simmer burst into gargantuan flame. He rolled her over and she gasped as she landed on her back with him hovering over her. He planted his elbows on either side of her and gazed intently down into her eyes as he settled his hips between her legs. Her tongue flicked out across her bottom lip, an involuntary signal that she was more than ready for what was coming, also evidenced by the fact that her fingers slipped down between them and wrapped around his shaft, tugging it forward until the purple head was nestled snug in her rubbery pink folds, already slick with need. Carter pressed forward with a grunt and she sighed deeply, her hands clutching his arms at the elbows, her back arching as he burrowed inexorably inside her. When he bottomed out, his pelvis flush against hers, her legs curled around his back, crossing at the ankles, drawing him impossibly deeper. Her head lolled back and her mouth gaped open in a soundless moan. Her knew the cadence of her body and the rhythm of her lovemaking at this point, having had her more than once the night before, and this time they wasted no time creating a pleasurable pace for their joining: in and out, in and out, slow and steady and unhurried. There was no urgency in their movements, only a driving desire to garner as much mutual pleasure as possible. She squeezed at his cock, clutching the shaft with her interior muscles, milking it even as her hips danced in miniscule circles as her speared into her again and again, her hands roaming everywhere they could to touch and tease and caress his flesh. The sex was lazy, almost like they were content to fuck the morning away, but intimate, as their eyes hardly left one another's and their bodies seemed utterly in tune. She smiled as he withdrew, then whimpered as he pushed forward with greater force, upping the ante. She responded, gripping the cheeks of his buttocks and forcing him inside her deeper, harder, and faster. Her whimper increased, and did not cease rising; she was nearing the crest of orgasm already. She was still clutching his behind, prepared for the coming pleasure and determined to handle it well, but when the first wave began, the shriek and squeal that followed burst forth as if she herself had not been expecting to make such sounds. Either way, the ramifications of the scream were instantaneous; her pussy twitched and quaked, and clamped down hard on the inches still remaining deep within her, and a torrent of female syrup flooded out from the cracks between cock and labia. "Oh god . . . " she cooed as she came down from the heights. "Oh . . . my . . . god . . . " "Again," he whispered with a wicked grin, and before she could object he was moving again, surging downward to skewer her fully with one motion, thrusting and impaling her with brute level force. She arched her back and wiggled her hips, and scraped her nails across his back, fucking him with as much crazed energy as with he was fucking her. And she let him know about it, too. "Fuck me, Carter!" she wailed. "Fuck me fuck me fuck me harder harder fuck me FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME HARDER HARDER FUCK ME! He obliged, burying his cock to the hilt on every stroke, hesitating only once when he dipped his head to suckle one of her glorious tits, his lips enveloping and gobbling her nipple with considerable aplomb. It did not take her long to reach orgasm number two. Her body stiffened and flopped lifelessly back onto the bed, melting into the mattress, her legs bouncing around like unsupported rag dolls as he fucked her brutally. Swiftly, the rhythm was lost and Carter let himself go, and then he was racing towards release. And then she came. "Oh my god . . . oh my god . . . OH MY GOD I'M CUMMING AGAIN! FUUUUUCCCCCKKKK MMMMEEEEEEEEEEEE AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" And then he came. His hips slammed into her and froze as he unloaded two milk cartons worth of creamy white seed into her depths, blasting load after viral load straight into her, so much that it ended up leaking out between her labia and his cock. He collapsed forward in the spot next to her, heard her sigh and felt the twitching of her limbs as they recovered from climax, and he crashed into the mattress, breathing heavily. It was the only sound in the room, the sound of labored breathing. "You were fantastic," she whispered, pushing her ass back into his groin. She was spooned up next to him in a fetal position, her naked ass mere inches from his dick. "Likewise," he whispered back, and sleep came once more. * * * Addison was dressed, although that was not saying much. She had arrived wearing a bikini top and bottoms, plus a sarong and a pair of sandals, all of which she was wearing again for the first time since the night before. She had been naked nearly the entire time. "Thank you," she said quietly as he walked her to the door. "No," he replied, sincerity etched deeply in the word, "thank you, Addison. I shall not forget our time together. You are . . . a memorable woman." She smiled shyly and nodded, but did not know what to say. It was rare for a man to render her shy and speechless, but this man had managed to do precisely that. To say that he was memorable would have been an understatement. Their initial rounds of sex were fantastic, yes, as was their lovemaking early that morning, but their final encounter was what cemented their one-night stand as the most memorable and pleasurable and remarkable of her life. It had been she who suggested they shower together, for she enjoyed the feeling of a man's wet body and the feel of hands on her soapy skin. She got everything she bargained for, and more. It began as everything else began, with tender kisses and caresses. Her lips were always somewhere, even as they were washing each other, but mostly on his mouth. The only time her lips were inactive was when his were suckling at her breasts, and then lower when he suckled upon her clitoris with her legs over his shoulders and her back pressed hard against the tile wall. That had proven the catalyst: his lips upon her labia stoked an insatiable fire within her and she knew, as he ate her, that there would be one more round of sex between them. She did not know it would involve her ass. He was fucking her from behind in the shower, her palms against the tile, her legs spread as she bent in half with her body forming a perfect right angle, when she felt his finger tickling the compressed plot of her anus. She was sensitive there, but not particularly experienced as most of her lovers had not the courage to venture there; this man, not surprisingly, had been different. He tickled and toyed with her asshole for long minutes as he fucked her, slowly and steadily, but right as she began to experience her first orgasm of the shower encounter, he popped his thumb fully inside her butt. The explosion of pleasure had been almost overwhelming, and only his arm wrapped around her waist had kept her from toppling what with the way her knees buckled and all. She regained herself after long and lovely moments, and his hold on her lessened as she was able to support herself. He did not stop fucking her, however, nor did he remove his thumb from her ass. "Say the word," he whispered quite suddenly into her ear, "and it happens." She knew instantly what he meant. It thrilled and terrified her, both that he was asking and that she knew what he was asking, and also how it was asked. She also knew, as he likely did, that she would give it to him. "Do it," she whimpered softly. He stopped fucking her, stopping on a dime, and she whimpered again, louder this time, and wiggled her hips, begging him to continue. "Say it," he stated quietly, fiercely. "Fuck my ass!" she cried, and so he did. There was little wasted motion as he pulled her ass cheeks apart, withdrew his cock from her sopping wet pussy, and guided it to her anus. He did not ask again and with some degree of force, pushed inside until the mushroom head popped past her sphincter. Pain burst through her and she shrieked, but the cloud of pain subsided rather quickly and she emerged from it to discover he was thrusting in and out, in and out of her ass. It was an exceptional feeling, the feeling of having her ass filled so completely; not pleasurable in the traditional sense (the idea of being fucked in the ass was the exciting thing), but not exactly painful, either. His fingers reached under and began strumming at her clitoris, and that is when the true and real pleasure began for her. He knew exactly what he was doing, and how to do it as well as possible, and the combination of the surreal aspect of being fucked in the shower by a man she hardly knew coupled with the skilled manipulation of her pussy sent her hurtling swiftly towards yet another fiery climax. She erupted, and he followed close behind. He was deep inside her bowels when he came, spewing his hot spunk into her dark recesses. She wondered just how it would feel when his cum reemerged; she knew the feeling well of spunk trickling from her pussy, but no man had ever cum inside her ass before. And then the rendezvous was finished and they were cleaning themselves up again, and the pain in her ass was a dull throb mixed with the lovely afterglow of orgasm, and soon thereafter they were standing by the door with her fully dressed and prepared to go.