view to a kill, part deux...

    the taste of gretchen, helga or whatever her name was,  was still in my mouth when i got into manhattan to pick up
the file on my hit.
    70 park ave was a delish hotel to hang my glock while hitting coffeee bars, barney's, bergdorf's and the like. my mind was on the job, so lezzie pussyhunting was not on the scheds. but, if things ran true, i'd find some hot cunt to stick my tongue in before renting a car and driving out to do my job in a week or so.
    my own pussy ran hot and wet at a little cafe on fifth avenue. i was finally digging into the file on the lucky fellow who'd be snuffed by the best doll in the biz. me.  
    i sipped a double espresso with a hint of mint as my hungry eyes scanned the foto of his face for the first time.
    love at first site.

grandad harry with the happy crinkled eyes, in my perfect world, would spend his final moments hogtied naked before me

    his eyes were warm, with sunshine crinkles off the corners. his mouth, that nice midwestern half-smile with a sharp sense of irony. the kinda guy who'd chuckle seeing his murderess checking his file.
    yes, i was in love. i always am.
    but this sweetie was like 'pops'. something out of norman rockwell, whose americanna i do so enjoy. you think hitwomen only like edvard munch, egon schiele and the blau reiters?
    get real!
  
    established then, i was gushy over my mark. which, of course, makes me the killah i am.
    i'm not some hate filled dyke who kills to make up for a bad time at prep school. or tough time growing up in 'da ghetto'. or a sickie psycho strangling puppies as an eight year old!
    i'm a hunter. the old Native american thing. respect what you take. honor what you kill.

    i can't say what this dahling did to bring about my employment. they don't give me too much on that.
    he either cheated on wifey, knew where the toxic waste was buried by xyz corp, under a shopping center somewhere, was worth more in insurance $$$ dead than alive...shall i go on?
    back to the fun.
    after looking at, let's call him harry, i was surer than sure this had to be intimate.
    one never knows how it really will turn out. like hitting neiman marcus on labor day. you know how you'd like it. but until you're in the trenches, you don't know shit.
     'shit'. that's a technical term, sweeties.

  
      so, grandad harry with the happy crinkled eyes, in my perfect world, would spend his final moments hogtied naked before me.
    i'd run my long red-nailed fingers through his bushy full head of salt and pepper hair. his friendly eyes would look oh so frightened. but not just frightened. harry was a man's man. he'd be looking at me. wanting me.
    harry would be too virile, even at 60 something. no viagra needed to give harry a stiffie. his organ would want me.
    he would look up at me, i'd be naked w/ nothing but stiletto boots and Gucci black leather cashmere-cuff gloves. $375 retail...$300 on bluefly!
      and harry would be harder than he'd been in 25 years...

    i'd finished my espresso, had to make book before barney's closed. on sale, a simply delish ungaro skirt i could not live without!

(i was) hot thinking about his hard white, 60 year old cock, sticking out like a mast, as i tenderly place my cord around his neck

    so i closed the file on harry, for now. but in slightly over a week, his file would be closed permanently.
    i took one more thought of harry. hot thinkinggg about his hard white, 60 year old cock, sticking out like a mast, as i tenderly place my cord around his neck.
    sidle around behind him.
    pull him close to my naked, naked body. ooooooooh...
    tighten my garotte.
    he begins to sweat. bodies are flush, he smells my estrogen. the smell of my cunt as it heats. sticking, as we both perspire. my hard clit stiff as his weenie, rubbing against his strong back.

  
    delerious, lost in lust for the kill. still, somehow, i made it up madison ave, homing in on my ungaro like a cruise missile, while lost in a fog thinking of killing harry...
    i entered barney's 32 minutes before closing. just enough minutes. there'd be time enuff to think about killing harry later.
    right now ungaro was on my mind. after all. i had to be well-dressed.
    i owed it to harry.

(to be continued....love misty)