I cum, and I cum again, and my mind is reeling.
There’s nothing left. No past and future. Just this pleasure. I’m suspended from the ceiling, helpless, and I’m his, and he’s fucking me like I need to be fucked, and I can barely breathe.
I haven’t cum like that from anybody else.
There’s nobody except him.
Now, then, forever.
And then his hands close around my throat, and I can’t breathe at all.
His cock seems to drive all the way into me, all the way through me, all the way up into my heart and soul.
My orgasm is enormous, my whole body shaking and flushing, huge swelling balloons of pleasure, with blackness around the edges, and then the blackness ebbs in …
And I’m carried away on a tide of peace, falling, drowning in pleasure.
Vladimir
I close my hands around her neck and choke her.
I’m cutting off the blood to her brain, not just her breathing.
It’s faster.
Her pussy spasms and clenches around me, turning red hot, and I begin to cum, my whole body shaking, huge spasms of pleasure and there’s nothing but me and her, everything else gone.
I choke her until her face is purple and she hangs still in the ropes.
Chastity
I sink into the blackness.
Vladimir. My Vladimir.
He’s given me what I want.
Finally.
At peace.
Darkness.
Vladimir
I walk to the camera and turn it off.
I turn it towards the wall.
It looks good, her limp and purple faced, still bound up and hanging from the rack by the ropes.
But it won’t fool them for long.
I lift her head and kiss her, blowing into her mouth to make sure she’s still breathing.
She is.
Her breathing is steady, though shallow.
I take off the leather mask.
I’m aware I’m crying.
Chastity
I swim up out of the darkness again.
I gasp, sucking in air greedily, as I wake up and realize I’m still alive.
My hands fly up, striking out at the air in front of me, and my legs kick.
My legs kick against nothing but the heavy quilt over me, and my sore back realizes it is in a very comfortable bed.
Nothing but a rasping squeak comes out when I try to scream. My throat hurts.
I look around the room; it’s a bedroom, not terribly big or lavish, but comfortable, and there is a big window flooding the room with light. A beautiful view outside the window. The sun rising over pine trees sloping on a clear cloudless morning.
It’s a bit chilly; my nipples are hard – and sore-- and I pull the quilt back over me.
Still completely naked.
What the fuck!
And then Vladimir sticks his head into the doorway.
I realize I’m holding my breath.
He doesn’t smile when he sees me, but the corner of his mouth twitches.
He speaks. “Of all the underground bunkers in all the towns, in all the world, you had to walk into mine.”
I look back up at him, trembling.
He frowns. “Casablanca?” he says.
“I … I don’t know what that is,” I say.
He sighs. “It’s an old movie.”
“Jesus, Vladimir! What the fuck. I’m not in the mood for jokes! Are you going to kill me?” I say, my voice a high squeak, clutching my hands over my naked breasts.
“No. Do you eat eggs?” he asks.
I just stare at him, clutching the quilt across my sore breasts.
“I’m making breakfast, and I didn’t know if you’re a vegetarian or anything,” he clarifies. “You must be hungry. Do you eat eggs?”
I nod.
“Scrambled okay?” he asks.
I nod again, and I try to say something else, but can only squeak with pain.
His head disappears again.
Abducted, raped, tortured, strangled, and then fed a healthy breakfast.
A squawk of laughter that sounded like a hysterical bark escaped me, and I clutched my hands over my eyes.
Vladimir
I crack some eggs in a bowl and whisk them while the butter heats.
It’s strange that I feel kind of nervous, like I felt the first time I ever talked to her.
I mean, I just strangled her to within an inch of her life.
She gained consciousness briefly before I brought her upstairs, but looked at me, eyes wide, and then went into a deep sleep again, twitching a bit form oxygen starvation.
Her breathing was deep and even, despite the bruises on her throat.
She would be okay.
I took her down, gently, from the bondage rack and untied her. Then I carried her upstairs and tucked her in, and slept a few hours myself on the sofa outside the room.
My dreams were about her, of course.
Chastity
Is he playing with me? Kindness just to offset the terror and torture?
A game, like he played with the billionaire and his wife before he killed them?
I try to stand up, but my legs are too weak. My back hurts, too.
Vladimir, looking rested and relaxed in a white t-shirt and grey fleece sweatpants, comes back into the room carrying a tray of scrambled eggs with a large mug next to it.
“I figure your throat hurts, so I just brought some green tea,” he says. “And there’s some honey here. It will help the pain. But I have some coffee, too, if you want some. There are some aspirin there, too.”
I look at him, and when our eyes meet, I see none of the empty hatred in his eyes.
Now, he looks like the old Vlad, the young guy who liked to read and play chess, and I feel myself starting to tear up and my lips starting to tremble.
“Are you going to kill me?” I ask in a whisper.
He looks away. “I’m not going to kill you, Chastity. I’m not going to hurt you anymore. I did that to … buy us some time. But I’m not going to hurt you again.”
I feel my heart rising my throat, the dizzying vertigo, and I think of that feeling that you get when you almost tip over in a chair but manage to catch yourself at the last minute.
I deserve your hate, I think to myself.
He sets the tray full of food on the bedside table and without looking at me says, “I’ll let you eat by yourself and recover your voice. We have a lot to talk about but I’m sure you need a little time to … get oriented.”
Oriented.
He walks out of the room again, and I clutch my hands over my face and cry.
Vladimir
I did that to buy us time, I told her.
Of course, that’s true.
But I also wanted to do it.
I’d been aching to do it.
Burning to do it.
I go back to the living room and finish my workout, trying not to think about the sound of her tears.
I put on some classical music. Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 3.
One hundred push-ups, two hundred sit-ups, one hundred pull-ups, and then I skip rope for five minutes and go through a yoga routine.
I try not to think of the sound of her muffled screams the night before.
I try not to think of the dead billionaire and his wife, dead in my basement room, and the cleanup job I performed while she was sleeping.
I soaked them both in bleach and left them in the freezer. The client asked for the heads, so I’ll have to take care of that later.
Not something I’m looking forward to.
I try not to think about the fact that this is, very probably, the last few days of my life.
I try not to think about how, in spite of everything, it’s just … nice to see her again.
Chastity
I manage to get the eggs down and the green tea does help my throat feel better.
When he comes back into the r
oom, my throat closes with emotion and I nearly start to cry again.
“I’m glad you could eat,” he says.
“Vladimir,” I say. So many thoughts are spinning around in my head I have no idea where to begin, and I’m struggling to get something, anything out.
“The first thing you’re wondering about,” he says, “is probably your … safety.”
I take a deep breath and nod.
“I’m not going to hurt you, again, I told you that. But there is still … a price on your head.”
I shake my head. “Who would want to kill me? I’m not anyone important!”
He shrugs. “You are a high-priced and exclusive escort. You have dealings with important people, dealings of a very compromising nature. You have probably always been in more … danger than you thought.”
“Do you know who put this … price on my head?” I ask.
He shrugs again. He’s looking out the window at the sunrise, sipping from a large mug of coffee.
Finally, he speaks. “Don’t you think that it’s a pretty big coincidence, me being hired to kill you? Add a third aspect to that coincidence, that I was hired by somebody who knew neither of us, and it becomes not just a coincidence, but an astronomical improbability.”
He still talks the same way. He always liked big words.
“So who would know about both of us?” I ask. “I don’t understand any of this. You … disappeared. I’ve changed my name and my face …”
“You’re still recognizable as you,” he says, with a gentle smile, and my heart again lurches into my throat as our eyes meet.
“So who knows both of us?” I ask. “Somebody … Russian? The billionaire that you … killed … or … somebody else? Who knows both of us?”
“You’re getting warmer,” he said.
“I don’t know!” I cry, throwing my hands over my face. I’m as exhausted mentally as I am physically.
“I don’t get contracts directly from clients, of course. My arranger does all of that and contacts me. So I don’t know for sure. But I have an idea.” He is still staring intently out the window at the golden sun rising over the trees.
The world seems to be whirling around me. As an escort, I worked with sports figures, music stars, billionaires and financial executives, and while some of them were most certainly involved with crime, it wasn’t like I had a lot of connections with murderers.
I shake my head. “Vladimir, I don’t know anything about this. My interactions with these people were … shallow. I knew which topics to avoid. They came to me to forget about their problems, not discuss crime.”
“I’ll give you a hint,” he says, shining a cold smile at the dawn. “Somebody we both know. And I shot him five times, 10 years ago.”
Vladimir
It’s hard to look at her, but I do, and her big eyes fill with horror as she remembers that night.
“Oh god,” she breathes. “He’s still alive? How?”
“I shot him and he didn’t die. It happens.” I don’t point out that I would know how to finish the job now.
I’d make sure to put two in his chest and two in his head at close range.
But that was my first time using a gun on somebody.
“Okay,” she breathes. “Tell me what happened to you, and I’ll tell you what happened to me.”
I close my eyes, and for a moment, for the first time in a long, long time, I allow myself to think of that night. Fear surges up into me, and I take a deep breath. I can smell the gunpowder, and I can smell my brother’s blood.
And I can smell the sex in the room.
The red rage begins to overwhelm me again, and I open my eyes and look out at the dawn, and try to breathe it away.
“I shot him and I went outside and I ran around trying to find you,” I say.
She sobs.
“There were police cars and helicopters filling up the neighborhood, but I was still looking for you.”
“But your brother … was alive?” she asks.
“Not … as far as I knew. I set the house on fire when I left.”
She sobs again.
I remember the flashing lights. Red and blue. Bright white from the helicopters spearing through the darkness. “I ended up hiding in a dumpster. They even looked for me with dogs, but the amount of piss and garbage in the alley covered up my scent, I guess.”
She is looking down, the heavy quilt clutched over her breasts. “I ran right to the highway. That restaurant where the truckers would stop. The first guy I asked gave me a ride to the next city.”
Chastity
That was the first guy I ever performed a sex act with for money.
Just a quick hand job, though.
Not really a big deal. I was still crying for most of the ride, and I think that turned him on. I told him I was running from my abusive stepfather.
Like I said, I didn’t mind. It seemed natural.
I was still basically in shock from everything that had happened. I felt like I was watching it from a million miles away.
I felt like that for a long, long time.
A couple more rides and one more hand job took me to a beach town, and I found a group of kids my age living on the beach, and that’s where I did heroin for the first time.
“How did you … escape?” she asks.
“I guess they were watching the bus stations but not the airports, or maybe I just got lucky and fell through a crack. Maybe they thought I died in the fire.” said Vladimir. “I got on a plane back to Russia and nobody stopped me. Once I was there, it wasn’t hard to get another identity.”
“And … what happened to your brother?” I ask.
“You really didn’t even read the newspaper to find out?” he asks.
“Vlad, I was totally fucked up on drugs for two or three years. If I read it in the newspaper, I completely forgot it.”
Vladimir
I remember throwing the gun against the wall and falling to my knees and screaming to the ceiling.
He certainly looked dead when I left, crumpled in the corner of the room, blood seething out onto his dark cheap tracksuit.
“He survived the gunshots and he crawled out of the back of the burning house,” I say. “He was in a coma for a while, but he survived. He woke up just in time to deal with a massive federal drug prosecution against him and the gang he worked with. He’s been in prison most of the last ten years.”
“Oh,” she says softly.
“But he was very … successful there. He made a deal between the Russians and the Aryan Brotherhood in prison. Territory. Drugs. The gang he worked with became very very wealthy shipping meth into Russia and some surrounding countries. When he got out, he was a rich man.”
“Oh,” she says again.
I want to yell, “Why? Why did you run from me?”
But I just take a deep breath and watch the sun rise.
Chastity
“You went back to Russia … and … how did you …?” she asks quietly.
“How did I become a ghost?” he asks with that thin smile again. “I joined the army, and then the Russian Spetznatz special forces. Private military contracting company, after that. That led to this.”
He looks down at his hands and then out the window.
My stomach roils as I think of all the death and bloodshed that led him to this point.
And that night in his bedroom was the beginning of that trail.
I remember the gunshots, but not as gunshots. It was just a loud ringing after the first one. And the bright lights in my drug-dilated eyes.
His brother’s cum drying on me.
And I remember the look in Vladimir’s eyes.
The hate.
Vladimir
“Were you in … war? Afghanistan or Iraq?” she asks.
“First Russian conflicts in Georgia and Ossetia. Then … Afghanistan and other places.”
Many other places.
The first decades of the 21st century had offered plenty o
f choices for hired guns. In addition to the lucrative and never-ending conflicts in the Middle East, there was the drug cartel violence in Mexico and South America.
Plenty of places, and plenty of fights to get in. Plenty of murders to commit. Quiet ones and loud ones. Quick ones and ones that lingered for much too long.
My specialty.
I turn to her. “And you? You … went back on drugs, you said?”
She nods.
“How did you go from being a homeless drug addict to … become …?”
“A high-priced whore?” she says.
I nod.
Chastity
The hate didn’t stop after he shot his brother.
He turned his bright green eyes on me, and I saw so much hate there, totally eclipsing the lovely sad eyes of the boy I loved.
I thought he was going to kill me, next.
And I ran.
I heard him screaming, behind me, in the house where his brother lay on the floor.
No panties on, his brother’s cum on my stomach, I ran into the night. I ran until I was breathless, until I fell and scraped my knees, until I finally puked.
But I kept running.
The hate.
But it that really what I was afraid of?
I realize now, I was just as afraid of the love as I was of the hate.
“I ended up living on the beach with some young people I met,” I say. “The years on the beach were nothing but drugs. Parties, drugs, and more parties. I started … having sex for money.”
Yes, a long long road. Filled with a lot of fucking. Straight fucking, lesbian fucking, kinky fucking, fucking in groups.
“Finally, I met a … I guess you would call him a high-class pimp, and he was on a sort of talent scouting mission, and he started connecting me with a better class of client. Cleaned me up. Taught me some things. That led me here.”
He got me cleaned up; I guess that’s the nicest thing I can say about him. He’d quit drugs, too.
He helped me get a new identity. He quit drugs but he couldn’t quit a sex life that was very adventurous, and he eventually died of AIDS.
The Hitman and the Escort Page 7