Perfectly Terrible

'No more waiting, justhave me,' was her demand. So he did.

She shuddered as he slipped inside her; iron hard, he filled her and she enveloped his penis with a warmth that sent a shock through his body. He locked eyes with her as he entered her and she smiled as her eyes unfocussed, whispering: 'Fuck me as hard as you can, I'm to cum with your big, fat, beautiful cock filling me - and you can remember my face asyoumake me climax.'

So he did. And so she did. And as she came, breathing heavy and laboured, she cried and she cried out: 'cum all over me, pull out and make yourself cum over me.' A hundred pornographic images passed through his mind as he pulled out and grabbed his lubricated penis, pumping a few brief strokes before sperm streamed out and over her perfect flesh; sperm that she smeared over her stomach, and, eyes dancing with dirty delight she brought her fingers back up to her mouth and tasted him.

As she lay there drugged with desire, the lights flickered back to life as electricity was restored. Sex so perfect, even the National Grid approved...

*** *

The second time they fucked, andfuckedwas the word, they'd moved to the bedroom. She'd finally removed her bra and stockings, going from being a tarty little madam, to a beautiful, poised woman he couldn't keep his eyes off. He followed her through to the bedroom, again, eyes locked on to her – this time uncovered – arse, wondering how he'd managed to get himself into such an impossible position, with such an impossibly beautiful woman.

'I feel...dirty,' she proclaimed, 'Shall we shower?'

Not waiting for an answer, she padded through to the en-suite and opened the door of a shower big enough for much more than a freshly-fucked couple. Pressing a button, water cascaded down as she pulled out two large, warm towels from a cupboard and dropped them on to the floor. She took him by the hand and pulled him into the shower, closing the door and relishing the warm water as it washed away the remains of their coupling.

She took the soap, and lathered-up, looking him in the eye. Six inches shorted than him, she stood on tip toe and kissed him lightly. Against the rush of water, she voiced her intention of making him a 'clean man' and added, 'but not for long I hope.'

As she soaped him clean, relishing the feel of his muscular body, he could see the unadulterated joy in her face as she moved her hands across his chest and smiled up at him. As much as she felt at peace with this hard-bodied, self assured, sexy man - behind his mask of a face,hefelt in turmoil at the problems this day was going to cause and if he was honest with himself, that this would be his only day with this woman. As this thought spread through his mind, she sank to her knees and took his penis in her mouth, and the mask that was about to imperceptibly crack with pity, cracked most perceptively with pleasure as he started to grow inside her.

She smiled again, looking up at him, water splashing from her face, running his half erect member across her tongue, cupping his balls, popping him back into her mouth and as he grew harder, pushing his penis right to the back of her mouth willing herself to take his full length, willing him to become too long to take in her mouth. Bobbing her head backwards and forwards over his cock, stopping and guiding her tongue over his head; sucking onto his glans, he couldn't ever remember having a more expert blow job. Taking more and more of his cock in her mouth he wondered where she had learned to take so much length.

Pushing her gently away, he pulled her up and kissed her; mouths open, tongues entangled, he ran his hands over her smooth flesh of her back and up to her breasts, his fingers pinching her hard nipples, his penis ridden up against her stomach. She made little moaning noises as he moved down her body, his mouth and fingers seeming to be everywhere at once, all over her body. Tongue flirting with her eager nipples; fingers caressing her thighs and hips as he sunk down; kissing her flat stomach as he reached her pubic hair; running his tongue through the hair and down to her lips; tasting sex with faint traces of soap and warm water. Holding her arse as she slumped against the wall, out of the jets of water that now tumbled down his back, she was as wet from his attentions as she was from the shower. His tongue buried itself inside her and moved slowly up her lips, probing her, teasing around her clitoris, back down to her lips, driving her crazy with the anticipation of... ahh, there it was, as his tongue finally found its prey and a finger eased its way into her pussy, soon to be joined by another. His other hand exploring her arsehole, pushing its way inside her and now, thumb increasing its pressure on her clit, she felt full and fulfilled as she came for the third time that afternoon.

No sooner had she shuddered than she found herself hands on the wall as he entered her from behind, the shower now beating down on her back, sliding down her backside as he entered her pussy from behind, fucking her again - more slowly this time, enjoying the view of her peach-pure arse as his cock slid in and out of her wonderfully tight and welcoming pussy.

She seemed to be able to contract her pussy around his cock increasing the pressure as he gradually increased his speed, reaching around with surprisingly agility and sensitivity to caress her clitoris driving her wild again. He couldn't help but think -and smile at - just how highly sexed this woman was.

She starting moaning again, as he fucked her, intensity and speed increasing and she shuddered nosily to another climax that raised above the incessant beating of the shower's spray. Sensing he hadn't cum for the second time, she fell to her knees, partly through a desire to have him in her mouth and partly because her legs were finding it hard to support her. She took him in her hand, cupping his balls and running her hand along his shaft, smiling up at him as she informed him he was to cum in her mouth.

Mouth over his penis again, she now did astonishing things to his cock and he wondered if she could run master-classes in how-to-suck-cock. It took no time before the sensation ripped through him and his seed was rushing into her mouth, his legs giving way to join her, exhausted on the floor.

It was all she could do to raise the strength to clean herself before bundling herself, almost dried, into bed.

Flicking the bedside light off, she nestled her head into the pillow and closed her eyes, a contented smile etched on her face, fatigue and alcohol causing her to lose her battle against sleep. Then, invisibly in the dim room, just as sleep was washing over her conciousness, an imperceptible frown: that was it, that was what jolted, the attractive man, the attractiveblondeman – why did he have such dark pubic hair...

As the darkness gripped the room, the man lay in his new lover's bed and as her breathing became more and more shallow, drifting quickly off to sleep, he pondered the number people he had killed over the years. Victims weren't people to him, they were just part of his job; they weren't men or women, fathers or mothers, they were just the object of his employment, the person who earned his living. That was a grim irony he reflected: their death, providing him a living.

He knew nothing about the people he had killed, didn't want to know, it wasn't important. People had their own issues, their own problems and why they would want someone dead was their business not his. Therefore, meeting – and sleeping with – the person he had been hired to kill, whose life should have ended in a few days' time, could be considered, at best, an inconvenience, at worst, professional suicide. No, at worst, something that would end his career and lose him his liberty.

How many cameras had he been caught on with her? How many in the shop alone? How many in this building? In the wine bar? Not to mention the people he'd been seen with. Having received a large down payment, for a service he would now be insane to go through with, he was stuck between a very large rock and a very hard place.

Thoughts raced through his head with lightning speed, keeping him as far from sleep as his target was deep within it. If he killed her now, his time here was over. He would have to flee abroad, Britain would no longer be a place he could be. It could be done in an instant, she would know nothing more and he would have completed his last job. He could survive on what he had and maybe he could work abroad. It might be days before her body was discovered, he could be long gone, be abroad within hours. South America was the place, his Spanish was perfect and the weather was unbeatable. Washing all the dye out, he could go from being blonde back to dark and a quick addition of beard he would soon become a Peruvian returning home.

Silently, he slipped out of bed, her sleep so deep she heard or felt nothing. Pulling the door almost to, he sneaked through to the main room, wooden floor now noticeably cold to his feet, and put on a small table lamp. Retrieving his carefully discarded clothes, glad for old habits he dressed quickly, grabbed his bag and reached inside, noiselessly entering her room one last time.

Sixty seconds later, as he unscrewed the silencer and placed the gun back into the bag, he pulled the door open and light from the main room cut into the dark of the bedroom as he took one last look at the still figure on the bed. A heavy grief descended over him and for the first time he could remember in his adult life he felt regret; for the first time he wished he maybe had anormaljob.

'Goodbye Louise.'

The whisper vanished into the dark and he stole away from her room, disappearing from the light of the flat, to the darkness of London's streets. Pulling a hat down over his head, looking down at the pavement and walking a good twenty minutes though the capital's streets before haling a black cab back to his rented accommodation, where a few hours later he emerged, no longer the wiry, attractive blonde, but the fuller, more rugged, dark haired, hirsute Peruvian heading for Heathrow Airport...

****

The dark haired man opened up the copy of theTelegraphhe'd bought at the airport and read the article for the fourth time. Then he turned once again to the adverts at the back and studied the classified ad for the hundredth time. A yellow ribbon in print from a woman he couldn't bring himself to kill a few weeks previously:

'I'm up on the pavement, I'm a weathergirl. Louise.'

He smiled as he read the headline one more time.

'Property Magnate found shot.'

His eyes rested once more on the picture of the 'bereaved' wife, images of her naked body and one day of intense sex with her flooding back into his mind.

Best fifty grand he'd ever spent having that hit done he reflected...