****** Naked Assasin by Whiff ******
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Naked Assasin


She lived for these moments, naked in the black night, little pinches from the
twigs, stones and roughness of the ground, sweating even in the cold, her pussy
tingling. One with nature, the orgasmic execution she had carefully planned a
certainty now that she had gotten past the outer perimeter of the elaborate
security system. All her senses were at peak level, and the area within fifty
yards of her reverberated as its sounds let her monitor the small animals, one
owl, and she thought a groundhog snufflling back toward the stream she had just
crossed.

Even though she had gotten wet as she edged across the bitingly cold running
water, the coating of mud all over her was still adequate to render her almost
invisible. There would be a moment of exposure when she had to cross the wide
lawn, but the only guard was nodding off in the small shack at the foot of the
hill. The shadows would mean only a moment of exposure, and the video tapes
were always indistinct in the weak light.

She paused a moment to bask in the erotic pleasure she felt, her nipples stiff
on her full, muscular tits, her clitty being tickled by the dirt, her cunt lips
puffy with excitement. It was always tempting to stop at these moments and get
off with her hand, but she liked waiting for the period just after the kill.
She thought she was going to be able to use the stiletto for this one, since
there was no one in the house with him, and he should be in bed. The weight of
the silenced handgun in her small backpack was just in case things went wrong.

Quickly, she covered the ground to the wide porch, shorted out the alarm
sensor, and pried the flimsy door open with the thin blade. The pictures from
Architectural Digest had shown carpets and throw rugs all the way upstairs, so
she wouldn't have to cover the soles of her feet. The muddy footprints would
just confuse the cops, but let them know who had been here.

The snoring reached her ears even at the bottom of the stairway, and she
followed the sound to the room she knew was the master bedroom. As she
approached the door, she squeezed her thighs together, rubbing sensation into
her pussy. She was smiling, in a way that would have looked greedy and fierce
to a watcher.

She didn't go in for foreplay. Sliding through the door, she moved quickly to
the bed and plunged the nine inch blade between the fat man's ribs into his
heart, her hand over the mouth muffling his gasps, unruffled by his arms
groping at her stomach trying to push her away. In no more than ten seconds, he
gave a death rattle, and a long exhalation as he died. She took a step back,
and wiped the flat of the long blade through her legs, plastering blood on her
gaping twat. She wiped the other side, then slid it into the backpack, as her
other hand plunged fingers inside her, and her palm pushed the hood up,
exposing the nub of her clit, mixing the blood with the caked dirt.

Her orgasm came with just a few cycles, as she stood hunched there, silently
shaking. God, it was good. There had never been any man or woman who could
produce anything close to this. Waves of pleasure churned through her, as her
eyes closed to watch the stars shoot in her brain. The musk of her cream
overpowered the faintly putrid odor of the mud all over her. Her abdomen
rippled in the throes of her completion. She arched, not allowing the
temptation to scream overpower her. That was the only problem.

She lifted her hand to her mouth, reveling in the thick, tart taste of her
climax. Then she sucked a little blood out of the swarthy italian's small
wound, mixing it, an embellishment of the ritual the Montagnards had taught
her. It seemed to revitalize her as she swallowed.

Retracing her steps, she was soon outside, the alarm restored, moving in a
crouch through the woods. This shouldn't be tricky, the system was designed to
keep people out, not detect someone leaving. She smeared a little mud on her
bottom where her earlier orgasm had wiped it away. It felt good as she did it,
but she kept moving.

The car door opened smoothly, the disabled light making a little buzzing noise.
She should have a good three hours before he was discovered, plenty of time to
get back to the small cabin in the backwoods motel. She quickly inserted the
vibrator deep inside her raging pussy, shining her little penlight on the
picture of her victim taped on the steering wheel. She buzzed it on full power
for five minutes, then let herself groan as her cum exploded along with juice,
making a little mud slide onto the seat beneath her. He had been such a bad,
ugly hoodlum, dope and white slaves, she had none of the regrets she
occasionally felt when a victim wasn't terribly evil. This one was, and she
wallowed in the triumph as she tingled.

Enough, enough pleasure. As she pulled away, her mind quickly went over the
arrangements, turning in the car, after she had cleaned it up, catching the
nine o'clock flight, making sure the second payment came through this
afternoon. The fun was over. Now it was work, but her mind was clear, and her
spirit refreshed.

He was young for a detective, just ten years out of grad school. He wore a
beard to try to be taken more seriously, but his work on the Simmons murder had
pretty much made his reputation with the locals. He'd been thinking about
shaving it off, it was so damn thin anyway, and seemed beside the point now. As
he scanned the front of the big house, it's fake colonnade gaudy, the new brick
faintly offensive, somehow, in this rural Connecticut region with so many old,
old houses, he thought there was no way someone would have come in the front.
Christ, it was a fucking fortress.

From the laser fence, still activated, to the sensors on every door and window,
the video tapes, the twenty four hour guard, there had been no sign. It was
probably an inside job, these made guys were forever fighting among themselves.
Pasterno was particularly nasty, and his organization was filled with
wannabee's. Lt. James Thang sighed as he made his way into the house, flashing
his ID, wondering if his Dad was staying on the wagon. Ever since his
Vietnamese Mom had died, the old man had been quietly drinking himself to
death.

"Hey, Jimmy. How's tricks. Umm, this looks like a mob related thing, y'know,
but there's some funny stuff. Blade in the heart, bare footprints from the
side, up the stairs, back and out. Quick, quiet, shorted and restored the
alarm. Mud all over. No prints. Shit. Look, we oughta scour the woods. Gotta be
some fibers, maybe he dropped something." He, thought Thang. How can we be
sure? He remembered his mother, small, fine boned, teaching him martial arts.
He had only seen her angry once, but it was enough.

He climbed the steps, avoiding the caked traces of mud almost invisible at the
top. Size eight or nine. Maybe five seven, five eight. Nothing on the walls, or
the bannister. "Hey Sam. Were there any lights on?" The uniform shook his head
no. So, careful not to touch anything, but the foot prints stood out. An
announcement? A boast?

Forensics were busy dusting, collecting, passing bag after bag into the trunk
on stilts at the door. Jean Dash was on her knees beside the bed, with a pan
and tweezers. Her trim butt, a little tan flesh showing between the hiked up
tee shirt and the waist. Mmmm, a little pale fuzz too. He had kissed that spine
many times, but it had ended a couple of months ago. She wanted to get married.
He didn't. "Hi Jean."

She looked up and blushed. "Hi Jimmy. Hey, look here, this is interesting." He
hunkered down opposite her, watching as she plucked bits of dirt up. She had
the right foot almost collected, but the left was still clear. Whoever it was
stood here a while. There was a small hint of red about six inches to the
right, squarely between the two footprints. "Is that blood?"

"I think. Can't be sure. There was more, but we already took samples. I made
sure they got pictures." She looked quickly up at him, blushed again, knowing
he would like to have seen it before they disturbed things. He stood, and
looked over at the bed. The bloated body was on its back, silk pajama's almost
undisturbed. Too far to reach from here. He squinted at the sheet. Yeah, there
it was. One smudge, where the knee had supported the killer.

"Jean, check this spot too. And vacuum it for fibers." She nodded, her head
still down. He winced inwardly, thinking this contact with her was
uncomfortable. Okay. So the killer leans on the mattress, slides in the blade,
then... He squinted at the pajamas. Not a trace he could see. You'd want to
wipe the blade. He leaned over the bed, checking every inch. There. Nope. Just
a drop.

Thang went back down and out to the door which had been used to enter and exit.
As he stepped out onto the porch, he tried to imagine what it had been like.
Pitch dark. Wonder where the moon was? Was it out? No floodlights. The edge of
the forest was only fifty feet away. He looked around, and realized this was
the perfect place, closest to the cover of matted trees. He saw a bird flutter
from one limb to another, and thought he heard it's cry of warning to anything
else on that branch. Beautiful place. He felt a moments' resentment. An asshole
like that, with this pretty reserve, so natural, so lovely.

Okay. Start making notes. Check the moon. Rush the examination of the blood
beside the bed. Check organized crime for likely competitors. Fibers embedded
in the mud on the sheet where the killer's knee had been. See if they can
follow a trail to find the way entrance was gained. How did the killer find out
so much about the layout, never having to feel around? Better check with FBI
for similar MO's. Mud, bare feet, whatever the autopsy came up with on the
blade.

The room was dark as her fingers danced over the keys. She was nude, shivering
even though it was warm. The size of the numbers was amazing. It got to be
almost unreal, thinking about the time in 'Nam, eating bugs and rodents,
surviving somehow after her Mash unit was destroyed. Now here she was, wealthy
enough to buy any meal, any house. She could buy that damn mountain where the
natives had protected her. At a price, it was true, but she came to understand
their value system. They never understood why she didn't get pregnant. She
didn't explain about IUD's.

There it was. The other three fifty. Tappppp. Off to Honduras. Let it sit for a
day, waiting for an attempt to trace it. She remembered the asshole who tried
to duck the second payment. She had taken the vibrator in with her, he had been
so cocky it was easy. She cut off his dick and stuffed it in his mouth for good
measure. No one ever was late with a payment again.

E-Mail Vessy. Then close this box. Vessy had a code she could use to figure out
the next address. And the code word to tip her off if it was a trap. It always
amused her to watch Vessy hunched over her terminal at the library where she
worked on her thesis. Vessy had no idea she was there. But she had the
contacts, through her father. And her feminism made her loyal.

She straightened into the lotus position, worked on breathing deeply, and let
her mind decide what to do for amusement tonight. After an execution, she liked
catting around, dressed to kill, flirting with the boys and girls who knew her
as a nurse. Which of course she had been. Her persona was close to the truth.
Shelly Townsend. R. N., Lt(USA)ret.

Buzz. "You have mail." Damn. That was quick. Tapppp. "Hi Ellie. Rush job. Dad
really pushed me this time. Said the same guy who paid for Pasterno wanted to
talk to you. Some big deal. ??????" Shelly Townsend wasn't going to respond to
pressure. An answer could wait until morning. She was thinking about Roscoe, at
the Encore. He had been hinting about doing her ass last time they slept
together. Mmmm, I think tonight's your lucky night, idiot.

Vessy's Dad wouldn't kill his golden goose. He had tried to find out who she
was before, particularly when she turned down the Senator, and threatened to
reveal the plot if it was carried out. But he wouldn't go too far with his own
daughter, and even if he did, she was well hidden. Her three identities for her
AOL accounts were all dead babies in New York. She always thought that
appropriate. It was as though they were getting back at the world that had
robbed them of even a short life. She could feel the little voice, back there,
whispering. She refused to listen. When she did, it was her mother's lectures,
her father's stern preaching, the sermons, the conflict. She knew she would
wait several days, then let the voice out, get drunk, and wallow in self pity
for a while. Then, on to the next job, the planning, the thrill. Somewhere
there was going to be a dislocation, an epiphany, she was sure. Or she might
die. Whatever.

Shelly Townsend decided to take another bath, and wondered whether Roscoe would
be there tonight. He liked seeing her buffed, so she pulled the red mini skirt
out, and the tight turtleneck. With three inch heels, she would look like a
weightlifter. With boobs.

"Jimmy, hi. Shaved the beard, huh. This is Agent Marsh, FBI. He has some
questions about the Pasterno thing. Full cooperation, okay." Thang nodded to
the bespectacled suit who looked like an accountant. Pretty low level, not the
hero G man type they usually sent.

"Detective, I've been over the file. You already know this fits a pattern of
about thirty hits over the last fifteen years. At least I think so, not
everyone does. Listen, the blood. It was Pasterno's, right? What do you make of
that?" Thang was thinking fast. How far to go. He already had a theory, but was
glad he hadn't gone anywhere with it yet, so he could honestly say there wasn't
any more information.

"I guess just drippings, Agent Marsh. Somewhere there's a stiletto with a lot
of blood on it. But the trail's dead. The car was turned in, rented by a woman,
probably an accomplice. I'm betting it'll be clean. There were fifteen flights
that morning within an hour of the return. Payment with cash. This is very
professional." Marsh shrugged. "We haven't gotten within a hundred miles of
this guy, Thang. I've been on it, off and on, for three years. You don't get a
lot of effort, the victims weren't much loss to society. But look, help me get
it exactly right, okay. So...."

When he left, the Chief asked Thang "Anything else on your plate, Jimmy? This
thing looks like a dead end. I could use a little help on that woman who got
raped out by the lighthouse." He nodded, having already reviewed that file. He
thought the forensics would help nail the boyfriend. It was really a lover's
quarrel, but the girl was the daughter of a big deal. He had always thought
this job wouldn't be so political.

"My heart reaches to yours, Sister of my Mother. Is your house happy?" "It is
happier with your thoughts, Son of my Sister." His Aunt always reminded him of
his mother, and the sibilant, singing native language got him back to his
oriental, patient inner self. It was hard to be a police officer in that frame
of mind. He switched to English. His Aunt understood.

"Aunt Tho, we've had a murder up here. It reminds me of your stories about the
Mountain Amazon. Is there someone you could introduce me to who knows more?" He
heard the hesitation in her voice, but knew she would help. His rise to
authority was part of their family's strengthening status within the expatriate
Vietnamese community, and requests for help in furthering such a career had
great force. As she began talking about several relatives, he stopped
listening. The machine would tape it.

It was the video tape. He was the only one who saw it, everyone else saw a
blur. He saw a naked woman. At first he was tempted to get it enhanced over at
the University, but when he walked the route she had used, he had a vague
feeling that it could wait. Then he had the dream.

A dark, naked woman, running a long knife between her legs, getting off with
the blood of her victim. It was very Montagnard, he knew. Coated in mud. In his
sleep, he felt the erotic pleasure she felt. In his dream, he came up behind
and plunged his cock inside her. She turned her head, and it was his mother.
Last night, he had exploded into her, and the sheets had been gooey the next
morning. A wet dream, his first in years.

As he had lain there this morning, still buzzing, his mind had jumped wildly
around, uncharacteristically out of control. His imagination was running wild.
There had been no fibers, no clothing. She had crawled through that chilly
night, coated in mud, the mountain way of his mother's people. And then .....
Wow.

He must be vulnerable because of his doubts recently. The disappointment with
the years of being the principal detective, surprised he hadn't enjoyed his
unequivocal success more. The way Jean couldn't seem to touch his heart, in
spite of her beauty and sensuality. Realizing his stepfather's weakness, then
beginning to question the value of either culture, west or east. His noble
sense of choosing the best of each crumbling.

So, the fat asshole had just been a test. She reasoned that the client must be
a European, or possibly an Arab. He wanted the fucking Columbian killed. That
was a whole new league. It wasn't easy, like most of her jobs. The idea was to
catch him in his jungle hideout, which was right up her alley. But he was
always surrounded by a mob of armed men. She was studying maps, making notes
about her questions: where did he sleep, eat, fuck? Was there a weakness, a
vulnerability? The chill she felt wasn't pleasant. Behind the technical issues,
why bother, why take the risk?

She just kept studying, making more notes. The morning's exercise had cleared
her mind. There had been tough ones before, and they all had eventually yielded
to good research and planning. Five million. Plus a million for expenses. And
the Columbian was undoubtedly a bad guy. She missed the first ring of the
doorbell. But on the second, she slid the maps and notebook under the canvas of
the drawing board, and went to answer it. "Yes. Who is it?"

The native tongue. Fuzzed a bit by the intercom, but clear enough. "A humble
peasant seeks an audience with the beautiful amazon of this lovely house." Holy
shit. "Amazon." She tensed, and grabbed the thirty eight out of the small table
in the carpeted entry. Then she thought about just leaving. No, no. She didn't
want people going through her house, discovering her secrets. Not while she was
alive. The moment had come.

"This house of tranquility has no amazon. Could your search have arrived at
this place in error?" She was scanning for police, unfamiliar cars. There
didn't seem to be any. She activated the explosive traps, waiting for a
response. None came. After long moments, she took a deep breath, and opened the
door.

He touched his clasped palms to his forehead, the traditional greeting,
implying peace, no threat. She could see the native blood in his facial
features, but he was mostly western. And very handsome. His eyes were down, but
his tall, slim frame brought his head almost up to hers, though he was standing
one step down. Blue eyes, black hair. A half breed, with the best of both.

She slipped the gun back into the felt lined table drawer, opened the door
further, and returned the greeting. His eyes came up and stared at her. She
tried to read his expression, but couldn't. She could sense his aura, his
youthful maleness. "Amazon." Certainty was suddenly slipping away, risk was
blooming, and the voice was screaming.

"Whore. Whore. He has finally come, and you are unfit." She shook her head,
willing the voice back deep, feeling a dead spot in her stomach she didn't even
know existed start to waken. Her destiny had arrived. She couldn't go back, not
now. Her nipples under the sweat stained tank shirt stiffened, and she saw his
eyes flicker down to them, then return to her face. But he was the Pursuer. She
knew it.

"Speak English, please. I'm really not fluent in Vietnamese. You might as well
come in. But don't touch anything."

He had studied the pictures, all old, not much help. When he saw her standing
in the doorway, hair stringy, a tank shirt and shorts, sweaty, the same pretty
face but hard, chiseled now, and muscular, trim hips, long legs, pouty, firm
tits, tanned, he felt his blood boil. No simpering, no blushing, no fear. He
had meant to scare her with the crack about her background, but she was tense,
coiled, edgy, not scared. Just short of forty, based on the records. Looked ten
years younger in spite of her scruffy condition.

He nodded quickly in assent. As he entered, she kept her distance, watching him
carefully. He studiously avoided her eyes. He had seen enough. He perched on
the edge of the couch, hands folded. "I am the detective with the
responsibility for the murder of Michael Pasterno. I have become convinced you
are his murderer. That in spite of the problems with your identity, you are the
woman my mother's people called the "Mountain Amazon." I cannot prove this. I
am not here on a vendetta. He deserved his fate. No one wants me to solve this
case anyway." He shrugged. "But my analysis of the crime has disturbed me. I
know only the stories that I have heard. And I do not understand, though I
would like to."

Her silence stretched out. He knew he had to wait, he had no choice. He kept
his head down. It was not time for confrontation, not yet. He scanned over the
room, noting it's neatness, the engineering board in front of the big picture
window, the rich fabrics, but little furniture. She stood there staring at him
as he made his inventory. Finally, in a firm voice, without threat, she said
"Don't try anything. I would hope you know I have protected myself."

He answered "Yes, I assumed that. I would hope you know my suspicions are also
recorded elsewhere." She waited through another long silence. Then: "Please
allow me to search you." He stood, and extended his arms. She patted him down
conventionally, examining his empty holster, then cupping his groin firmly,
seeming to ignore the stiff size of his cock. He knew she was looking for a
wire. She reached around him and dipped her hand under his belt and down
between his butt cheeks, inserting a finger in his anus. That surprised him,
but just proved she was thorough, he supposed. She had not lingered on his
hardness.

She walked quickly to the door where he had entered and flicked one of the row
of switches. She opened a drawer there and came back carrying a remote control.
She stood in front of him and extended her own arms. "Do you want to.....pay me
back?" She had a small smile, and he returned it. "That will not be necessary.
Trust must begin somewhere."

She sat down in the black leather contoured chair opposite the couch. "How did
you find me?" He leaned back, closing his eyes. "My Aunt found a friend who
immigrated after you left. He knew your name, and rank. Another relative had
seen you ten years ago. At a bar, and remembered the name you used. With your
picture and the name, I found other names. I found the deed to this house
recorded at the county, and recognized the alias." There was shock in her eyes.
She had thought she was perfectly hidden.

"One of my talents is to try to intuit a killer's mind. This neighborhood is
where I looked. It is perfect for your purposes." He had told her more than he
intended, but there was confusion in his mind. He was having trouble keeping
calm. He could smell sweat in the dim, close atmosphere of the room, and the
image of her masturbating with the bloody knife was all that his mind
registered. He realized his cock was hard, tenting his pants rather obviously.

Yes, no doubt. The Pursuer. He was in her dreams often, menacing, yet exciting.
It always seemed she wanted to be caught in her dreams. The voice sometimes
hinted at his existence, his relation to her destiny. Her rational mind had
firmly rejected that oriental mumbo jumbo. She eyed him closely. About six
feet, didn't look that well conditioned. All his actions confirmed that he was
alone, that he really couldn't prove his idea. And his dick was sticking out at
her.

"You never lived in 'Nam? With, um, your mother's people?" He looked at her as
he shook his head, and she could see him struggling with confusion. Her cream
was starting to smell now, could he smell it too? She was weighing the risks.
She could probably hold her own with him, one on one, and she could kill him
before he got away if he tried. If she let him close to her, he might take
advantage of a moment. But he did not seem that well controlled. And she
remembered the Priest's words "When you meet your destiny, you must embrace
it."

She stood and stripped off the shirt and shorts. She walked up to stand before
him, arching her naked body, allowing just enough room so that he could stand.
Her arms reached up, then bent at the elbows to rest behind her head,
displaying her sensuous curves. When she whispered "Pay me back" she heard him
suck in a breath, and saw his eyes widen. He stood, as though mesmerized. His
right hand cupped her cunt, and a finger dipped into her, rotating. She let her
hips move to his caress, as a small groan came out. His other hand moved
lightly over her hip to her ass, and another finger entered her there.

She kept her eyes on him as he began to stimulate her. Her breathing speeded up
as the thrills started shooting from his marauding insertions throughout her
body's trunk, as he stared down at her bald pussy. She let herself relax,
moving with his hands. As his hand in her twat became more insistent, firmer,
she closed her eyes and let her head loll back. She rested her arms on his
broad shoulders. He could do it now, she knew. Somehow, that added to the
thrill.

She felt his lips on her neck, sucking lightly, and she thought a tongue was in
there too, tickling, tasting. Vaguely, she wondered at how smelly she must be,
how salty she must taste. But it was good, so good. The Pursuer had found her,
would use her, would take her, give her pleasure beyond her experience. Not the
mindless fucking of the Montagnards, not even the wonderful killing
completions. No, the culmination, the ultimate, the final step.

He began to get rougher, more urgent. She let herself go, twisting and
groaning. His legs straddled her thigh now, his hard member surging at her
through his light wool pants. His lips slid up her chin and their mouths
joined, open, sucking, tongues lashing frantically. Her mind filled with
forests, jungle, the highlands, death. The edge was getting closer fast.

As she orgasmed, Thang filled with excited, perverse pride. She was already
taking his soul, he vaguely realized. For a person confronted as she was, all
her defenses pierced, to give herself this way was a sacrifice, a reward, a
commitment. And such a risk. The gorgeous, muscled body, firm, high tits with
tiny, ruddy red nipples, the vulva tanned as well as the rest of her, puffy
cunt lips with that clit so obvious and tense. The ringing in his ears, the
lightning bolts of sensation her approach, and her rubbing to him had caused
dominating all his senses. Her skin shiny with the perspiration starting again,
the smell now mixed with a different, musky odor of femininity. Her abandon.

He had to close his eyes to avoid shooting in his pants. She pulsed wildly for
a couple of minutes, then slumped her head to his shoulder, her arms around his
neck supporting herself. Her breathing was fast and hard, echoing in the room
as a car passed by. He felt her stiffen, listening. Her eyes shot open, staring
at him as the sound passed and faded away. His hands were still inside her. She
continued to stare.

Then she started ripping off his clothes as she spoke quickly, staring at his
body while the words tumbled out. "I've never been sure about the destiny shit,
all that eastern metaphysics. Now I think I believe it. Think about the
coincidence. Maybe the only cop in the world who could've found me. Who might
understand at least the technique, the background." As she bared his chest, her
lips found his nipples, sucking and licking each one, as her hand rubbed his
cock through the pants. "I dream about a Pursuer. What do you dream about? What
is your name? You're a good looking bastard, you know that?"

As his pants came down, her mouth sunk slowly but decisively the entire length
of his pinus, taking it into her throat. Out of the torrent of want in his
mind, he choked "Aaaaah, my name is Thang. Lately, I dream of you, of the
bloody knife, of entering you." As her head pulled away to surround just the
head of his prick, her eyes tilted up to his, and a hint of a smile formed
around the almost yellow skin of his shaft. Then she sunk down on it again, as
he felt her tugging at the pants around his ankles, so he lifted a leg to help.
She pulled off his socks and shoes.

He felt her tongue licking at the slit of his cock, his hands which had drifted
to the back of her head urging her back down to the base, the tingling tremors
of desire ringing through him. Then she released him, but stayed there,
nuzzling the light pubic hair, her tongue flicking around, touching lightly at
the jointure of his balls and his dick. "I'll take you in my mouth if you want.
Or you can have my cunt, or my ass. Just tell me."

He grasped her shoulders and pushed her down to the thick carpet, going with
her so she came to rest on her back. He felt the moisture from her body on his
chest, as her hand pulled his tingling member into her. Their eyes were locked
together as she held him just between the flesh of her pussylips, as though she
were waiting. His hips bucked wildly, and she screamed.

"Aieeeegh." The noise jolted him, caused an adrenaline rush, and he started
humping wildly. Her legs were wrapped around his thighs, pulling hard with each
of his inward thrusts. After a minute of frantic, tortured stroking, she felt
his effort to slow down, to reduce the speed, to make it last. "No, no, faster,
faster. Fill me, quick, QUICK, QUIIIIIIIIICK." Her tunnel's contractions around
him catapulted his whole body into a roaring maelstrom of climax.

He felt he was being consumed by her in the explosive rush of orgasm. A
whirlpool sucked him to its core, successive jolts of wonder flashing wildly as
his hips humped. He was only vaguely aware of her hands clawing at his back,
her calves against his thighs pulling him to her depths, her own thighs
gripping his hips. A red haze filled his mind, even as her hands grabbed his
head and pressed their mouths together, their breathing whistling in and out.
It was the most mindless, enthralling sexual experience of his life.

The next few hours passed like a dream to her. The tantalizing, languorous
shower, the slow, soft, wonderfully drawn out lovemaking on the black satin of
her bed, eating the fruit and cheese, sipping the wine, their bodies lightly
bumping each other. He seemed to want to drink in her body, every few minutes
sucking juice out of her pussy, coating the grapes with her cream. After the
meal, he licked and tongued her anus, slowly, sensuously. She let him go,
feeling no need to match his erotic acts. He was her slave now, but she wanted
him always near her.

Their third session he filled her asshole, while both used their hands on her
clit. It took him an hour to get off. She lost count of her own cums, floating
in an unthinking sea of surging pleasure. He fell asleep almost immediately,
and she stared at him for half an hour before letting herself drift off.
Occasionally her mind tried to look ahead, wonder how they could be together.
But she just banished the thoughts, and strangely, the voice didn't try to
intrude.

When he staggered out into the secluded back yard the next morning, she was
standing with her back to him, sipping coffee. As she turned to smile at him,
she saw his surprise at her nudity but for a white thong, her fresh makeup, the
carefully fluffed hair. She saw the tenting of the towel wrapped around him,
the wet, carefully combed hair, the raw want. Her smile broadened.

"We are lovers now, darling. But I think we will be much more. I only wore this
because you were so juicy last night." She stripped the thong quickly off. He
let the towel drop away. He moved toward her, and she met him half way as they
embraced, his hard cock poking at her belly. He started to wiggle it toward her
cunt, but she took his head in her hands and kissed him lightly, then said, "We
have all day, dear. Don't we? You don't have to leave, do you? Have breakfast.
Let's take a long time. You have caught me."

The yard was larger than would have been expected, and paths meandered around
creating little isolated spots perfect for trysts. He pointed that out to her,
and she was surprised to realize he was right, though she had never thought of
it when she built it, over the last three years. "It is, isn't it. I didn't do
it consciously. I never bring anyone here. It's just for me." She kissed him
lightly on the cheek. "And now for you, my darling."

Her memories of that day all seemed soft focused, bathed in sensuous
exploration of him. There was very little conversation, no effort to reveal
their backgrounds, their interests. Just touching, kissing, incredible orgasms.
He never said a word about his feelings, but she sensed he was hers. She
responded by giving herself to him as she had never done with any lover before.
She kept seeing little signs of their similarity. He was fascinated by the
natural setting, the exotic birds she had brought in, the unusual plantings,
the play of light through the trees.

There was one moment which she would forever feel confirmed her instinct to
commit to him. Her mouth was full of his spunk, and his of her cuntal cream.
She was sitting on top of him, his member deep inside her, as they kissed in an
upright position, light glancing on their nakedness while a slight breeze
dappled the small glade. Their faces leaned apart, each smiling as they began
to once again surge toward completion, and he breathed "I have found heaven."

Two

As he made the final arrangements for his vacation, he also took the few
important personal things on his desk with him. His mother's picture, her
locket with he and Dad on either side of the small oval, the sepia picture of
her family in Saigon. He wasn't at all sure he was coming back. He thought
about saying something to Jean, but decided against it.

The FBI's taking the Pasterno case had resolved it for him. Arrogant pricks. He
had solved it and they had no clue. Even if he had been inclined to give them a
hint, the local agent's near sneering attitude, combined with that reference to
"slant" when he was supposed to be out of earshot, made him hate the whole
system. His boss wrapped up in trying to cover up the "raped" woman's
complicity, the wrought expression on the boyfriend's face sitting in the
holding cell, it all seemed the final straw.

They had finally decided he should call her Shelly. But in her beloved
darkness, their bodies wrapped together, he called her Julia. His mind still
marvelled at her willingness to trust him. She knew, somehow, how strong his
obsession with her was, that his principal fear would be that she would
disappear, as he knew she was able to. She kept saying it was destiny, but it
almost seemed like a death wish as he imagined her long years of hiding
suddenly abandoned to a near stranger, and a cop at that. Yet she never
wavered.

Her remaining protection was the computer system, it's false names, its
passwords. She refused to tell him anything but her story about the time in
'Nam, her training as a native style fighter, learning the military techniques
from the Greenies who finally got her out. "I have a contact. Mob hits only."
He had challenged that, with a couple of names, and she admitted she had
hesitated over them. But she knew details about the two women that hadn't been
in the files he had seen, and he had later confirmed them.

He knew she was working on something big, and that this week in the dense
forests was to see if he was fit to work with her. She wanted him to live his
dream, and the longer he knew her, the more he wanted the same thing. He was in
the best shape of his life, two weeks of running and lifting. It felt good.

He couldn't believe how fantastic they were in bed together. She was incredibly
sensual, and his lifelong reserve had disappeared completely. They seemed to
wallow in their physicality, the totality of their intimacy. She had no limits,
and he had abandoned his.

Her cabin was on the edge of a large Park, dense and unspoiled forest full of
natural wildlife. They had arrived in the afternoon, after making love all
morning. Now she was the pursuer. She had let him stay dressed that first
night, but had convinced him to give it up by telling him the rustle of his
clothes, and the occasional snag, gave him away. That was only partly true, of
course, but then he had shivered and been unable to think clearly the next two
nights, cold in the dark forests. She refused to let him near her from the
moment they arrived at the cabin, sleeping separately, eating in silence until
she began the evening's lecture on stealth.

She had meant to tantalize him until he got at least reasonably proficient, but
as she drifted through the night in his wake, she knew she couldn't hold out
any longer. Her body ached for him. He was starting to adjust to the cold, and
didn't itch himself so much. She could smell him up ahead, that unique odor
mixed with sweat, and hear his rustling as he tried to use his knees and elbows
to move. This was pretty good, only someone very near him would be able to
detect his presence unless they were very well trained. Close enough.

The moon was out, and she saw the sway of branches up there, where he had
changed direction. He thought she was heading for the cabin, but she had
circled around to get behind him. Silently, she rubbed a little more dirt into
her pussy. The cream was so strong. She reflexively guarded against the risk of
her odor giving her away, though he would never have been able to detect it.

Ah. He had stopped. He was beginning to suspect something. She flipped a stone
out fifteen yards to the right, and as he made hurried movements toward it, she
was on him. "Darling, darling, that was better tonight. But it has to be almost
zen like. You have to be able to know when it's a stone, or a body. But you've
been a good boy." She plunged the stiletto, whose flat blade had been
pressuring his throat, into the ground beside his head, wriggled out of the
backpack, and took his mudcaked cock in her mouth, as her own caked groin
settled to his face.

His member leaped into hardness, as she sucked, licked and swallowed. Oh my.
She had the feeling, almost as if there was a kill soon, the surging excitement
in her stomach, the flaring need. She could feel him slavering in her bottom,
licking inside, tasting everything, wondering whether he was able to embrace
the raunchy novelty of their raw, primitive position. He learned fast,
discarding his civilized inhibitions over the last three weeks, and she hoped
he could enjoy this. She knew she would.

His prick was clean now, and she rose up. Cream was flowing from her twat, and
as she rotated around, she could see the whites of his eyes, wide and excited.
His mouth was wet, the dark earth almost gone. She plunged her face down to
his, their kiss happening with abandon as she lifted over his throbbing tool.
He groaned into her mouth, and she jerked her head away. She whispered "No,
darling. No noise. We might be surrounded by enemies, fucking our brains out
under their noses. That would be so exciting, we might try it, but you have to
be quiet. We'll defy the bastards. Pleasure ourselves before they die." Her
face clamped down on his again.

She let her cunt slowly sink onto his erect cock. Her Pursuer was always ready
for her, no matter what. It was another reason she trusted him. He never
rejected her, constantly able to siffen. When he wanted her, she was ready for
him, too. But that was not as surprising as his ability to perform almost as
soon as he ended. He said it had never happened with anyone else.

She began thrusting, her hips working feverishly against his now shaved pubic
bone. Their tongues were wildly mixed, and she could hear the occasional thwuk
of her vagina as it surrounded his flesh. Hard to do this completely silently,
she realized. She reduced the amount of him she let out with each stroke, and
the vacuum didn't sound again. Ah, that was better.

It would have been nice to groan, scream, to split the night with the sound of
their passion. But the urgency was plenty. She felt him swelling inside her,
the friction on her slightly gritty clit, the pulsations of his hips as he met
her thrusting, their bodies attuned to each other, the approach of climax
almost a shared sense. Her mouth opened as wide as it could, as their gasps
passed between them, muffled but frantic.

Then it happened, as good as a kill. Explosive completion, fireworks in her
mind, thrills radiating out of her pud to fill her soul. She felt her own
contractions, each little twitch adding to the wonder of it. She wondered if he
felt the uniqueness of it too. They were fierce, powerful animals, giving each
other the ultimate joy. She smelled his spunk, rather than felt it. It mixed
with her musky odor in a familiar way, though the earthy addition of their
muddy bodies was there too. Her head pulled away from his, and she gritted her
teeth to keep from crying out at the restorative tingling filling her. When she
opened her eyes, he was staring at her. She knew the look. He worshipped her.
She bathed wantonly in his adoration.

He woke up with her back to him, under the blanket, the clean fresh smell of
the cabin and their bodies filling his head. His cock was between her legs, and
he felt dampness from her bottom. She had teased him about the torrent of his
spunk last night, indirectly filling him with pride. Her skill in the dark
night was amazing, though he was slowly getting the hang of it, he thought. His
hand crept around to her clit, tickling it lightly.

He felt her wake up, instantly alert, then stretch, wiggling her butt against
him, letting out a long sigh. Then she jumped out of bed, giggling "No darling,
no, we're going to do something different tonight. You have to earn your nooky,
like last night." He watched her as she moved naked to the small sink, starting
the coffeemaker, splashing water under her arms, down on her cunt. "We won't
shave tonight, dear. I'm giving you a break from the mud."

An hour later, they were stalking a rabbit. He had the laser sighted hand gun
drawn from his backpack. Her pack had only the stiletto. She had taught him
some fencing with a large army knife, but apparently reserved the thin, razor
sharp blade for herself. God she was lethal. The thought made his prick twinge.

He knew how to do this. He sighted through the magnified scope, seeing the red
dot steady on the animals neck. He was about to squeeze when she snapped a
twig, and the rabbit bolted. He waited until it turned away, slowing down its
relative movement, then brought it down with a round to its rear. Not much left
to eat, but deader'n hell.

She was on him again. There was no mud, and he liked it better that way, though
he was slowly adjusting to the sense of being part of the environment that
being coated in earth gave. "Oooh, darling, you are a good shot. You don't have
to practice any more. Fuck my ass, baby. Rough and hard, make it deep. Oooh
yes, just like that."

He slid into the tight, dry hole lubricated only slightly with his oozing pre
cum. He felt reflexive tightening, but she was groaning with pleasure. As he
began pumping slowly, penetrating deeper with each thrust, her capacity to
please him, to excite him, to dominate his spirit, again filled him with
surprise, but exhilaration too. He could feel the muscles in her back flexing
as she supported herself with one hand, surged back into his fucking tool, and
rubbed at her slit, the dark night with its many small sounds surrounding them.

Now came the tricky part. Their equipment was well hidden, three miles back,
near the river where the speedboat was well camouflaged. He had argued with
her, but she insisted that she had to be the one to create the diversion, since
she could move faster. She had the fake trail set, little bits of cloth and
broken twigs leading away from the compound. The diversion should let them
enter under the barbed wire, with little chance of detection. She thumbed the
remote, then stuffed it under a pile of vines and loose dirt as the hump of the
deeply buried mine sounded across the large open space.

As she moved quickly around to join him under the floor of the shack nearest
the main house, the thrill, sense of mastery, and danger were like powerful
waves of sexual stimulation. The fact that he had learned so quickly, so well,
added to her joy. The whole thing was risky, but she knew as she slid under the
wire and crawled smoothly to their temporary refuge that they could now be sure
of the kill. After that, she thought death would not be intolerable, as they
achieved his dream, that was hers now too. You had to be willing to accept
that.

She cuddled to him silently, their eyes locked together, small smiles of
triumph exchanged. She was breathing a little hard, and they stayed huddled
against each other for ten minutes, straining to catch the sounds of the sleazy
guards as they tried to figure out what was happening. Slowly, the five men who
stayed behind settled down, the temporary excitement over. She heard one
cursing in spanish "Probably another fucking pig. Goddamn that fence."

They had talked about this moment. "It would be nice to fuck there, darling. We
could do it. But let's wait for the kill. It has to be fast, but you'll see,
it's wonderful." He was truly her destiny. He never challenged her experience,
never seemed demeaned by her superior knowledge, accepted their relationship
happily. His ability to tap into the law enforcement files had been a big help.
He still had to meet the ultimate test, a kill, but she had come to terms with
the risk he wouldn't be able to do it. If she was wrong, she would die with
him, happily.

"Shouldn't we have watches? You know, take out the guards on a time tick?" "No
darling, it has to be a zen thing, each of us sensing the other, seeing and
hearing everything." That was a risk too, but he had started to get it. He
asked her several times if she wasn't worried that all these unfamiliar tricks
would fail in his inexperience. She never really answered him. It would, or it
wouldn't. They would live or die. Whatever.

It was time. She hunched around and kissed the tip of his stiff member lightly.
Then they moved off in different directions.

He edged through the window, senses keening, amazed at how quietly he could
move. But he didn't ponder it, just tried to let the thing flow, suppressing
the urge to worry about the risk. He could not let her down. He drew the
weapon, carefully cracked the door, and sighted on the guard to the right. He
waited before activating the laser. "You'll know, lover. Maybe you'll see my
sight, or hear me, or just know. Maybe your cock will tell you by that time."
She had giggled with that idea. He felt his hard tool bumping against the edge
of the bamboo door.

He saw the flash of a red dot on the other guard. He didn't bother with his
sight, just squeezed, feeling the buck of the haft, hearing the "Pffft" of the
round, everything slow motion. A black hole materialized in the temple of his
target, the features registered fear for just a moment, then nothing, as he
slumped sideways off the chair, colliding with the other one. He felt his prick
jump. God, he was a killer now. As always, she was right. The rush was
incredible.

He saw her move through the door, the almost red mud still letting some part of
his mind see her tight ass, buffed muscular hips and legs, the wide shoulders
rippling with tense but awesome power. It was all in slow motion. He followed
her in, saw that the woman was nearest him, and covered her mouth while he
inserted the syringe into her naked butt. The ugly, swarthy man struggling
against her muffling hand had his eyes wide open, slapping uselessly at the
slim wraith sliding a blade up from under his chin into his brain.

The woman slumped, her body relaxing. He let her drop, and started around the
bed. Each step seemed to take forever. Her knee was holding the man down on his
chest, and her ass was high in the air, poised over the choking victim. He
could see the pink flesh between her impossibly bulging pussylips, and that
almost white clitty poking stiffly down. Blood was oozing on the straining
neck, as she looked over her shoulder at him.

Her mouth was wide in a grin of anticipation as he planted his right foot
beside hers, and swung the other leg up around her butt. His cock entered her
smoothly, even as he saw her pulling the stiletto out of the twitching corpse.
He bottomed on the first stroke, as she raised a little higher, and he bent
over, so they were pressed together. He pushed her backpack aside. His whole
body was filled with sizzling sensation, stinging thrills making him feel
flushed in every part of his insides. She turned her head further so their
mouths met, as his hands found her tits.

Both their hips began an impossibly fast pistoning, as her tongue licked around
his mouth, inside his cheek, her hot breath flowing over his damp face. The
James Thang who had been was dissolved into a wildly soaring animal seeking
release with his soulmate, another fantastic animal writhing with him in carnal
fury. He dimly remembered what she had said. "We must be willing to die,
darling." Now he realized how easy that was, as the ultimate climax hurtled
toward them.

Suddenly, she froze. Her cuntal muscles were contracting frantically around his
prick, and as he felt the hot wetness of the blade slide across his balls, up
against her pubus, leaving wet liquid, he began to cum. He wanted to scream,
but barely restrained it. The rapture was so total he felt his knees weakening.
The first spastic hump he felt as though he was pissing jism into her. She
slowly pulled away, then rammed back, as another spurt seemd to slingshot into
her. He heard a sucking noise as she again pulled away, but it was all far off,
lost in the spiraling completion that was far beyond his dream.

He humped again, then stayed deep inside her, as they both trembled shakily on
the mattress. It took two minutes to even return to some rational frame of
mind. He stood, his member slipping out, though still hard. She pivoted around,
her tits poking at his chest, her face an inch away from his, her hand holding
his head. They were both breathing hard. She began licking the handle of the
stiletto, and he got the idea and began to clean it too. Then she drew the twin
flats of the blade between their tongues, each tasting residue of their own
essence, and the dead drug lord's. He dipped his hand down between her legs,
three fingers extracting the liquid there, and brought them to his mouth. Her
tongue flicked out to share the thick bounty. Their eyes held each other, and
their souls seemed to mesh.

They got the so'm bitch. How in the name of heaven had they done it? What would
happen to him now? This was a good job, plenty of money and all the coke he
wanted. And he loved wielding the AK-47, the power it gave him, the ability to
threaten any of the girls flinching from his pockmarked face and his reputation
for savagery. Who would take over? Maybe he'd be blamed. But where could he
hide?

He heard a scream, a woman's scream, of ecstasy. The hairs on his neck
stiffened with the fury of the sound, over there to the right. He ran crashing
toward it through the jungle, thinking if one of the other guys had a whore who
could get off that well maybe he could get a piece. He saw them, two dark
shapes, there on the edge of the stream. The woman was on top, you could tell
by the boobs jutting out, and had her head thrown back, squealing now between
backwards jumps of her hips.

As he stopped at the edge of the clearing, starting to raise the weapon, they
both looked at him. Shit, the man had a gun, it was pointed......... He looked
down at the gaping hole starting to open in his chest, and heard the air
rushing through it, as a black curtain started to close from the outside of his
eyes. They were both smiling.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to celebrate the short life of James Lee
Thang. Fondly remembered by his father, his associates......" Jean Dash felt
bile rise as she sat there, remembering sadly his body pressed to hers, his
loving, gentle touch, those deep blue, impassive eyes. She had always thought,
somehow, they could get back together, but it was not to be, now.

How in hell had he lost control of that car? He was a good, careful driver,
never took chances, never took risks. Jesus, burned to a crisp, the only
identification the suitcase that had been thrown clear with his passport, and
the airline ticket stubs. She wished they had let her do the autopsy, it was
still possible someone else could have gotten the bag. No, that was wishful
thinking. At least his stepfather would have the insurance.

He awoke with the American redhead still in his mind, her struggling against
him, his pleasure in striking at the Great Satan through her adding spice to
his orgasm. But why was his mouth gagged, hands bound behind his head? He
looked around for his guards, but saw only two white people standing in front
of him, covered in dirt and sand, the woman reaching toward him....WITH A
KNIFE.

The man had dark hair, and was fucking her from behind as he felt a stinging
pain in his chest. Frantic thoughts flashed through his mind. All his palaces.
The nearly complete nuclear bomb. The redhead. Then a whirlpool of pain started
to close in his brain. His last thought was how hard they both seemed to be
getting off.

author's note: Like it? Hate it? Let me know. whiff666@yahoo.com

This story is part of White_Shadow's_Nasty_Stories.
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