Lahhh, di, dahhh...
no parade to welcome.
no limo at der flughafen with angular jawed teutonic driver in black hugo boss suit looking for misty as he holds a sign reading ‘internationalen attentäter’.
i’d carried only my small flight bag with only my misty necessities.
quite in style and practical for your sexy international killer on the go.
i needed to bring no weapons as most likely i’d be strangling rauch with my panties or nylonz, or giving him a heart attack as i undressed and he saw my killer body (get it? oh you must!).
international-never-break-rules for sexy international assassinettes
is don't carry weapons aboard flights! so misty often strangles
her oh so lucky targets with reinforced la perla panties. a
dying victim's fondest wish, whether they realize it or not.
but one of the rules of air travel is never bring weapons! if misty needed a glock or stiletto (not the kind on my sexy feet...the kind i shove into men’s hearts and twist)...they would be provided moi dans berlin.
what misty did have was mucho ‘KY’ for when Elka screwed the living insanty out of me. Elka’s clit was larger than average size, if you pardon the expression, and could actually enter misty.
men and their pathetic oversized but underquality organs could never compare to what my love had in store pour moi!
and i had all the good KY in my sweet d&g travel bag...’sensual silk tingling Ultrahhhhh-gel’... ‘warming liquid gel’... ‘tingling 2-in-1 touch massage’...mmmmm...
ok, back to other important things. like mmmurderrrrr. la raison d’etre for being in berlin...yum.
it had been a nice trip.
misty sooo doesn’t have issues with air france. the french may be bitchy snobs, but misty loves bitchy snobs.
it was earleee when misty got into der flughafen.
i sooo needed my transfusion of caffeine. as the
slogan goes, you can sleep when you're dead.
and that oinker rauch would be oh so dead sooon.
but seriously, i made my way to the 24-hour airport bar where a charming germanic older couple was waiting for someone to arrive at this ungodly hour. when i arrived it was earleee morning. birdeee tweeting time in berlin, where even the birdeees wear torsten amft and hugo boss (ohhh, misty, you crack yourself uP!).
to keep misty going she simply had to have her nectar. coffee...drink of the Gods. and lovely international assassinettes.
my misty specialty drink was a double-strong coffee frappuccino with copious amounts of brandy dumped in like crude from a BP deepwater blowout.
topped with whipped cream. the more brutally whipped the better.
as my caffeine and alcohol arrived, mist began licking the overflow off the smoooth sides of the tall cup. as i would soon do to the juice off Elka’s thighs.
mist made sure no one was catching the show. or so i thought.
i’m sooo not an exhibitionist, tho i do like to show off a new pair of christian louboutin toppe by a chanel mint-green leather skirt on a spring day.
but when it comes to acts of sapphic nymphic erotomania or licentious murderous guy killing...misty keeps it behind closed doors.
but this morning i got carried awayyy...
the german lady in the airport was a sexy old hag
that reminded mist of my third grade teacher! a leather-
faced bag misty had a crush on. third grade misty had
always wished she would have bent me over like a
flexible drinking straw and thwacked my bare bottom!
the simply delightful older couple had caught misty’s unintended soft core display with my coffee cup.
the lady did not appreciate misty’s tongue expertiese! the look on the sexy old bag’s face reminded misty of her third grade prep-school teacher (yes, mist was a little prepster).
teach had caught little mist carrying self-education too far...practicing my onanistic skills in the class cloakroom at way too precocious an age.
don’t ask what fantasy propelled little misty to touch her prepubescent self...i think it was the idea of strangling little georgie with my knee-high sox that had got me going.
mmmmm, some things nevah change!
truth be told, misty always had a crush on the harsh old
nasty bats like mrs. danvers from rebecca, trying to get
that innocent twit to jump out the window here. mmmm!
judith anderson...i would have kissed her feet...and other
things toooo
luckily ms. hodgepodge didn’t spank my young misty ass, tho truth be told i would have lovvved it had she.
even at that tender age misty had an emerging attraction to old harsh looking spinster types with leather faces and thick thighs over which to place misty and spank her.
i suppose ms. hodgepodge (not her reeeal name, geeesh!) must have sensed little misty liked her.
the sexy old bat never punished me for touching my misty self. or anything else, like when i really did try to strangle georgie.
he was sooo a creep, the type who no doubt grew up to be one of those wingtipped sub-prime hedgefund managers who brought down the world economy. misty should have finished his little ass back then!
ok, calm down mist! back to the present.
i smiled at the scowling gruff sow in the airport bar and put my tongue-licked coffee mug down. i picked up my misty flight bag and stood to depart the flughafen.
in an instant the german lady’s other half flashed a nasteee wink at moi without his ball and chain knowing.
i ever so naughtily flicked my misty-licious tongue across revlon ‘summer sky umbre’ frosted lips, and returned the gent’s covert flirt.
if misty must be honest, and she must, his 200-pound old bat wife, with ankles stronger than a german clysdale’s, turned me on immensely.
if i had more time, misty would have tried to pick them both up. i’d have done him just to get his leather-faced frau to spank me. hard.
naked of course.
yes, misty is a total lezzie nympho pervette. and so very proud of it.
but there was no time for such games.
misty imagined how i might kill rauch! perhaps
like in one of those true crime magazines...i'd
wait for him in the alley as he left a bar...unwrap
my misty garotte from my thigh, and then pull
the pig into the shadows to die a luscious
asphixi-licious death on his knees! oh yummerz!
off i misted to taxi out into the berlin burbs. and prepare for my execution of that pig rauch.
i still had not decided how that uber banker would die.
should misty lure him into a hot tub of steamy h20 with the promise of misty sex, and then dunk him under for a wet death (his) and a moist orgasm (mine).
or would i do something more traditional. pull rauch into the alley shadows some evening as he exited the adagio bar. or his favorite, the 6vorne?
tho i look misty-yummy, i am quite dangereuse!
as i waited in the alley for rauch to leave
the bar, my misty feet would simply tingle
in my dries van noten stilettos, my misty
toes twitching with the excitement of
yet another delicious kill...
a millimeter or two over six foot in sweet naked feet, six-four in timeless black leather ankle strap dries van noten stilettos, $1585 on sale at nieman.
i’m a tall strong dahl that could yank his fat goldschlager-bloated, hugo boss fitted body into the shadows, wrap my misty garotte around his blobby neck, which is about the size of the brandenburg gate. tighten...
he would fall to his chubber knees, unfortnately ripping his charcoal black pleatless h. boss suit pants and scuffing his $1900 black berluti demesure scritto court shoes.
misty would pull the cord tight, yanking his pighead between my standing, spread misty thighs, and pull him up into misty land!
my gucci leather front-slit skirt, $799 on sale last summer in manhattan, would spread apart, allowing der schwein’s head to pull hard against my black lace la perla panties as misty strangled him into an asphyxionic stupor.
his sweet little schweincock would be stiff with orgasmic excitement as rauch felt strong misty thighs against his dying oinker head.
the alley of death! rauch on his porcine knees, misty would
pull her misty garotte tight and feel his squirming head
against my wet la perla panties. it would be time to, as they say,
faster pussycat, kill, kill, kill!!! (i sooo love russ, don't yooo?)
i’d deliver la coup de gras as his male organ strained against the expertly tailored crotch of his boss suit, yearning with the pleasure of near death.
at the right second, i would turn the blood supply to his corrupt brain off like a light bulb with a twist of my garotte.
his blimpy body would twitch in mortal delite, and a moist spot would soak through the fabric in the fly of his custom altered suit...rauch would be coming...just as he went.
the pig would twitch his last delicious moments of life and death. just as the beautiful blinking berlin night lights cast caravaggio shadows across his waxen fat face.
misty herself would very quietly yet deliciously come, following the international lady assassin’s handbook on orgasm protocol during target termination: “scream for a thrill, but not during a kill.”
then misty would loosen her cord and allow rauchpig to drop onto the alley pavement. misty would walk away, her dries van noten stiletto heels clicking ominously in the night as rauch’s lump of flesh lay dead, to be discovered in the morning light.
sooo erotisch.
or maybe i'd just shoot him with a glock.
decisions, decisions.
or maybe misty wold just shoot him with a custom silenced glock 19.
it would be so fun deciding as i lay between Elka’s spread thighs, misty tongue tasting her Elka warm flavors as i might a good oak chardonnay. small sips.
Elka would feel my love, and herself ponder the best methods for target elimination.
with over 102 kills, Elka has much experience to share. and like misty, the act of sexxx is only enhanced by thoughts of assassination.
so misty was off to visit my love. and work out plans for the german banker’s execution.
combining pleasure with pleasure.
but then, in an instant, everything had changed.
misty spotted a male she simply had to kill.
immédiatement!
---misteee
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