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"Motherfucker!" she bellowed.

She leapt at him from the bed. Grabbing the collar of his t-shirt, she tore it, nearly halfway down to the bottom. Again, he shoved her backwards, sending her rolling to the headboard.

"Are you gonna push me around," she shouted, with fire in her eyes, "or, are you gonna fuck me?"

Emily came at him again. This time, he caught her in mid-air. He threw her back on the bed, then crawled atop her; straddling her hips.

"Is this what you want, you fucking whore?" he mocked.

Emily wiggled her hips against him. With his free hand, Tom clumsily unbuckled his belt and opened his pants. He managed to pull out his cock. Her fists thumped against his chest, then she clutched at his shirt, tearing it further.

Tom grabbed her wrists and forced her arms above her head. Emily cried out in pain, but he didn't release her. She glared up at him as he lowered himself, and forced himself between her legs. Pinning both her wrists with one strong hand, his free hand found its way between her legs. He tore her panties, leaving just a flap of fabric hanging from the waistband.

"Asshole!" she yelled.

Guiding his cock to her, he pushed himself between her wet lips. They both gasped as he sank into her. He didn't stop until he filled her completely. Her mouth hung open in a silent scream and her eyes screwed shut.

"That's what you wanted, right?" he grumbled. "You said you like it rough!"

"No," she whimpered.

"Bullshit!" he spat, placing his face nose to nose with hers.

He began moving his hips; sliding his cock in and out of her with long, hard strokes. Releasing her wrists, he pushed himself up, placing one hand on either side of her, allowing him to increase the intensity of his efforts. As he drove himself into her, she took hold of his wrists and pulled his hands to her neck.

"Choke me," she whispered.

Tom growled as he wrapped his fingers around her pale skin. He squeezed and her eyes went wide. Her body stiffened beneath him.

"Yessss," she hissed. "Harder."

He tightened his grip, and she gasped for breath.

"Slap my nipples," she managed to say.

Balancing himself, he kept his right hand on her neck, and used his left to slap the nipple of her right breast. She seethed as she stared into his eyes.

"Do it like you hate me!" she demanded.

Again, he slapped her. Emily clawed at his wrists leaving deep scratches; then reached up to his shoulders, inside his ripped shirt. Her nails dug into his flesh, drawing blood.

"Fuck!" he exploded. "Goddamn bitch!"

Releasing her neck, he retreated and slapped away her hands. For a moment, he inspected his wounds; then grabbed her hips, and flipped her roughly. He crashed down atop her, crushing her to the bed, and spread her arms out toward the sides of the bed.

"Put it in my ass," she croaked, craning her neck to look at him.

He lifted his head to consider her.

"Do you have lube?" he asked.

"Just fuck me," she snarled.

"It'll hurt you," he warned.

"Jesus Christ," she swore. "Fucking spit on it then."

As he shifted to rise to his knees, she tried to squirm away. His hands slammed down on her shoulder blades, knocking the breath out of her.

"Don't fucking move," he boomed.

His hands traveled down her back to her ass. He spread her cheeks, leaned closer, and spit on her several times, until his saliva oozed down the crack of her ass. Straightening, he guided the head of his cock to her puckered hole. Using the tip, he spread the spit around.

"Fuck me," Emily sneered.

Pushing forward, he felt her sphincter spread, grudgingly. She sobbed as he sank deeper. The tightness and the heat of her intoxicated him, and Tom fought to control himself.

It took several minutes to work himself into her, but he moved in and out steadily. She made a weak attempt to reach back and claw at him. Again, he batted away her hands.

"You're hurting me," she bawled.

"This is what you wanted," he reminded her.

"Please..." she murmured.

The ache in Tom's balls grew quickly. He couldn't hold back.

"Fuck, Em; I'm gonna cum," he babbled.

"Cum in my ass," she pleaded. "Give it to me!"

"I'm cumming!" he shouted.

His body convulsed; bucking against her as he came -- stretching her further. He grunted as he shot into her, filling her ass with his cum.

"Fuck, yes," she wailed.

By the time his orgasm faded away, he was exhausted. Tom collapsed atop her; his body pressing her into the bed. Everything went still; their ragged breathing the only sound in the room. They stayed there recovering; their breathing and heart rates returning to normal.

Finally, he rolled to his right. His shrunken cock slipped from her asshole, causing her to groan. He emitted a long sigh as he lay beside her. As his strength returned, he cautiously crawled out of bed.

"I need to take a piss," he announced.

Tom hobbled into the bathroom. When he emerged, Emily sat on the edge of the bed. He saw her wiping tears from her cheeks.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

"I am now," she answered.

"Do you have anything to drink?" he inquired.

"I've got beer in the 'fridge," she said, quietly.

"Want me to bring one back for you?" he offered.

"I'll be out in a minute," she told him. "I just want to clean up first."

She rose and went into the bathroom. He pulled on his boxer-briefs and wandered into the hallway. His brain cleared. As he entered the living room, it struck him -- as at her office, the décor here was Spartan. The room contained a small couch, an Ottoman, a recliner, and a TV stand holding nothing but a small television. Except for the TV, the furniture all appeared as if Emily got it from a second-hand store, or a garage sale.

Again, he saw no personal touches -- very little to indicate that someone actually lived here. The lone exception being a framed diploma hanging above the couch. Tom stepped closer to read it. It showed that Columbia University had conferred a Master's of Business Administration degree upon Quinn Elizabeth O'Bannon.

"An MBA from Columbia," he echoed, as it clicked in his brain.

Suddenly, he was thrown forward onto the couch. He felt as if he'd been hit in the back with a sledgehammer. A deafening roar -- like a thunderclap -- filled his ears as he bounced off the cushions and fell to the floor. He tried to right himself, futilely clawing at the couch. Crushing pain radiated outward from between his shoulder blades, and he struggled to catch his breath.

Emily/Quinn, still wearing her ripped panties, moved into his narrowing field of vision. As she leaned over him, he turned his head to see the silver automatic pistol she held in her right hand.

"You know, you've been a real pain in my ass, both literally and figuratively," she groused. "The plan was to steal airline tech information from Phil for a year, or so, before disappearing, but you fucked that up! So, I was going to leave town tomorrow. Now, I'll have to stay and deal with the police."

"Phil?" he rasped, as breathing became increasingly difficult.

"Phil was an idiot!" she laughed. "Last night, he killed himself. I guess he figured it was only a matter of time before his wife found out about me. How can such a smart guy be so fucking dumb? Luckily, I was able to copy everything on his computer before I left work today."

Tom tried to speak again. She knelt beside him, and leaned over to hear him.

"The cops will figure out everything, Quinn," he gurgled, as his lungs filled with blood.

She looked him in the eye and smiled.

"My name's not Quinn either," she whispered. "And, the police won't be a problem, Tom."

"See these bruises?" she asked, pointing to her neck. "And, remember the ones you left on my breasts, and what you did to my ass? And, the scratches I left on your arms?"

Emily/Quinn waited for him to put it together in his rapidly slowing mind.

"That's right," she explained. "You followed me; pushed your way in, and raped me. Then I shot you."

He shook his head just a few millimeters.

"After the police question me," she scoffed, "I'll just disappear."

"Why?" he wondered, as the darkness grew.

"Money," she revealed. "Atlantic Airlines paid very well for the information I got out of Phil's office."

She kissed his cheek and stood up.

"It's really too bad," she said, scrutinizing him. "You had such a nice cock. And, knew how to use it, too. Most guys... Well, what are you gonna do? Goodbye, Tom."

The pistol thundered again.