Posted by Ripper X on July 05, 2003 at 21:21:37:
Using the forged passkey provided by a supporting agent, I slip into the apartment. I head for the computer by the desk, rifling through the disks on the desk in the hope that I can uncover something quickly. I try the computer; several levels of password protection tell me that it isn't worth the time given the mission constraints. I grab several likely disks from the desk and throw them into a small case over my shoulder.
A notebook, one page partially removed hastily. A remaining fragment contains part of an address downtown. I rip the page from the book and slip it into my pocket. I continue searching the desk and file drawers quickly, stopping only when something captures my interest. There's not much time before I have to finish the search and get into position. The meeting convened at 10pm, but she could leave at any time.
I finish the file cabinet. Echoing in the distance, from the end of the hall, the clicking of heels, sharp and brisk with clean, short steps. The heels grow louder. I throw the bag over my shoulder, pull the Glock from my shoulder holster and duck into the kitchen, slipping behind a pair of small louvered doors from where I can see the front door.
The heels come to a slow crescendo before falling silent at the door. Quiet shuffling, the rustling of a purse, the jingling of keys. The slipping of a key into the lock, and the door opens slowly, a thin column of light slicing the darkness of the living room. I watch, intent, tense and silent as a slender, well-proportioned silhouette glides into the light of the doorway and is gone into the dark as the door slips shut. Several quiet footsteps of the heels, and a light comes on by the bookcase.
Through the gap between the doors of the darkened kitchen, I glimpse her at last. She's neatly turned out in a dark grey suit with a form-fitting cut, a short, waist-length jacket buttoned tightly across the front. Beneath, a silvery silk blouse is buttoned snugly, open an extra notch or two to accent the smooth, deep cleavage of what had to be at least a 35-inch breast. Her skirt, perhaps two inches shorter than what's considered "acceptable", hugs her waist and great, swelling upper thighs, fastened tightly at the waist to accentuate the gentle, sensuous swelling of her lower abdomen and the prominence of her pert, firm buttocks. Her plain, black four-inch pumps arch her slender ankles and display curving, graceful calves. Her raven hair, cut short off the shoulder, is parted to a mod-ish, sharpened forward curl that accents her dramatic cheekbones and wide-set, intense hazel eyes.
She eyes the room for a moment, then goes to the desk, her graceful, plump breasts quivering tightly with each brisk step. She casts a few glances at the desk, the cabinet, the computer, and knows I've been there. But, she doesn't see me. She may not even be looking. She knows I don't have what I'm after -- and what I know she's got -- yet, and she can't waste time closing up shop and getting out to spend time worrying about someone who's been in her apartment. As far as she's concerned, she's done; there's nothing left but the copying of the master disks, throwing together the overnight case, grabbing the passes and bolting for the airport and safety. She turns on one heel and heads for the hallway and her bedroom. I watch with a perverse arousal as she rounds the corner, her tight, hard, worked-out ass shaking tautly with every stride.
I wait until she's in the bedroom packing before I take a tremendous gamble, slipping down the hallway and into the open door of the bathroom halfway down. I step into the shadow of the door and watch her as she prepares for what she believes will be a quick, clean wrap-up and getaway.
She pauses for a moment at the dresser and looks up as if she's forgotten something. Her dark hair glistens and her graceful cheekbones cast subtle shadows across her face in the pale light of the bedroom. She strides slowly into the dimly lit hall. She approaches the bathroom door; I hit the light and step out into her path, the Glock leveled at her smooth belly.
"That'll be fine, right there, Miss Talbot! Miss Victoria Talbot, isn't it?"
She glares back with quiet rage and slight surprise. She almost can't believe she was followed here. "You ought to know. I can guess who sent you here."
I prod her with the muzzle of the gun and back her to the wall. "Hands where I can see them please, Miss Talbot" I bury the muzzle in her belly and look her in the eye. "I suppose that if you know who sent me, then you know what business I have."
"Do I?" she shoots back, holding her chin in the air defiantly.
"I think you do," I reply, pressing the muzzle deeper into the softness of her belly, just below the ribs. "I think you know why I'm here and what I'm after, and if you're as sensible as I think you are, you'll make things easier on both of us and hand it over to me now."
"What makes you think I'd have it? You've already looked for it; I can see that." she retorts sharply.
"Well, Miss Talbot," I continue calmly, raising the Glock and nestling the muzzle against her breastbone, "for one thing, I haven't searched the bedroom -- and I haven't searched you. Let's start with the bedroom, shall we?" I lower the gun to her abdomen, grab her by one arm and push her down the hall, towards the bedroom. "Let's go now."
As we approach the bedroom, Victoria stops and turns to confront me in the doorway. I raise the gun towards her. "Inside. INSIDE!"
Victoria lunges, a knee aimed at my groin, one arm sweeping up towards my gun hand. I twist to avoid the knee as her arm knocks my hand in the air in an effort to knock the gun free. In my effort to hang onto the Glock, I squeeze off a couple of rounds into the ceiling. The effort of avoiding Victoria's knee throws me to the floor, momentarily disoriented as I hear her frantic, short, high-heeled steps rushing down the hall. Quickly, I recover my wits, jump from the floor into a low crouch, raise the Glock and lay down a short burst in Victoria's direction as she approaches to within ten or twelve feet from the door. Victoria yelps sharply in pain and surprise, the yelps turning to grunts and a stifled moan as the slugs catch meat, her lean, sleek torso twisting and jerking as the bullets pepper her back with tiny crimson geysers, stitching a clean, regular arc from above the left buttock up to just below the right shoulder blade.
Delirious in pain and horror, Victoria reaches vainly for the door as she stumbles forward, her weakening legs losing control over the wobbling pumps. Her great, muscular thighs manage one last trembling stride before she topples forward, striking the floor with a sickening muffled thud, bouncing once, quivering and rocking gently before finally coming to rest just steps from the door.
I approach Victoria's body quickly, stealthily, the Glock still trained on her shapely midsection.
Victoria's fresh corpse sprawls crazily, awkwardly, yet somehow gracefully; one shapely leg is stretched out almost straight, and the other is cocked forward slightly, throwing one sleek high-heeled shoe askew. Her right arm trails lazily alongside her torso, while the left lies thrown forward, forever reaching for the door, but never finding it. She stretches at my feet, appearing almost as if bounding or leaping, her lithe, athletic body caught in mid-stride and frozen by the Glock's delicate spray. Victoria's lustrous raven hair, once smartly styled, is thrown in crazy patterns of black lace across her lolling head. Her elegant features, now relaxed, fall into a dark and ghastly repose, a look of aloofness, indifference, a horrifying calm; her deep, hazel eyes stare through the closed door into an unseen distance, the lids hanging heavily, seemingly entranced, dreaming.
I step towards the body, shove one foot under her groin, and nudge, half-kicking, once, twice. No response. Victoria's smooth flanks, taut, prominent buttocks and sleek, round hips rock and quiver gently from the nudging, the flaccid flesh slowly undulating and coming to rest. I kneel over Victoria's body and, grabbing the waistband of her skirt, jerk the carcass up onto its side, her left arm flopping heavily across her belly, her head rolling over her right arm and coming to the floor with a soft, muffled clunk. A thin strand of saliva and blood begins to flow from Victoria's mouth and into a spreading pool beneath her head. Blood dribbles quickly to the floor, spattering lightly, as it finds its way out through the five or six new openings in her lower torso.
I snatch up the left arm and feel for a pulse. Nothing. I drop her arm; it bounces off her hip and slips to the floor, falling at a crazy angle from the elbow. I reach forward, pressing my hand to her throat, feeling for a pulse, again; also nothing. Shifting my grip on her skirt, I slide the corpse away from me a few inches and then, with a flip of my arm, throw it back over onto its face, the soft, limp body rocking and undulating deliciously before once again coming to rest.
I stand up and step over Victoria's body as I cross the room, slip the Glock back into my shoulder holster, take off my jacket and throw it over a chair. I'm sure now that Victoria is dead; there'll be no more struggle and I can proceed at a more leisurely pace. I walk slowly back towards Victoria's body and kneel over it. Her left leg, still cocked slightly forward, stretches the fabric of the skirt tightly and provocatively across her well-muscled thighs and proud, firm ass. (Magnificent! There'll be enough time for that later.)
Quickly, thoroughly, roughly, I frisk her corpse up and down, finding nothing. Again grabbing the waistband of her skirt, I jerk her body on its side and, with a quick pull, jerk her jacket free from the buttons and drop Victoria back onto her face. Yanking the jacket sharply up from her waist to feel for hidden pockets, I notice that its thick fabric has hidden the true extent of Victoria's bleeding. The bullet holes in the sheer silk blouse are ripped, jagged punctures, the shredded cloth and strands of fabric at the edges punched downward into the five entry wounds in Victoria's back. Her blouse glistens with fresh blood from separate wounds soaking together to form a single massive deep crimson pool, leaking through to deeply stain the liner of Victoria's jacket. I feel and search Victoria's bullet-ravished torso and feel nothing but firm, toned flesh and muscle beneath the bloodied silk.
Moving down to her feet, I pick up the one black pump that has already fallen free and feel inside for hidden spaces. Inadvertently, I catch a whiff of the shoe. Perfume!? I drink in the aroma, momentarily, in spite of myself. I gather myself, lower the shoe from my face and throw it aside. I lift the now-bare foot and notice a thin, lightly sparkling ankle bracelet fastened a few inches up from her ankle. I slip a finger under the anklet and jerk it free; I drop the heavy, limp leg to the floor, it bounces lightly once as it flops to the floor, the momentum setting Victoria's soft, limp, lifeless flanks and hips to quaking slightly for a moment. Grabbing the other leg and pulling it towards me, I remove the other pump and examine it the same way. This shoe is perfumed as well. It's becoming difficult concentrating on business first before moving on to the "perk" of this assignment.
I rise to my feet, kicking Victoria's shoes aside and pausing for a moment to gaze down at the sleek, athletic, tight-assed young corpse crumpled on the carpet at my feet. Good shooting, I notice; five crisp punctures through the fine wool jacket, into Victoria's muscular back and out through the mid-abdomen in a tight, even line between her navel and the second or third rib.
I shove one foot under Victoria's soft, flaccid midsection and, kicking up sharply, throw her limp, heavy carcass over onto its back, her left arm flopping across her chest and bouncing to rest at her side, partly bent, slightly extended from the shoulder. Her great thighs tumble and rock, her hips shimmy provocatively, her head rolls and lolls sloppily back and forth as her corpse comes to rest. Her body rolls over softly and heavily, the momentum setting it to shimmying and quaking gently, like a freshly-killed deer.
I grab Victoria's jacket from the front and begin rummaging through the inside pockets and feeling the lining. Still nothing! The bitch. What if she has it hidden in a locker at the airport? Damn; I should've tried to knock that information out of her before I pumped her. As I finish searching the jacket and throw it open, my eyes wander to Victoria's lifeless face, still exotic and fetching. The soft light from down the hall highlights her high, round, elegant cheekbones in a soft, warm glow, her eyes, still moist, sparkle slightly still in a seemingly indifferent, careless gaze. A small but steady trickle of blood purges from her mouth, across her cheek. It's shockingly fashionable. It matches her lip gloss.
I begin frisking Victoria's soft dead torso from the front, starting at the waist and working slowly up to the armpits, grabbing her arms by the wrists and throwing them up past her head; the limbs bounce and twist as they fall, coming to rest at awkward, haphazard angles. I take care to avoid bloodying my hands unnecessarily as I feel the blood-soaked blouse. Victoria's limp torso quivers ever so slightly, her head rocks from side to side gently as I grab the blouse and yank the buttons free, one at a time, exposing her smooth, taut belly. I pause for a moment to examine my work on Victoria's bullet-pocked torso. The exit wounds pucker out in little craters, little volcanoes welling up slightly with fresh blood, forming a grisly connect-the-dots puzzle between her navel and breast.
I reach up towards Victoria's chest and grab her thin, sheer bra by the cups and slip it up over her still-firm and plump breasts. I pause, nearly startled somehow at the sight of Victoria's breasts quivering gently as I pulled the bra away. My breath is short, my pulse quick, if for only a moment before I compose myself and begin feeling for hidden spaces in the bra cups and straps. I reach around to search the straps from the back, lifting the lifeless torso slightly towards me. I gasp quietly in arousal and anticipation as my hand accidentally brushes Victoria's left breast while searching the straps. There's a smear of blood on my hand afterward; where did that come from?
I glance down. One of the rounds has grazed the underside of Victoria's left breast, leaving a delicate bloody line as it exited between the third and fourth ribs. The left cup of the bra is slit open roughly, a thin diluted stain of blood and milk spreading in the fabric. A tiny rivulet of blood has found its way down into the smooth enfolding where the underside of Victoria's breast joins the main part of her chest, tracing the underside of the bountiful swelling in a sparkling crimson line.
Nothing in the bra. I'm going to have to search everything now. I can't do it all here. Quickly, haphazardly, I slip Victoria's bra back into position, button her blouse two or three buttons up and fasten her jacket. Kicking the discarded heels aside, I pause for a moment to drink in Victoria's ghastly elegance. Even now, lifeless, bloodied, bullet-ravaged, she's still hauntingly beautiful. Her snug, stylish clothes are disarrayed shockingly, loosely thrown about her corpse in that horrid dishevelment of death. Her expression seems uncaring of the way her rumpled, bullet-ripped blouse and jacket ride up her torso, bunched up around her shoulders, the snugness of the jacket pressing and squeezing her ample breasts together and upward, the half-open blouse exposing a horrifyingly stunning cleavage.
I step back from the corpse for a moment to remove my shoulder holster and lay it over a chair, and to take off my shirt. I then return to my work; I bend over Victoria's body, slipping one arm around her back, grabbing her left arm at the elbow, and pulling her torso onto my shoulder. I put my arm down quickly under her thighs and, grasping the muscular limbs tightly, stand to my feet.
Victoria's corpse slides heavily over my shoulder; as I grab her waist to stop the fall, her lifeless arms flail and thrash the air wildly, and her head bobs crazily, half-twisting at awkward angles as it dangles at the end of her spine. Her hair swishes along with its movements in a dark, lustrous wave, like a horse's tail. I pause for a moment to get my footing, shifting my grip around Victoria's full, sleek thighs; I'm momentarily lost in a macabre reverie as I savor the feel of her luscious, well-muscled flesh in my arms and over my shoulder. Her torso sways lazily from the hip; her arms swing along in kind, and her head now gently bobs to and fro, a beautiful broken puppet of flesh and blood.
I begin walking down the hall towards the bedroom. I'm momentarily startled as I feel Victoria's limp hands brushing my buttocks as her arms swing loosely in time with my steps. I smile to myself, darkly amused. This bitch is spanking me, I muse to myself. I mockingly whisper her imaginary words to me: bad boy! you killed me, you cold bastard, you bad boy.
I arrive at the bedroom door and survey the space. I realize I can't afford to dirty the sheets with Victoria's vaginal juices, urine and the blood from her still-warm wounds, as I'll need them to wrap the body for transport back to HQ. I look around the bedroom for a place to lay the corpse while I clear the bed sheets. There's nothing; no sofa, no easy chair. I yank hard on Victoria's flaccid legs; her torso slides up over my shoulder. With a soft flip, Victoria's corpse swings out over my shoulder; I let go of her legs and her body drops to the floor with a deep, loud, sickening thump, bouncing hard, her limbs flapping on the carpet, her torso and hips quaking as she comes to rest.
I walk to the bed, gather the bedclothes, fold them hurriedly and toss them into a corner. Returning to Victoria's body, I grab her now-bare feet by the ankles and drag her towards the bed, her arms flopping back behind her head, her head lolling and rocking slightly with each pull on her ankles. Her clothes become even more sickeningly disarrayed; her skirt bunches up around her ample hips, her blouse and jacket pull up around the top of her torso and press her breasts up into an even more obscene prominence. I smile slightly, wickedly, at this ghastly salaciousness. I bend over and snatch Victoria's corpse into my arms, one hand under her knees, one hand around the midsection, and throw it over onto the bed. It bounces wildly two or three times, rolling over onto its face, quivering in time with the shaking mattress.
I cross to the other side of the bed and pull Victoria's jacket and blouse up to her shoulders, exposing the bra fastenings across her back. With a rough yank, the strap snaps and springs free. Down to the waistband of her skirt, now, I unzip the back and begin to feel carefully in the flaps of the zipper, and in the waistband. Still nothing. I slip my hands under Victoria's flank and shoulder and flip her corpse over onto its back. I reach over and continue to pull on her skirt until it's around her ankles, where I can feel it more comfortably. No luck here, either. I put the skirt aside and reach up to Victoria's full, sleek, lifeless thighs and begin sliding the sheer black stockings down from her shapely legs. As I pull the stocking free from her right leg, I pause for a moment to admire her well-muscled calf, her slender, graceful ankle and elegant, smooth foot. I gently let the foot slip free from my grasp and drop to the bed.
With Victoria's body now bare-legged, I begin to examine the black French-cut panties wrapped around her smooth, firm, proudly jutting buttocks. For a moment, I think I've found a small compartment, but I'm mistaken. I reach up towards her arms, pull the still-limp and pliant limbs down to her sides, and begin yanking the jacket free, her arms flopping and dropping sloppily to the bed as the sleeves slide from around them. I pause again to admire. Victoria's corpse is down to panties, bra and a sloppily-buttoned and fitted blouse soaked in blood. I grab and twist the side of the panties and jerk sharply, ripping the panties loose and, in a quick motion, slip them from around Victoria's curvaceous, full hips. Her inside thighs glisten down to the knees in a torrid mixture of urine and vaginal juices. Her elegantly-trimmed pussy fur sparkles with tiny droplets of fluid. The mixture of odors, the heavy musk of blood, urine, and vaginal fluid, I find shocking but somehow highly arousing.
I undo the three hastily-fastened buttons on the blouse and throw it aside. Grabbing the bra by the front, I pull sharply and it slips from around her shoulders, exposing her wonderful, plump breasts. I feel frantically along the straps of the bra, around the edges of the cups and -- there it is. Thirty-seven microfilmed pages wrapped in a small, tight tube and stitched into the strap on the cups of Victoria's black bra. I stand up from the bed and place the rolled film in a safe place near the nightstand. The search is over, the target out of commission, the job all but done. Now, to confirm the kill.
I allow myself a moment or two to savor the triumph, and drink in Victoria's still-radiant beauty as she reposes among scattered bloody clothes and under things on the bare mattress. I reach under Victoria's flaccid, limp torso and flip her onto her face, pulling her arms straight down to her sides once again to allow the blouse to slip free. I grab the sleeves and pull sharply; one quick, smooth motion, and Victoria's corpse is naked.
I slowly reach down and gently fondle Victoria's lifeless but still-firm and supple buttocks, my hand wandering down across her hip and flank to stroke and caress her sleek thigh. I squeeze the smoothness lightly, my strokes wandering steadily downward to her elegant, muscular calf. Up and down, I caress and fondle Victoria's shapely calf, moving down now to her graceful ankles. I almost hated taking her shoes off when I searched them, because as she stood before me, just before dying, I so enjoyed the way those four-inch pumps showed off those elegant, exquisite ankles, a delicate arch from the top of her foot down to the toe. I hold her foot for a moment in this position, bent up from the knee, as Victoria's body still lay face-down on the blood-stained bed. Such stylish, elegant feet she has, strong and carefully pedicured, burnished and filed nails in a rich, glossy red that matches her fingernails, lip gloss and the blood that still trickles from her mouth and the wounds in her midsection. Gently, almost lovingly, I press the sole to my face, kissing and lightly biting the toes. I let the foot slip from my hand and fall back to the mattress.
Grabbing Victoria by her ankles, I jerk and twist her legs around. Her hips follow, and the momentum throws the lean, worked-out young corpse over onto its back, arms flapping crazily and head rolling sharply from side to side as the body comes to rest. I pause, sliding onto the bed, kneeling at the feet of the lifeless but still-enticing beauty. She's magnificent; a voluptuous, athletic, worked-out goddess of a corpse. Reason leaves me quickly, I gladly do nothing to bid it stay. I wrap my arms around Victoria's beautiful dead thighs and bury my face in the musky, sopping, lifeless pussy. I feel almost drugged by the smell of this bewitching carcass, the odors of blood, urine, pussy juice, and cordite blend in a thick, sickening aphrodisiac. I rise, my face glistening with pussy honey and piss, streaked with fine diluted rivulets of blood. I don't care. I glory in it, now, as my crazed, hungry gaze turns towards the exit wounds in Victoria's smooth, firm abdomen.
I rise quickly, and step briskly to the bathroom where I find a washcloth and a small bottle of baby oil. I dampen the washcloth and return to the bed where Victoria's body lay. I slide onto the bed, on my knees and begin mopping the blood from around the five wounds in her midsection. The wiping away of blood reveals a series of crisply-punched, clean and elegant punctures in a short row stitching Victoria's smooth and well-toned abdomen, slightly puckered outward, like tiny bumps with little wells of still-fresh blood. I pause to again savor the feel of Victoria's gorgeous buttocks before flipping her the rest of the way over, onto her face in order to wipe clean the entry wounds. As the last of the blood is wiped away, I pause to admire. The wounds are small, but stretch far enough to admit my middle finger as it slips in with a faint squishing sound. It's still warm inside. It's like fingering her pussy, a warm, wet, arousing place. I turn the corpse over onto its back again, grabbing her thighs and separating them quickly and casually to allow easy entry into her dead pussy.
I take the baby oil and being dribbling it generously over Victoria's lifeless but still-soft and pliant skin, rubbing it in slowly, sensuously, taking time to touch, caress and feel every square inch of this magnificent corpse. Soon the entire body has been rubbed down with the baby oil. Victoria's dead flesh glistens in the light of the nightstand, the most exquisite highlights gleaming off the swellings and curves of her thighs, belly and breasts.
I slip my legs between hers and lower myself gently onto this beautiful dead goddess. My heart leaps at the sensation of Victoria's soft, smooth dead flesh against mine. I rise momentarily up onto my elbows to look at her frozen gaze. How perfectly smart and glamorous she must have looked, on all her other missions, where she survived to bring back information for the lucrative payment both in money and in a piece of her spymaster's cock.
My cock is hardened to the point of pain. It quivers and shakes, as it stands straight out from my groin, 7 inches, rock-hard, shaking like a miniature club from between my legs. I smear it heavily in baby oil. Then, I slide my thighs under Victoria's buttocks and, wrapping my arms around her thighs, pull sharply. Victoria's flaccid, dead hips slide up my legs. Victoria's pussy bumps into my cock, but isn't penetrated instantly. I pull back on the great, muscular thighs again, and this time her lifeless hips slide all the way, impaling Victoria's proud, exciting, sensuous, worked-out body on my cock up to the hilt.
Slowly at first, but soon more quickly, I begin rocking my hips in and out, coaxing the last warm honey out of Victoria's lifeless pussy. Mmmm, baby. She tightened up quite a lot when those slugs caught meat; she's almost so tight I can't stay in. Ohhmmm, a perfect fit. I become mesmerized by the motion of my own body, hypnotized by the steady, smooth grinding in and out. In and out. Victoria's corpse undulates loosely in time with my thrusts, her torso twisting, her head lolling, her whole body rocking in a dark, grisly rhythm.
I feel the first load building to the breaking point in my balls. I've been holding it since I pulled the trigger on this big-league bitch. I begin losing what control I have left. I pound harder on Victoria's loose, dead hips. Her corpse begins to slide towards one side of the bed; her arm sliding over the edge, flopping up and down, waving as if to beckon me for more. Her head rolls to one side, jerking up and down on the end of her limp spine as if nodding "yes, yes oh, yes". She's nodding to me, that nasty dead bitch. Do you want to? Do you, you nasty, scheming, worked-out big-time bitch? You even want it now, don't you? Five of my bullets can't stop you from asking for it. Well, here it is.
Another tremendous thrust, and the top of Victoria's torso slides over the edge of the bed. I hang on tight to her limp, rocking hips to keep her from sliding off my cock. I see her body over the edge of the bed, jerking up and down, her arms flailing crazily, her sweet breasts quivering and bouncing, out of control, and her head, her pretty head, nodding, nodding, "yes, I want to!" mocking me, bobbing up and down furiously in rhythm with my ever more-frenzied thrusting and pounding.
The load is full. I can't hang onto it. I lose all remaining reason. I become not a man, but something different, something almost frightening, a creature of pure passion. I rear back on my haunches, arching my back as my hips and thighs buck out of control and the jism thunders from my cock in a hard, pulsing torrent, blasting the inside of Victoria's precious, dead pussy, coating it from end to end, warming it anew.
I regain at least a bit of composure, enough to tighten my grip on Victoria's hips and thighs and pull the rest of her corpse back onto the bed. Don't go away, my bitch; I'm not finished with you yet.
I relax for a moment, catching my breath as I casually stroke and caress Victoria's limp, flaccid thighs and flanks, still on my knees, leaning over, my hair dripping sweat all over the sleek, glistening corpse. I slide my hands up and Victoria's sides, squeezing, fondling, caressing the soft, pliant waist and belly, stopping here and there to slip my fingers in and out of her wounds.
I throw Victoria's legs aside me, grab her knees and throw her over onto her face. Spreading her lifeless thighs once again, I slide forward and reach out for the still-firm and perfect buttocks, kneading and fondling them madly for a few seconds before pulling them apart and sliding her hips up to meet mine once more, only this time with a fresh target in mind.
This takes more effort, but it's worth it; my cock instantly becomes even harder than I thought possible as I jerk upward, wrapping Victoria's tight, gripping asshole around my hardness. Once, twice, I lunge, and again and again, Victoria's permanently-contracted anus shoves me back. I reach for the baby oil again, soaking my hands and fingertips and cramming them into Victoria's sweet, dead ass, stretching and spreading her anus to make way for my painfully hardening meat.
I wrap my hands around Victoria's hips again, leaving tiny thin smears of shit where my fingers held her, and jerk her back one more time. This time, her ass spreads and my cock slides home. This is almost too much to bear, the way her ass squeezes me. My balls become engorged in only a few strokes. My groin aches from the passion as I drive my cock into Victoria's sweet, tight asshole again, again, again, again, falling on top of her wonderful, exquisite corpse, slipping my hands around the gleaming torso and wrapping my hands around her still-firm and voluptuous breasts. Ohhh, god, Victoria her nipples are also rock-hard, jutting into my skin, reflexively contracted and hardened -- just as her ass and pussy -- at the instant she was shot.
My hips, flanks and cock take total control, bucking, thrusting, exploding, over and over and over again; I bury my teeth in the back of Victoria's neck in order to muffle my howling and moaning as my second orgasm rolls over me, coating Victoria's anal canal in a surging wave of hot cream. Obscene squishing sounds begin to come from Victoria's asshole as my jism begins to leak out, coating my cock and lubricating Victoria's tight, dead anus.
I push myself up and away from Victoria's corpse and stand up from the bed, the blood from her still-bleeding entry wounds leaving a perfect imprint on my midsection -- exactly between my lower abdomen and my third rib. Five glistening little red spots, rapidly diluting in the baby oil and semen, spread slowly down on my lower torso. Thank you, my darling bitch, for leaving me something to remember you by.
I grab Victoria's corpse roughly by the flank and shoulder and pull sharply, throwing her onto her back and sliding her upper torso once again over the edge of the bed, her arms gently waving, her head dangling and nodding as she seems to look up at me, as if begging for more as I stand over her, my still-massive and rigid cock pointing straight at her face.
Taking Victoria's head by the hair, I jerk sharply upwards, grabbing her lower jaw with my other hand and pulling the mouth open. My hands behind her head, now, I gingerly slip my still-engorged member slowly into Victoria's vacant mouth and wrap my thighs around her head. Victoria's limp jaw, dead and slack, provides just enough pressure to stimulate my cock as I slowly and methodically fuck Victoria's staring, lifeless face.
I turn as I fuck Victoria's head, to glance behind me and enjoy the sight of her still-open eyes gazing vacantly up my ass as I slowly pump my shaft in and out of her dead, slack-jawed mouth. Her relaxed lower jaw swings up and down in time with my thrusts and strokes as I work up yet another fresh load in my aching balls. My groin is becoming an ecstatic mass of passion cramps as I feel Victoria's thickening, damp, cold tongue pressing against my cock. My thighs quiver now, my hips quake uncontrollably as I feel the next orgasm building in my already nearly-exhausted loins.
I can't stop bucking. My mind loses touch with my thundering flanks as the orgasm plows through me. It's as if my lower half has detached itself and seized control; my thighs are unable to hold onto Victoria's head as my balls roar yet a third time, my cock bursting with fat, heavy wads that splatter over Victoria's face. The first burst catches her squarely in the mouth, droplets of semen splattering back off her palate. Again I explode, and again, the second, third and fourth wads soaking her nose and cheeks. The slow-flowing pearls creep across her elegant cheekbones and across her temples, pooling in her ears, soaking into her hair.
Now, it's time to finish the kill.
I cross to the opposite side of the bed and pull Victoria's body back onto it, once again rolling it sloppily over onto its face. I pause for a wonderful moment, breathing deeply, ecstatically, madly aroused and blissfully drugged by smells that would sicken others -- Victoria's blood, urine and honey, the cordite from the Glock, pools and pools of my still-warm semen, slightly tinged with the tiny amount of shit left in Victoria's lifeless ass which rubbed off onto my cock. This almost-aphrodisiac mixture of odors hangs in a thick pall in the room, over the bed.
I grab Victoria's beautiful, delicate feet and press them against my still painfully-hard cock, stroking it lightly, coaxing my balls to offer up one more load, one more pearlescent shower for my dead goddess. I throw the lifeless limbs to either side of me as I kneel on the bed and slide up towards Victoria's enchanting ass. I hunch over rhythmically, more like an animal than a man, my biceps and shoulders flexing and undulating as I wrap my hands tightly around my rock-hard shaft and begin to stroke, squeeze and pound -- slowly at first, but building speed and intensity along with the one last, great load accumulating slowly in my happily-aching balls.
My cock becomes more pliant and slippery now, coated in a sweet lubricant of Victoria's pussy juices and my own semen. I throw my head forward and back in time with my pounding strokes, thrashing the air with my sweat-soaked hair, splattering the walls with my warm perspiration. Ohhhh, OH! Oh, god, Victoria. Here it comes, baby. One more time mmmmm. Oh, come on, give it to me. Oh, my balls. My strong balls, one more. MMMM, oh!
My biggest, most spectacular load of the night breaks loose like a cannonball from the tip of my cock; I can almost feel the opening of my cock stretching to allow the huge, fat wads to burst into the air. It almost scares me. I feel like I can't stop coming. Each blast is bigger than the last. Beautiful wad after wad of jism arcs through the air, splattering across Victoria's smooth, graceful back, landing in spectacular splashes next to and on top of the entry wounds punched by my Glock just an hour earlier. The sight of my come splattering on top of the bullet wounds makes me even crazier, bringing on another thundering wave on the heels of the first. Again and again, I score hits on the little sparkling crimson bull's-eyes on Victoria's back, the thick pools of semen dribbling slowly into the darkening entry wounds.
Finally, the storm in my loins subsides as I lean forward, pressing my chest against Victoria's sweet, pert, lifeless ass and running my tongue through the great pool of semen collecting in the small of Victoria's back. My tongue darts around and into the wounds. I gasp out loud at the tastes mixing in my mouth, thick aromas of blood and semen as I French-kiss the crisp, neat, bloody punctures. Oh, darling! Oh, my wonderful bitch, Victoria. I've shot her once, now I shoot her again with my own "gun", my seed falling through the holes I've dug in her beautiful flesh.
Through a haze of blood and lust, I see the bedclothes stacked in the corner, and Victoria's bloody suit scattered about the floor. Slowly, imperceptibly, my mind returns to human rationality, to comprehend the task of cleaning up and delivering the kill to HQ for final confirmation and documentation. The sheets. The clothes. The camera. The body. The elevator. The van. Yes, now I remember. Concluding phase. Transport. Confirmation. My god, this bitch. This wonderful, bad, dead bitch.
I turn Victoria's corpse gently over onto its back. Her head rolls upright, her sensuous mouth freely dribbling blood and semen. I pull her shapely, limp legs together, lower myself to her and wrap myself around her sweet, gleaming, moist corpse one last time, laying my mouth across hers in a gloriously depraved deep tongue kiss. My heart jumps, I become flushed with desire as my tongue slips into Victoria's now-cooling mouth and I taste the mixed tastes of Victoria's congealing blood and my own fresh semen as they flow together in her mouth.
My lovely, this was your best night of all. I'll always remember your last mission. What a beautiful ending it found, here in my arms with my hot bullets inside you. After a kill like this, I can retire from the Agency right now. Happily.