I shake my head. “Unlike you, when somebody buys my services, they get results.”
“At least let my wife go. If you’re such a man of honor, let my wife go.”
“Your wife here, who recruited girls to work as whores? Do you think she deserves to live?”
He looks at her; she’s still curled up on the floor, head in her hands.
“She’s not just collateral damage, rich man. The contract is on her, too. Somebody wants you both dead.” I say. “And why was it you left Europe, anyway? She ran over a child when she was drunk, wasn’t it, something like that? And those rumors of escorts visiting your villa in Cyprus and disappearing, what’s all that about?” I ask.
“We may deserve to die, but that doesn’t mean you deserve to get to kill us,” he says.
I shake my head. “Everybody deserves a fair fight, right?”
I reverse the blade and lay it on top of the coffin. “Pick it up,” I say. “Kill me. The codes for the keypads are in my pocket.” I take the piece of paper out of the pocket of my shorts to show him.
I am telling him the truth, but of course there’s no chance he’ll get to use them.
He looks at me, then at the blade, and there’s a flash of hope in his eyes.
A flash of hope, like the flash of light off the knife as he picks it up and raises it.
Chastity
Vladimir seems so calm and … rational.
The billionaire picks up the knife, and he rushes at Vladimir with a shout of fury.
Vladimir barely moves.
He sweeps his hand down on the elbow of Ivan’s knife hand, and the knife clatters on the ground; his other hand flashes up in a simultaneous swift, straight punch to Ivan’s face.
The billionaire staggers backwards.
Vladimir steps back, still holding his hands at the ready, and says, “Again.”
I’m a big fan of MMA and boxing; I’ve had clients from both worlds. I’ve watched plenty of bouts both on TV and in real life.
But the calm grace with which Vladimir is like nothing I’ve seen before, even in kung-fu movies.
The billionaire, twenty years older, is in good shape, but he might as well be moving in slow-motion.
This time he comes slowly, assuming a caution fencer’s stance, jabbing the knife experimentally a few times while watching the way Vladimir moves.
Vladimir is on his toes, but he’s not even breathing heavily.
The billionaire crashes forward again, this time leading with a left-handed punch, which Vladimir casually deflects with his right hand as he then steps aside to let the knife thrust pass him by, and he grabs the billionaire’s thick wrist and twists the hand upwards and back, using his foot to trip Ivan and throw him backwards.
Ivan crashes on the ground, a painful flat breathless thud, the knife clattering away.
His wife screams and clutches her face.
The billionaire, still breathless, gets up again, and this time ignores the knife and rushes forward like a boxer, throwing straight lefts and then a big looping right.
Vladimir nimbly dances away from all of them, his hands held in front of him, swatting the jabs aside.
Ivan throws another big right-handed punch, and Vladimir smashes his elbow into Vladimir’s fist.
Vladimir howls with pain, clutching his hand.
Vladimir steps back again, letting the billionaire catch his breath.
I spare a glance at Nadia. She’s watching, silent, hyperventilating, wide-eyed, her expensive hairdo now hanging in limp strands in her eyes.
Ivan scoops up the knife and rushes forward again, trying to grab Vladimir with his left hand before stabbing downward with the knife; he clearly broke a finger or two when he hit Vlad’s elbow, so he can’t hold it very well.
Vladimir deflects the left hand and then kicks Ivan with a straight kick in the stomach before he can get close enough to bring the knife down.
Ivan’s breath leaves him again and he falls to his knees. The knife again clatters on the floor.
The expression on Vladimir’s face never changes during any of this. He seems … mildly interested. That’s all.
I wonder with numb horror how many times he’s done this.
The trophy wife starts screaming for him to stop, stop, stop, until she’s hoarse.
Vladimir
It’s not a bad workout.
He’s in decent shape. Not enough to save him, of course, but enough to at least make me break a sweat.
I practice my knife disarms for a while, but finally I’ve broken fingers on both of his hands and he can’t hold the knife.
So I kick it into a corner – wouldn’t want him to fall on it.
Not yet.
He doesn’t give up easily.
I didn’t think he would. Russians are bastards and bitches, but they aren’t quitters.
He keeps swinging at me.
I practice my boxing for a while, quick jabs to rattle him, practicing slipping and dodging his punches, taking a few shots on the shoulders and forearm.
I keep dancing around him, staying on my toes, and then as he’s tiring and his guard is faltering, I practice my pressure points, aiming at the nerve clusters on his arms and shoulders. I strike them hard and fast, with focus.
His face twists in pain and his eyes begin to glaze, and he’s clearly exhausted, beginning to trip over his own feet.
Then I practice some kicks, not hard enough to break anything, just trying to concentrate on speed and good form, mostly on his legs and into his side.
His face is streaming with blood now; one of his brows split, and though I wasn’t trying to, I think I broke his nose.
Finally, I do some knife-hand strikes, at low force at first, just chopping at his shoulders and inner elbows, knocking him around.
Finally, I aim at the brachial cluster on the neck to stun him.
He collapses like he’s been shot.
Supposedly you can kill somebody if you hit them there hard enough, but I’ve never managed to do it.
Not yet.
He shivers on the ground; he takes in a big snore and his legs kick, so I know he’s alive.
I sigh, and turn to Nadia.
I walk over to her. I say hello in Russian and offer her my hand.
Take away a billionaire’s money, or at least his access to it, and his cars and guards and nice houses, and what is he?
He’s another middle-aged dude.
But a beautiful woman remains a beautiful woman, no matter where she is.
And, it must be said, her helplessness does arouse me.
Chastity
I should do something.
But I feel like I can’t think, much less move.
My body and mind are in complete shutdown.
The man I loved, my first kiss, the first guy I made love to, is beating the shit out of a billionaire in front of me, and he’s apparently a professional killer who is so good at his job he’s referred to as a ghost.
The first time we had sex was as magical as the first kiss.
People speak about being transported, and that’s a good description of it. We weren’t on this painful, ugly planet anymore.
It happened a week after the first night I went back to him. I spent every night of that week with him. My father was on a night shift at a factory then.
Vladimir and I spent all that time, all those nights exploring each other, starting with the lips and necks, clothes on, and finally on the second night we got out shirts off and saw how much pleasure we could bring each other with our mouths on each other’s nipples.
He liked it too, which surprised me; I’d never known guys did.
The next night of course, we got down to our underwear, and I got on top of him and we dry humped for what seemed like hours, and finally he came. I was close, but didn’t quite. I was fascinated by the sticky stuff in his underwear.
The next night I got to see it up close.
It was oral sex for both of us, and I was
first. He eased my panties off and, after licking my nipples and neck and stomach in all the ways he knew I liked, he played with my wet pussy with his fingers, finding all the right spots, until he finally kissed his way down to it and thoroughly explored it with his tongue.
I came that time. I couldn’t stop cumming. My whole body shook with it.
Then it was his turn; I worshipped him with my mouth, licking every inch of his sweet salty shaft and his balls before easing him in and out of my mouth, filling my throat with him.
We both walked around that week with big goofy smiles on our faces.
When we finally had sex, it was like thunder and lightning striking.
He tried to take it slow, but we couldn’t, and he fucked me hard and fast, my heels banging into his muscular butt, squeezing his trim waist as he drove into me, stretched me out, my whole body shuddering in time with his thrusts, feeling helpless with lust but completely safe in his arms.
We did it again and again, until we were unconscious with exhaustion.
I don’t let myself think about that too often.
The feeling of being fucked is a familiar one, but the feeling of being loved?
Not so much.
The memory feels like something precious and fragile, almost as if I could break it, ruin it, if I played with it too often.
And now that man is back in my life.
And he’s holding his hand out to the nearly-naked wife of the barely-conscious billionaire in an underground bunker.
Vladimir
I offer Nadia my hand and she takes it. Her face is streaked with tears and makeup; her hair hangs in curly strands around her face.
Her plump lips are trembling.
She looks fucking gorgeous.
She tries to stand up, but her legs are shaking, and I help her.
“Please don’t hurt me,” she says softly. “Don’t hit me. I’ll do anything.”
I smile gently at her. “Of course you will. You’ve always gone for the alpha male, right? And obviously I’m the last alpha male standing in this room.”
“Yes,” she said. She was holding her hands over her breasts, tears trickling down her face and splashing on them.
“And what does that mean, Nadia?”
“I’m … yours. You can do anything to me. Just please, please …”
“Please what?”
“I don’t want to die,” she says, voice cracking. “I don’t want you to hurt me.”
He smiles.
“I won’t kill you,” he says.
Chastity
He puts his arm around her trembling shoulder and kisses her on the lips.
She kisses him back, leaving a mascara stain on his cheek.
“What if I told you that I’ll spare your life? And keep you here, as my personal sex slave?” he says.
Dear god. My heart nearly stops.
She looks at him, and she can’t hide the look of hope. “I … yes, yes, that would be … good. Please, just don’t … kill me.”
He puts his hands on her thin elegant neck, and she trembles as he smoothes her hair back and lifts it out of her face.
“And what if I told you that I’d let you go, if you kill Ivan?” he asks her, eyes gleaming.
They both look over at Ivan, bloody-faced, in his urine-stained expensive trousers, which are now as worthless as everything else in his life. He is struggling to stand.
“Do you … want me to do it?” she asks. “Is that what your … do you want me to … please, just tell me what you want me to do!” she says and begins sobbing again.
“Shhhh, shhh,” says Vladimir, stroking her hair some more. “Let’s start with something simple. Do what you’ve always done when you wanted something.”
Trembling, she reaches down and touches his cock, which is a hard, visible bulge in the front of his running shorts.
Ivan gasps, “No, no,” and moves forward, unsteadily, lurching.
Vladimir kisses Elena on the lips again, and then moves forward with two leaping steps and then launches a high round kick that connects low on the side of the billionaire’s head, slamming him backwards with a loud crack of bone on bone.
The billionaire stagger backwards, wobbles on his feet, and then falls back against the wall and slides down to the ground in a sitting position, the side of his face swelling rapidly and fresh blood pooling from his lips.
Vladimir spares a look in my direction, and returns to Elena.
“Who’s the alpha male?” he asks her, pulling down his shorts a bit.
His cock, thick and long and throbbing, pops free, standing out in front of him, fully erect.
“You are,” she says, getting shakily to her knees before him, and taking it into her mouth.
Vladimir
She pops my cock into her mouth, tightening her plump lips around it, and I gasp with pleasure as she sucks it in, hard.
To the victor belong the spoils.
“Slow down there, my pet,” I say, and grab her by the hair and pull her head back. “Give it a good licking first. Like a little girl with an ice cream. Savor it. I want your husband to see you enjoying my dick. I think he’s … just barely conscious.”
She begins licking it slowly, making whimpering noises as she does so, up and down the underside of the shaft, then swirling her tongue expertly around the head.
That makes me shiver.
And I love the whimpering noises.
“Good,” I say, and pat her head, taking a fistful of her blonde hair.
I look over at her husband, the billionaire lying against the wall, semi-conscious but watching with glazed eyes, and I force my dick into his wife’s mouth, all the way to the root.
She gags, but then takes it out of her mouth and takes a deep breath and deep throats me again, and I grab her hair and begin fucking her face, slowly, but very deep, as far into her throat as I can get it.
I can feel her legs shaking. She’s weak from terror and probably dehydration, but she gets on her knees on the clean linoleum floor, and I reach down and feel her tits and hard nipples while she sucks me.
“Good, so good,” I say. “You suck cock just like a good little whore should.” I pinch one of her nipples hard to emphasize my point.
She nods her head and makes an affirmative sound around my cock, saliva dripping out around it and falling on her tits, which are already wet with her tears.
I cover my finger with her drool and tears, and rub the wet finger against her nipples.
She moans around my cock.
Chastity
I should be doing something.
It occurs to me that if we all three rushed him, maybe we could knock him down and hold him.
But … no.
We’re all so scared and weak; he’s broken us all with comparatively little effort on his part.
I watch the trophy wife worshipping his cock with her mouth, still red with smeared lipstick, and she has her own hand in her panties as she does so.
She’s probably had some pretty extreme sexual experiences, but I doubt she’s had one as intense as this before.
Easy to confuse intense and enjoyable.
And as if the nightmare in front of me isn’t enough, I can’t help but remember getting raped by his brother.
It happened not a month after we started making love.
I spent most nights there for that month. It was the best month of my life, of course.
My father hated Vladimir and his brother, of course. There’s no love lost between Russians and Ukrainians at the best of times, but this was more personal.
And then my father lost his factory job and went on a week-long drinking binge that ended with him knocking me over the kitchen table.
Vladimir heard it, and he came over, and he beat my father senseless.
It was much worse than the rather calm and technical beating that he gave the billionaire. That was a furious attack, Vladimir spitting and screaming, his face purple.
Father was no small gu
y, and he’d worked hard manual labor jobs all his life, but Vladimir pounded him until he was bloody.
For once, the cops came.
And took both of them away.
My dad went to the hospital, and Vladimir went to jail.
I didn’t understand why.
I tried to tell them what had happened, but they told me to shut up or they’d arrest me, too.
And I ran out and ran away, and found an all-night party, and started doing shots. And somebody gave me some pills, and I took them.
I don’t remember most of that evening, but everybody told me I was a lot of fun.
When I came home in the morning, I found that the cops still held Vladimir.
My father was still in the hospital.
A neighbor filled me in on what was happening.
The cops had been having a conflict with the Russian gang that Vladimir’s brother worked for. I suppose bribes weren’t getting paid on time, or whatever.
They searched Vladimir’s house and didn’t find anything, so they searched their cars and found drugs in Vladimir’s car.
Vladimir had been carrying drugs for his brother occasionally. He hated it, but he did it.
He had been trying to save enough money for us to get a separate place of our own.
Vladimir’s brother was nowhere to be seen.
Vladimir
I fuck Nadia’s throat until she’s gagging, and finally I pick her up by the hair.
Her face is slack with lust, her lips swollen and covered with drool and precum, and I look at the billionaire and smile.
I pick her up and push her against the wall, and she wraps her legs around my waist and I rip her panties off with a casual flick of my wrist. I move my cock so the head is pressing against her wet lips.
“Ohhhh,” she moans, eyes rolling back in her head.
“Who’s the alpha?” I ask.
“You, oh god you, you’re the alpha.”
“How does it feel to get raped by the man who’s going to kill your husband?”
“Oh, god, it feels so good, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” she cries.
The Hitman and the Escort Page 5