J the Sleuth Ch. 03: Mommy Dearest

"Shower?" she asked him, in her exaggerated Korean accent. He just nodded, so she took his hand, and once again led him. She wasn't wearing the heels anymore, but she walked on her tiptoes as if she were.

In the bathroom she turned on the shower, getting the water just right (hot but not scalding), and then motioned him into the shower. She followed after him.

She stood between him and the shower head, but with their height differential she was in no danger of blocking him from the water. She took a sponge, poured some liquid soap into it, and then began to wash him. The sponge was soft, and she knew how to touch a man; this was much more about the experience than it was about trying to get him clean; he always showed up immaculately groomed anyway.

She started with his front, running her hands down his chest and his six pack, down his muscled arms, even down under his genitals, which was more of a tease than anything. She stood to kiss him again, closing her eyes and feeling the hot water running down her scalp and back, before moving around to his back.

She continued to use the sponge to rub down his back, before getting right up next to him. She reached around to work his chest with the sponge again, with her breasts pressed firmly into the small of his back.

When she came back around to his front, and worked her way to his midsection, she found his cock at full alert. She left it, for a moment, to carry on "washing" his legs, but when she came back up it was time to stop teasing.

She kept one hand on his chest/stomach, and used the other to hold his cock, which she took into her mouth. She held the head in her mouth, for a moment, swirling her tongue over it, and moaned slightly, knowing that he'd feel more than hear her.

But then she began to really suck him, pulling him into her mouth but not trying to deep throat him. She kept her hand up on his chest, ostensibly for balance, as the other hand worked the shaft of his cock, or massaged his balls, or extended a finger to massage his taint. She could feel the hot water gently massaging her head, as she massaged his cock with her mouth.

When he came he didn't shudder, or moan, or even twitch; if her expert hands hadn't been near his balls she might not even have noticed that he was ready to explode -- but they were, so she was ready to receive his cum. She swallowed his load, continuing to suck him until she was sure he was done. It was always like this with him; when he didn't need to move, he was like a statue.

She stood back up, got up on her toes once more -- being careful not to slip on the wet tub surface -- and kissed his cheek, high up near his ear, and whispered, "Thank you," as if the cum in her belly was as much a gift to her as it was to him.

She turned around to turn the water off, then reached out of the shower to grab a warm, fluffy towel, which she used to vigorously rub him down. His hairless body and bald head made this easier and quicker than it was with other men. When she was done he stepped out of the tub, deftly wrapping the towel around his midsection as he did so, and she grabbed a towel of her own to dry herself off. Once she'd finished, and wrapped it around herself, she grabbed a third towel, which she quickly and expertly used to wrap up her hair, in that mysterious way that women make look so easy.

She got out of the tub herself, took his hand one more time, and led him back to the bedroom.

"Massage?" she asked him, when they got there. With her exaggerated accent, she made it sound like three syllables: "mass-ag-gee?" When he nodded his assent, she indicated the bed; he removed his towel, which he laid down on the bed, and then lay down on his front on top of it.

She kept her own towel on for a bit, as she began her massage. She rightly guessed that he'd prefer a real massage, not just having her lightly run her hands over his body. Luckily she knew what she was doing, and was able to give him a real, deep massage, loosening his muscles and working out the knots. She started with his shoulders and his neck, and then worked her way down his back. She then went back up to massage his arms, before moving back down to his legs.

At this point she removed her towels, letting her still damp hair fall down around her, and moved to the edge of the bed to massage his scalp. His head was near her pussy, but he paid it no mind, he just let her massage his scalp.

She then had him turn over, and was not surprised to see that his cock was ready for another go. But first, she took her time to kiss him again, bending over him from the top of his head, letting her breasts rest on his forehead as she kissed his mouth upside down.

She moved around to climb onto the bed and straddle his legs, and began to massage his chest with her hands -- though really, she was just allowing her hands to run over his body, not really massaging anymore -- and then, reaching behind her, grabbed a bottle of lube from the night stand, which she squeezed onto his cock, getting it nice and slippery. She then began a very sensuous, very wet handjob, working her hands up and down. His cock, which was a considerable size, looked huge in her tiny hands, which was one reason she liked doing this for her clients.

Finally, she reached behind her once more, grabbed a condom out of the night stand drawer, and rolled it onto him. She then moved up a bit further to straddle him, and slowly, slowly, took him into herself. She moaned and gasped as each inch of him penetrated her, heightening the experience he'd be feeling at stretching her tight pussy. "So big," she whispered, in her accent, "you so big..."

But she got him buried in her right up to her balls, and then began gently fucking him, ooh-ing and ah-ing as she did. She got into a rhythm whereby she'd slowly pull off him, almost completely, and then slam herself back down, causing her breasts to jiggle seductively as she did.

She continued to fuck him for a while, and then leaned down to kiss his nose. "You want from behind?" she asked.

"Mmm," he responded, which she took for a yes.

She pulled herself off of him, then got off the bed to bend over it. He was also quickly up, and got behind her, to slide into her with one smooth, deft movement.

God! He was big, she already knew that, but he felt so much bigger in this position. He began to fuck her in earnest now, and she let him. She even let herself fall further onto the bed, breasts resting on the comforter, ass-up for his pleasure. She let herself be taken, and didn't regret it: he knew how to pleasure a woman. He wasn't just mindlessly thrusting into her -- though there was definitely an animal energy about this hard and fast fucking -- but he also moved a little side to side or up and down, allowing his cock to hit her insides from different angles, and he even began to use his finger on her clit.

Half standing, half lying on the bed, with his cock invading her and claiming her pussy for its own, the bedspread rubbing against her nipples, his finger doing maddening things with her clit, she let a warm, welcome orgasm wash over her. "Mmmmmmm," she moaned quietly to herself.

Not long after he pulled out of her, quickly rolled the condom off of himself, and came, letting his cum rain down on her back and ass. She wouldn't have let most clients get away with this -- the condom was on for a reason! -- but she was enjoying her post-orgasmic bliss, and he was a good client, so she let him cum on her smooth, perfect skin. She even smiled to herself when she felt him slapping his cock against her ass cheek, to knock off the last drop of cum hanging off the tip, which landed on her back with the rest.

Finally he was done, and she felt the bed jump as he fell onto it, beside her. She turned her head back toward him, and kissed his shoulder, the only part of his body within kissing distance.

"Thank you," she whispered again.

He allowed himself to rest for a moment, and then he was up and re-dressing. She followed his cue and grabbed one of the towels off the ground to quickly swab the cum from her back, before grabbing the other and wrapping it around herself.

"You want 'nother massage?" she asked, though she knew what the answer would be.

"Next time," he answered, as he finished buttoning his shirt.

He took an envelope out of his pocket and dropped it on the nightstand, and she took his arm and escorted him to the front door. She kissed him one more time, before opening the door for him.

"Good night, sweetie!" she said, before closing the door behind him.

She went back to the bedroom and grabbed the remaining towels, which she brought with her to the bathroom. She dropped all three into the hamper, wrapped a fourth around her head to keep her hair dry, then got back into the shower to properly wash the rest of his cum off of her body.

She hadn't bothered to count the money in the envelope because she knew she didn't have to. He'd been coming to her long enough that she knew he'd put in the full amount, plus some extra.

She knew what he wanted, and she provided it.

---

They drove mostly in silence, with only the occasional direction from K, since J didn't know the streets of Ottawa that well. They ended up in a mostly empty parking lot behind a bar, and entered through the back. The only patrons J noticed were male, and when she paid closer attention she realized that most of them were good looking. Incredibly so. She would have assumed it was a gay bar, except that she knew her mother would never frequent a bar where she couldn't get laid. She figured there must be another explanation for the strikingly high percentage of hot men around.

It was early evening, so it wasn't too busy yet. They were able to find an isolated table where they could talk freely. Drinks in hand, J was finally able to ask the only important question:

"So... what's going on?" she asked, a wry smile on her face.

"To be honest, I don't even know," K responded frankly. "I haven't left a desk in six months, and even before that I wasn't doing anything exciting. There's no reason anyone should be after me, that I can think of, and hasn't been for... oh... at least a year now. Which means that this is an old threat -- someone I might not even remember."

K worked for the Canadian Security Intelligence Service, CSIS. Growing up, J had learned a lot about espionage, subterfuge, and how to generally get her way in any situation, from her secretive yet loving mother. And, recognizing her daughter's talents, K had made use of them from time to time in her work. Which had included asking J to infiltrate the mysterious Agency, based out of Toronto, run by a man whom J still insisted on calling "The Boss," in her inexplicably melodramatic way. K didn't know how J had managed to infiltrate the Agency, but guessed it was probably the same way she would have done it herself. Like mother, like daughter.

"All I know," she continued, "is that I was driving along this morning, trying to decide what I wanted for dinner so I could get the appropriate groceries, when someone blew out the engine of my car. Long range, large calibre projectile. I didn't hear anything, so the shooter must have been quite a ways away, but one shot was enough to take out my engine. I figured the best way to play it was to let him think he'd got me, so I tried to drive the car into a nearby wall to make it look like a crash. Unfortunately, at the last minute I noticed someone on the sidewalk, swerved to avoid him, and my simulated crash turned into a real one.

"I managed to get out of the car, around a corner, and up the street, before I realized that I was too hurt from the crash to run far. I was losing blood fast, already starting to get light-headed. I did come to my senses, though: the shooter had to have been pretty far away, so it wasn't like he would be there chasing me down the streets. So I managed to get to a public space, dial 911, and had already fainted before the ambulance arrived. I assume they did, though, because I woke up in the hospital, with my daughter by my side."

J smiled, but didn't get sidetracked. "From what you're saying, the police will have found an empty, crashed car, not far away from where a woman was found with injuries commensurate with a car crash. They're going to put two and two together. Can they trace you to the car?"

"They can trace it to CSIS, and then they'll be told to get out of the way, which they will. CSIS will know I had that car yesterday, so they'll be able to trace it to me. And probably already have. In fact," she checked her watch, "I should make a call..."

She pulled out her phone, made a couple of gestures on the screen, and the display changed from that of a normal Android phone to something quite distinct.

"New toy from CSIS?" J asked.

"Yeah, new phones. I can do pretty much anything on this that I can do at the office. More importantly, it's encrypted and secure."

She dialled a number. "It's me," she said. "What do you have so far? ... Mmm hmm ... Shit, really? Isn't that kind of exotic? ... Okay, got it. I'll let you know when it's done."

She set the phone back down on the table, and gazed into the distance for a moment, lost in thought.

"So what did they tell you?" J finally asked.

"They weren't able to pull a bullet out of the engine block, but they were able to see the path it had followed. I'll spare you the details about the rifle that was used," K continued, knowing that J had never picked up her own enthusiasm for learning all she could about guns. "But I can tell you that it's not common; a bullet that's powerful enough to disable a car engine, yet melts away into nothing, is pretty advanced stuff. It means that he was trying to kill me but make it look like an accident; with no bullet to pull out of the engine block, when the cops inspected the car they'd just see a lot of damage, and assume it came from the crash. The analysts are pretty sure that the shooter will have been Russian. That doesn't mean he's government -- in fact he's probably not -- but they're pretty sure he's from Russia, nonetheless. Unfortunately, that doesn't help me with my quandary; I still don't know who'd be after me, and why."

"Next move?" J asked, pretty sure she knew the answer.

"Our next move," K answered, "is to sit down and think. I'm probably not going to suddenly realize who's after me, or else I would have by now, so we need a plan. Not to mention that I've got to let my injuries heal a bit more. And what have I taught you is the best way to think -- not to mention deal with injuries?"

"We need some endorphins!" J answered, with a grin. "And I assume that's why you've brought me to a bar that's ninety percent full of hot guys?"

K smiled in return. "This particular spot isn't advertised much, but it's located at a nexus between a couple of different fire stations, and the firefighters like to come here to blow off steam. I like to... help."

Almost on cue, a couple of men approached the table.

"Afternoon, ladies," the taller of them said. "What brings you here on a fine day like today?"

"You do," K responded. "How you doing, Rog?" she asked the shorter of the two men.

"Not bad," Roger answered. "And as soon as I saw you come in, I knew I was going to be even better."

It was a cheezy line, but K laughed anyway. J was glad K was flirting with him, because she had her own eye on the taller man.

"Roger, Ken," K said, "let me introduce my daughter, J. She's in town for a couple of days, to visit."

"Nice to meet you," Ken said, obviously deflated, but still being polite. K and her daughter would obviously not be looking to get lucky, it's not something mothers and daughters did together, so his initial thoughts about a crazy four-way with two hot chicks was pretty much out the window. But he was nothing if not polite. "Can we buy you ladies a drink?"

Roger, on the other hand, didn't seem disappointed at all; he seemed to know K better than that. "I don't think we have time for a drink, do we K?" he asked, all but winking as he asked it.

"J's got a hotel room nearby," K answered. "There'll be plenty to drink in the mini bar. Why don't we go there, where we can be more... comfortable?"

This perked Ken up considerably. Maybe this would turn out alright after all...

---

Alex sat in the living room, awaiting his appointment with Radenko. The big man himself. Although this was a personal house, the room he was in was almost like a waiting room in a dentist's office, complete with magazines. A lot of people had sat in this very chair, waiting to speak with the head of one of Canada's largest crime families. Most of them, he assumed, were probably shitting bricks, afraid of how the conversation would go. He, on the other hand, was as calm and collected as he always was, reading the day's paper.

He was not alone. A number of Radenko's men were in the room with him. One, in particular, was having difficulty keeping his mouth shut.

"Couldn't even kill a woman!" he was saying to the others. "There she is, driving along, with no idea what's going to happen, and he still can't kill her! But that's what Radenko gets for overpaying. He should have just sent us; we'd have done the job right the first time -- right boys?"

Alex was ignoring him, never diverting his attention away from the newspaper. The man's opinion didn't matter.

The other men in the room, all Serbians aside from Alex, averted their eyes, but for different reasons: The loud mouth was being a bit too loud for their liking, and getting a little too close to a line they didn't want to cross. Danko wasn't just calling into question the assassin's abilities, he was calling into question Radenko's judgement. That wasn't smart.

But Danko wasn't taking the hint, and came over to get in Alex' face. "But no," he continued, "instead, he sends this Russian to kill her, and now he's sitting here reading the paper while she's out there somewhere, still alive!"

Without taking his eyes from the paper, Alex casually reached over to the table beside him and grabbed a magazine. With barely a movement, he grabbed it by the edge, and used it to chop at Danko's throat; the spine of the magazine hit him right in the adam's apple, collapsing his trachea. Danko's eyes went wide in shock, and then he went down, gasping, to the floor, clawing at his throat as if he'd be able to open it back up.

Alex folded the paper back up, set it on the table beside him, and then bent over to address the dying man on the floor.

"Anyone can kill," he said. "If your boss had just wanted the woman dead, he'd have sent an idiot like you, and you'd have killed her. If he'd wanted to send a message, he'd have sent a psychopath; someone who enjoys inflicting pain, and likes the smell of blood. There may be someone like that in this room, there may not; I don't know.

"But," he continued, "if he wants someone to be killed without it being obvious that she was murdered, he calls someone like me. Someone with special skills. Someone who can make sure a person is dead, but make it look like an accident. Luckily, your boss is smarter than a fucking idiot like you. He knows that these operations are delicate, and many things can go wrong. While your friends are dragging your corpse away, your former boss and I will be discussing logistics and next steps, and in the weeks and months ahead, he won't even notice you're gone.

"Of course," he elaborated, "I'm not really talking to you. I don't waste my time explaining myself to dead men. But your friends here should learn from your mistakes. One day some of them will be given more responsibility, and, for their sake, I'm hoping they're smarter than you are."