A Shemale Attack: Vennomous Vol. 01

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A shemale, pantyhose fetish action/adventure.
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Vennessa
Vennessa
73 Followers

The near twilight calm of late afternoon was suddenly ripped apart by the deafening rumble of what sounded like thunder close to the ground. Glass, metal, concrete, body parts and other debris blew out from the front of the bank across the plaza shrouded in a ball of smoke and fire. People in the plaza ran for cover, shocked by the suddenness of the explosion.

The post-blast silence was quickly interrupted by the roar of a V-8 engine and the squeal of tires as purple Charger tore through the plaza, headed for the street on the other side. People ran and dove for cover to avoid being hit by the car as it roared past. The Charger jumped off the raised concrete of the plaza's quad and fished hard to the left, tires screaming, as it hit the main street in a shower of sparks.

A city block behind the Charger a black 1968 Mustang GT roared around the corner and up the street after the getaway car. Blue fire flew from the ends of its chrome side pipes and the front tires came three inches off the tarmac as the driver slammed through the gears. The high pitched whistle of the supercharger under the ram-air hood was mostly drowned out by the roar of the giant 500 engine.

The driver of the getaway car glanced at his rearview and his blood ran cold as the Mustang raced up behind him. The thin scruffy-looking man in the passenger seat turned and looked out the back window.

"Who the fuck is that?"

The driver, who was throwing nervous glances into the rearview between longer looks at the street ahead replied nervously, "I don't know but the bitch is gaining on us!"

"Well, lose her!"

The driver pressed down harder on the gas pedal. They were already cruising at 95 mph and the Charger was getting skittish weaving in and out of the afternoon traffic. Doing this job this time of day was pure insanity, but that was what the boss wanted. Questioning the boss was never a good idea.

Behind the wheel of the Mustang the tall, dark haired woman drew a .45 automatic pistol from inside her black leather jacket and aimed it out the driver side window across the hood. Her dark hair whipped in the wind from the open window as the reflections of the passing buildings raced across the lenses of her black wraparound sunglasses.

The back window of the Charger exploded in a volley of bullets, two of which blew holes through the front windshield, spidering the glass and causing the two men to flinch and hunker down in their seats. The getaway car fished from side to side, tires squealing as the driver tried to maintain control. The speedometer declared that the car was moving at a frightening 110 mph.

"What the hell!" the driver yelled as he swerved to avoid the slower traffic. "Take that bitch out!"

"I'm on it." The passenger fired the 9mm submachine gun which had been cradled in his lap out through the hole where the rear window had been. Bullets tore into the right fender of the Mustang as it swerved out to the left and accelerated, moving up beside the Charger.

The getaway driver slouched low in the seat, cringing away from the Mustang and the .45 its driver was leveling at him just as his friend leaned across and fired at the menace in the black car. The roar of the sub gun was deafening and burnt powder blew back into his face. Bullets tore into the passenger door of the Mustang and glanced off its windshield as the driver cut the wheel hard to the right, slamming fenders with the Charger.

"What do you want you crazy bitch?!" the driver exclaimed as he veered hard around a mail truck to avoid rear ending it.

The cars came back together on the other side of the mail truck and the woman fired several more times into the Charger's left fender, trying to disable the engine or take out the tire.

The passenger brought his submachine gun up again but before he could fire the Mustang rammed hard into the Charger's left side again this time sending it into the line of parked cars at the edge of the street. The getaway car slammed into the first parked car and was forced upward in a scream of shredding metal. The force of the impact drove it up and back out into the street where it came down hard flipping in a barrel roll down the pavement. The Mustang's brakes locked up and it slid sideways, traveling behind the bouncing getaway car. The woman fired straight out the driver side window at the tumbling muscle car, emptying the magazine as the Charger flopped onto its wheels one last time, slowly rolling in a backward semi-circle and coming to a complete stop in the center of the city street.

The woman got out of the Mustang leaving the door open and the engine running. Traffic had stopped behind her and somewhere in the distance police sirens wailed. She was clad all in black leather; tight black leather pants, high heeled black women's biker boots, black leather corset, black leather jacket, gloves and a black tactical leg holster holster on each thigh held up by a belt with a polished stainless steel skull and crossbones buckle. In the left holster was one .45, in her right hand the other.

Under other circumstances the passenger in the demolished Charger thought crazily she would be totally hot as the woman walked toward the smoking, steaming ruins of the getaway car. The roof was caved in down to the seat on the driver's side and the driver was an un-recognizable lump of pulp. The passenger watched her stride toward his side of the car, unable to move, as her heels ground through broken glass.

She approached the side of the car and leveled the .45 at his forehead.

"Where's your boss?"

"We...were on our way to see him...after," he stammered.

"Where?" she demanded flatly.

"Lancaster and tenth. The old warehouse down by the water. He'll be there tonight at eight o'clock."

"Who's going to be there with him?"

"His bodyguard. Maybe some other people," he continued, shaking. "He's supposed to be meeting some arms dealer there at nine too. Some European woman. We met her at her hotel to set it up."

"What hotel?" The police sirens were definitely getting closer now. People cowering behind parked cars were beginning to peek out to see what was happening.

"The Regency on fifth, downtown."

"Room number?"

"Six thirteen," the passenger gulped then continued, "please...you're not going to k-"

His sentence was cut off by the thunderous report of the .45 auto.

The woman in black turned and strode back to the idling Mustang. The police cars would be coming around the corner any second and she had too much to do before nine o'clock to be involved in another high speed chase. This time with cops who wouldn't give up easily. She dropped into the racing bucket seat behind the wheel and slammed the door shut. As she put the transmission in gear she caught her reflection in the rear view mirror. Her right cheek was flecked with blood. Tiny bits of glass from the windshield must have cut her when scruffy shot at her.

She released the clutch as she punched the accelerator, the car reared up as the engine roared and the tires screamed, lifting the front tires off the pavement for a split second. As she sped past the remains of the Charger she tossed a baseball grenade in through the rear window. The Charger exploded a few seconds later as the police cars rounded the corner. The black Mustang was gone.

The dark haired European woman headed across her hotel suite toward the bathroom, wearing only a short silk robe. As she reached the door to the bathroom there was a knock at the room door. She paused. Years of being an arms dealer and involved with organized crime taught her to be cautious. She took a small automatic pistol from her suitcase on the chair near the bed and approached the door. She peered through the peep hole to see a beautiful dark haired woman in black with a cut on her cheek.

"What do you-" she began but was cut off by a hail of silenced bullets tearing through the door and passing through her chest and eyes.

Before her body even hit the floor one last shot blew out the doors locking mechanism. The leather clad woman entered the room quickly, a black bag in her left hand, the .45 with the silencer in her right. She immediately dropped the black bag and drew the other .45 out from where it was tucked in the back of her pants and did a quick sweep of the room. No doubt she would have at least one bodyguard lurking around somewhere but he obviously was staying in a separate room. She quickly found the European's identification, car keys, planner and other assorted items then placed them in the black bag along with some clothing from the woman's suitcase. Then she quickly left the room. It was already 8:30. She needed to hurry.

Back at her own hotel room the woman quickly undressed, washed the blood from her cheek and pulled her hair back in a ponytail. She removed the clothes she had taken from the European (who luckily was only a little shorter and about the same size) and began to get dressed. She donned jet black pantyhose, a tight, very short stretchy black dress, the woman's earrings, necklace and lady Rolex and a pair of her own knee high black leather dress boots. The European had a size 4 foot so her shoes were definitely not going to work. Plus, she wanted something she could move in when the time came.

At 8:45 she pulled into the gravel parking lot of the old warehouse. The sodium lights over the lot were on shining down on several expensive cars, including a limo, but otherwise the place looked unused. She turned off the dead European's rental car and got out. She now knew the woman's name was Alexis Dimitri, she had been from the former Soviet Union and the local police were probably taping off her hotel room and trying to figure out who killed her right about now. This latter meaning the bossman wouldn't have had time to hear that she was dead.

She retrieved her own black bag from the trunk of the rental car, a Cadillac no less, and walked to the side entrance of the building where two hulking, ex-football-military-convict-name your ex profession sentries stood in cheap suits. She announced who she was in her best phony Russian accent and one of the linebackers led her inside.

Inside the warehouse had been fancied up into a sort of private nightclub-meets playboy mansion kind of decor. the "boss" who's name was actually Don Saraga, shortened from Donald Elmer Saragatinaza, sat in a comfy chair at the head of a long glass coffee table surrounded by couches and love seats adorned with sexy call girls and rugged, pug-faced henchmen. Don Saraga was in his late thirties, athletically built, dark, with a full head of thick black hair in the classic gangster pompadour and generally not bad looking, she mused to herself. For this to work she was going to have to get him away from the others and catch them all off guard. She turned on the charm immediately when the linebacker introduced her to Saraga.

"I'm Alexis," she said smiling and holding out her hand for him.

Don Saraga stood, took her hand and kissed the back of it replying, "Of course you are!"

She noticed right away that he could not take his eyes off of her, especially her legs. She glanced around at the escorts scattered around the table. They all had bare legs. He probably had a pantyhose fetish. This was definitely going her way.

It only took a few minutes of blatant flirting to get Saraga to take her upstairs to his private office/bachelor pad. The room looked like something out of a porn film, complete with the huge bed covered with red satin sheets. Saraga crossed to the bar and poured a couple drinks as "Alexis" strode over to the bed and sat primly on the edge, setting her bag on the floor and crossing her nylon clad legs.

"Mmm, hmmm," Saraga intoned as he crossed to the bed carrying the drinks, "you have some killer legs."

"I guess you could say that," she smirked as she took the glass of scotch from him.

"So are you in a rush to get down to business gorgeous or do you have time for a little fun first?" he asked as he ran his hand up her nyloned thigh to the hem of her little black dress.

"I always have time for fun," she replied coyly, thinking to herself any man who tried this rouse would already be dead, because the business would have gotten right to the point and she had no idea what exactly the "business" was or if Alexis had talked to him about it on the phone prior to this meeting.

"There's just one small thing though," she continued as Saraga knelt in front of her and unzipped, first one boot, then the other, "I'm not sure if I am your shall we say, kind of woman?"

Saraga tossed her boots aside and began massaging her foot through the silky, black nylon.

"Oh ya, he said, "why's that?"

"Because I have some extra equipment," she cooed in his ear as he ran his hands up and down her long silky legs.

With that he stood up, yanked her to her feet and spun her around. With both hands on her hips he slid her dress up to her waist and then brought them down to her ass, kneading her tanned cheeks through the tight, sheer nylon. Then pushing her forward so she had to lean on the bed with her hands, he reached around between her legs and felt her stiffening cock through her pantyhose.

"Where you planning to use this on me?" he whispered coyly into her ear as he rubbed it through the nylon.

"Only if you want me too," she responded in a low sexy voice.

At that he pulled her pantyhose down to the bottom of her asscheeks and pushed her forward onto the bed into a doggy style position. He quickly stripped off his pants and boxers and unbuttoned his silk shirt. His enormous cock twitched with anticipation as he kicked away his pants and shoes and approached the edge of the bed.

The pseudo-Alexis leaned down on her elbows raising her ass to him as he spit in his hand and lubed up his pulsating head and shaft. She let out a little moan of pleasure as the mushroom head of his thick cock pressed against her tight asshole. With one hand guiding it and the other pulling her by the hip, Saraga forced his thick manmeat in to her tight ass, slowly, until the head popped inside past the tight ring of her hole. Then grabbing both hips he forced his way deep inside her until his balls pushed against the rim of her stretched orifice.

She let out a gasp as she felt the full length of his hot shaft fill her up, stretching her hole around it. Still gripping her hips tightly, he began to thrust forward, slowly at first, building momentum until he was jack hammering away inside her hot ass. She was now gasping in ecstasy as he pumped and moaned and slammed into her tight ass. She reached down and freed her own eight inches from the constraints of its nylon prison and stroked her cock furiously as Saraga fucked her tight asshole.

After a few minutes, he let out a long low moan and gripping her hips even tighter, pushed in as far as he could as thick ropes of his hot cum blasted into her pulsating ass. She could feel the hotness of his load as it filled her up and began to seep out around the base of his twitching cock.

They fell forward onto the bed, him on top of her, pumping a few more times before finally getting up, his spent, glistening cock sliding out of her cum-slick asshole.

She rolled over on the red satin sheets, her own cock still rock hard and needing relief and looked at him coyly.

"Feel good?" she asked in her fake accent, grinning

"Hell yeah," he replied through gasps for breath.

"My turn," she said getting up and pushing him down onto the bed.

She rolled him onto his stomach, spit in her hand and lubed up her rock hard cock. Then parting his muscular, tan asscheeks with one hand she guided her cock head into his tight man hole. Saraga let out a moan, of pain or pleasure she wasn't sure which, then her cock was inside him and sliding in up to the balls. Saraga gasped as it slid all the way in.

In moments she was hammering away inside his hot, tight hole, her pantyhosed legs sliding on the satin sheets and rubbing against the soft hair of his legs. Normally she wouldn't be bothering, she would have started taking care of business as soon as he was spent and totally distracted, but he had gotten her really hard and hot but had finished before she could. It would be much easier to take care of the real business at hand if she didn't have to go into it distracted by a raging hard on.

Saraga moaned as she grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling his head back and bitch-fucking him. Her hard cock pistoned in and out of his tight little man ass, her hairless balls slapping against his firm butt cheeks. After a few more moments, she stiffened, clenching her teeth and moaning as she returned the favor, filling his ass with her hot, thick cum.

Again they slumped forward, this time she on top of him. Then she rolled off of him her softening cock, glistening and stood up. Saraga lay gasping face down on the bed as "Alex" pulled up her pantyhose, tucked her cock and balls, and adjusted her dress.

"That was amazing!" Saraga moaned into the pillow as he lay panting on the bed, oblivious to his shemale lover putting on her boots and zipping them up then reaching into her black bag near the foot of the bed.

"By the way, how'd you get those cuts on your face?"

"On my way home from the bank," she responded as she aimed the two .45 automatics at the back of his head. "Some asshole shot out my windshield."

Saraga's eyes widened with realization. He didn't know about Alexis yet but he had no doubt something was wrong when his errand boys never made it back from hitting the bank downtown.

As she was about to squeeze the triggers, the door burst open and two of Saraga's bodyguards stormed into the room, guns drawn. One of them was in mid sentence when she opened fire on them,

"Boss! The bitch is-," the rest was interrupted by the roar of gunfire as the pseudo-Alex blasted away in the direction of the doorway. The bodyguards went down as Saraga leapt over the side of the bed and grabbed a gun out of the night stand. He started firing at his now unwanted house guest and she dove over a couch, slamming down onto a coffee table on the other side and rolling to the floor.

Saraga kept firing his nine millimeter as he ran up and over the bed, headed for the door, keeping his would-be assassin pinned down.

"You're fucking dead bitch!" he screamed as he ran out the door, still naked except for his silk shirt. More henchmen were already topping the stairs as he made it out onto the landing. The woman jumped to her feet and ran in the opposite direction, across the room to one of the big warehouse window. The bodyguards reached the doorway and bullets zipped by her head, whacking into furniture all around her. She fired behind her as she ran, not looking back. With her left arm she scooped up a foot stool, trying desperately not to drop the gun in that hand as she did, and flung it through the big window, shattering it. As bullets whined and whacked all around her she dove through the opening and out into space. She floated out and down, breaking into a dive, a gun in each hand, as she neared the surface of the dark water below. A second later she was splashing into the cold salt water and disappearing beneath the waves.

Saraga joined the two bodyguards already at the window, a throw blanket from downstairs wrapped around his waist.

"What the fuck was that shit?!" he roared at them. He was fuming and already starting to think to himself how glad he was that they hadn't stormed in while she had been fucking him like a bitch.

"Dimitri's bodyguard called. Said that he found her dead and got dragged down to the police station. Took forever for them to let him use his phone and call us."

The second bodyguard chimed in, "Rick Sanders called right after, said somebody saw a dark haired chick in a black '68 Mustang chasing our guys from the bank job earlier. He said it sounded like this bounty hunter bitch he knows named Xaviera. Xavieera Vennom."

Vennessa
Vennessa
73 Followers
12