Ghost Stories

She slid the sheath of papers across the table to him. He was made up—as usual—her request for all their meetings; from head to toe—from stilettos to the roughly tossed nappy bush that she'd taught him dye—tonight, jet black with bluish highlights....

'I like that...like it a lot,' she said absent-mindedly as he paged through the folder. It was simply newspaper clippings—something anyone could collect. On the other hand, for someone trained in intelligence, they weren't any odd collectibles. They told a story.

'That's him,' she said. 'That's the fucker....'

Sydd recognized him. Wasn't hard. He had a 'persona'; somewhat larger than life to his 'following' and to those who opposed him. A legend in their minds, if not his own....

Sydd looked up. 'And you want me to do what?...'

'Walk....' She said smoothly and softly....

***

Maybe a month later, she called: 'Wanna go out? Do the blue-black thing with the hair—I love it. Seven, OK?' click....

He had become good at this—was becoming better....

The bell...he buzzed her up.

She stood in the door, her mouth open....

'You bitch....' She breathed.

'You hot, fuckin' bitch. I can't go out with you looking like that....'

He was stunned. She kept on....

'You'll pull everything with a cock, a pussy, and in between with that look! Mrs. Fuckin' Frankenstein! What the fuck have I created here???!!!' With that she collapsed into a chaired and just gawked....

'Jeezus, grl!'—the first time he'd been addressed as such—'you are spectacular, but we need to save that look—or part of it. Here's what I want you to do...,' looking Sydd up and down; whistling....

'a bit more conservative—but not much...'

The initial outfit, all white, picking up the coal colorings of Sydd's skin and that ruffled blue-black dye-job. A white corset with black boning over a fine-meshed, sheer white T, over a black half-cup bra that gave the promise of something that wasn't there—the joy of forms.... The skirt was a spandex micro mini—the tucking that it took to pull that off must have been excruciating—she/he was never known to lack in the nether region. Rising from her toes to her crotch were a pair of white, black-seamed, Cuban-heeled thigh highs. All this nestled in a pair of open-toed white, kid stilettos—seemed there was a 'budget' of sorts with this assignment.

Around her shoulders was a white kid bolero. The jewelry was impeccable from earrings to faux nose-ring to necklace to the rings that adorned every finger....

Tapping her finger against the air, Perri stared wide-eyed, then spoke: 'one suggestion....the mid-calf, black kid pencil skirt...you know...the one with the killer slit....' With that she giggled....

***

'First test....' Perri stepped back from the curb leaving Sydd standing solo. 'Hail the cab....'

They slid into the back seat. The destination was one of the hotels that vied for the Zagat's 'best in town'. The doorman opened the door to the cab and Sydd swung her long-short legs out—5'6 with maybe four-inch stilettos.... 'Welcome to the Pinnacle, ladies,' it came out as a sort of moan as Sydd pushed her skirt down and smoothed it. Perri was almost doubled over in laughter from the man's reaction. 'Now! That's what I'm talkin' bout!' she breathed in Sydd's ear as they made space for themselves in a crowded elevator.

The elevator was packed—well, not quite.... 'snug' might have been a better word given that our divas commanded their own personal space. As they mounted to the rooftop restaurant, the other occupants crowded to the sides and corners—all casting furtive glances at the two. Glances that Sydd caught in the polished brass of the elevator doors.

First, she registered Perri's expression. A satisfied smirk that seemed to convey two things: to the crowd, without they're knowing: 'Yeh! I created this!' To Sydd, a more self-satisfied look of 'I told you so....' Sydd had to control her own laughter....

To the right, the tall—taller than Sydd or Perri—willowy blonde who was shooting daggers at Sydd; eying the seams of the Cuban-heels, measuring the 'talon' of the pumps, caressing—possibly—that kid-encased ass with her glare. This, her partner was certainly doing with his eyeball rolls. Lucky for him blondie was just as occupied.

Crammed in the far left corner, a dowager, who didn't know quite what to make of it all. Sydd wasn't certain if she had been 'made', or if it was simply the old biddy's first encounter with two terribly attractive, and clearly sophisticated black women, dressed to the nines—even if in runway mode—who were about to enter into what she and her ilk must have regarded their inner sanctum.

In front and to the left, slightly askance from Perri, a short, shinny-headed, director-mogul type; the kind for whom 'casting couches' were invented. He couldn't keep himself from stealing glances at Perri's cleavage, which she so deliberately and expertly arranged to be seen. If his eyeballs had swung a degree more in her direction, his nose would have been embedded in a valley of rose-scented tits....

Rooftop. As the 'queen-mother' and her septuagenarian escort shuffled past, he turned to Sydd and smiled: 'Remarkable....Absolutely stunning...,' before the 'queen' pushed him on with a scowl. Perri and Sydd broke up and had to recompose themselves as the maitre d' approached.....

'Mesdames, welcome to the View....' He dripped.

'Table for two for Roddgers,' Perri said in a soft husk....

'Ah yes, Mademoiselle Roddgers, a special table for you and your guest', his eyes devouring Sydd, 'on the deck....'

With that he led them across the full dining room—and it was full—to Perri's slow and measured catwalk stride. She wanted to make sure that the entire room took them in; that Sydd was the center of this 'happening'; and, that Sydd understood that completely....

Heads turned...eyes followed...necks craned...not a few napkins were lifted for compliments or envious catting.... One or two guys at the bar actually stood for better looks....as they took their seats

'Day-uuum grl!' Perri all giggly again, 'I don't know if I can stand bein' out with you. You slayin' 'em. Good thing I'm your bitch—tonight!' Sydd couldn't help but laugh.

Perri: 'That's it...flash that, Babi. That smile is worth a million—a billion—of whateva.... When in doubt, blind 'em with it! You are damn gorgeous!'

Perri had created the physical manifestation, now she needed to 'load' Sydd with the confidence that she could not only play this role, but master one a bit more complicated and dangerous....

The sommelier appeared, and Perri changed up completely, launching into flawless French; turning to Sydd from time to time with quips, sexual double-entendres, and idioms to which Sydd replied with perfection, both pleasing and embarrassing the wine-steward, but much to his pleasure. The room was buzzing, but the two paid it no mind....

'Should we do Italian next?' Perri asked wickedly....

***

7

They wined. They dined...had dessert and coffee....listened to the Latin-Jazz band. Then the martinis arrived—two apple treats. The waiter directed their attention to the bar. There, he raised his glass to salute them. They both smiled and raised theirs in his direction before Perri said softly, and possibly ominously, 'Bingo!'

Sydd looked at her quizzically.

'Our ticket in.... You ARE good, Sugah....just be cool....'

He took the distance from the bar to their table with the grace of a big cat....and he was gorgeous....Buffed bronze in something impeccable, tailored only for him—he was a head-turner too. Halfway to the table, Sydd caught the flecks of green in the hazel eyes, the broad brow and nose, and the flash of teeth framed those full lips....the power in the shoulders, chest, hips and thighs....

'Careful...he's dangerous...literally...' Perri said under her breath.

Sharply, Sydd countered, 'How...?'

'Not now! Just play it....'

Play it she did.

***

'Ladies....' There was a kind of lisp to his delivery that made it hard to place his speech.

With no more than that, he winked at Perri, took Sydd's hand and led her to the dance floor where the salsa magic was vibrating. Perri could only wince, watch, and hope....

All that heel-walking—stiletto-prancing—had paid off as she watched Sydd being led to the floor. But...she had never considered 'dancing'—let alone Salsa! 'O fuck....' Perri moaned. But all she could do was watch...and pray....

The beat started up and seized our grl's hips... or so it seemed. Perri was forced to watch—mesmerized—as Sydd did her thing. She flowed liquid with the rhythm and her partner—cross-hand turns...closed-hand whirls...open-hand spins...cumbias...drapes...and the obligatory shimmy....

Then, before he could lead her from the floor, she pushed him into another dance; one where she gripped him to her tight and fierce as her pelvis ground against his thigh to a slow, hot, Latin rhythm....when she brought him back to the table, she offered him a napkin to wipe his brow, then gave a low, throaty purred 'de nada' to his 'gracias'....

'So....how can I see you again...?' he began...and before she could answer, Perri intervened.

'My cousin is from out of town, but...we should be HERE again, the last Friday night in the month. Look for us....'

With that, she offered her hand. He kissed the back of it—charmer that he was—then kissed Sydd's as well....

'Ciao....'

'Ciao....'

The dance had turned a few more heads...might have caused a stir in a few less refined places.... 'Where the hell did you learn THAT?!' Perri hissed....

'O, Pachanga? West Africa...shore leave....'

'Mother...deliver me....' Perri moaned....

'I was scared shitless when he pulled you to the floor...didn't know what would happen. You are one dangerous mami, Darlin'. Between Salsa and Pachanga he was sweatin' so much that if he had cum you and he would have been the only ones who'da known it....'

'I think he did....'

'WHAAAA???!!!'

Sydd reared back in her chair laughing....

***

'So...who was he?' Sydd asked after they got back to Perri's. She unbuttoned, then unzipped the skirt, and let it slide from her hips and collect in a silent puddle at her feet. She raised one leg, bending it back at the knee as she balanced on the other to undo the buckle on the pump....

'Don't...' Perri said softly... 'Keep them on...keep the rest on...only... take off the thong.... I want to look at you....'

Self-consciously, Sydd stepped from the thong, gave a sigh of relief as the big snake of a cock dangled free...absent-mindedly massaged the kinks of the tucking process from it...suddenly and quietly aware of the depth of Perri's breathing as she stood there boleroed, corseted, stilettoed and pantiless....

'So...' she began again, 'Who was he...?'

'A functionary in the 'Corporation', she began. 'And if we know his M.O. as we think we do—we—that is more specifically you—are going to be introduced to the man in the pictures—Mr. Casanova....'

Sydd turned to face her—all too gracefully; too feminine for belief, given where they had started. That thick, semi-erect meat swaying seductively as she walked to the picture window, pulled it open and stepped out onto the balcony, high above the city. Lights twinkling...blinking...winking in the darkness....

Perri followed with her eyes, thinking: 'Did 'he' know how beautiful 'she' was? How powerful?... How dangerous?... Looks. Incredible intelligence and creativity—clearly capable of improvising on the fly—look at tonite. The ability to instill fear—Perri knew the record by heart. And, if not the potential to kill—Perri just didn't think that that was in him/her—then clearly a record of mayhem that would make anyone think twice about fucking with Sydd Black. Again there was the 'paper trail—all computerized now. And then, there was this creature on her balcony....looking out over a dark, sparkling city....

***

Sydd let herself into Perri's. It was a day she didn't clerk—a day to herself—almost.... It was actually Perri's day. It worked like this:

Perri had simply said 'Take the day....' Innocuous enough, but code: 'Go out dressed in the daytime. No more shadow-boxing. Don't care if you're 'made'—if someone realizes that you're transgendered/transsexual/transvestite—'transcendant'—Yeh! Take that! There are more of you than you realize...and right now, the thing I need most is your confidence....Go out....'

Sydd went out. The outfit was simple and comfortable. She and Perri had found new forms that slipped on like a bra. With some creative and artistic 'engineering', they made the most essential elements close matches to Sydd's skin type and color....over that, a sheer black mesh 'wife-beater'(pretty stupid, sexist terminology, but it describes the look)....when she was properly tucked and supported—a silk kerchief laced round her balls at the base of her cock ('better than a cockring': Perri), a heavy duty thong, and then a tight, tight spandex support panty, she pulled on a pair of tight spandex capris...also black...and a pair of flat black sandals—she'd come to realize that even flats could be sexy. She topped this off with a huge white shirt which she could belt—tossed the belt into the also huge black wicker bag that carried with all her essentials, a couple of books, a notepad, and her MacAir. Tousled the rough blue-black thatch. Slipped on the over-sized sunglasses; considered a hat, which she stuffed into the bag. And stepped into the world.

She let herself in. Perri was in the back, working. Sydd's 'work' area was a table with a view—'musing' was okay—even good.... On it were a new folder, and a small but bulky, tough cloud milky-white Styrofoam envelope. Sydd went to the folder.

First a quick skim—protocol: familiarize herself with the content. Then, a much more analytical read and the first line of detailed memorization: 'Mr. Casanova'....

The first gleaning-knowing she'd come back to this time and again—she pushed it away and brought her attention to the small, bulky item on the table. Perri walked in as she slid a finger through the adhesive lip....

'You remember how to use one of those?'

In spite of its bulk, it was small, light, and deadly: in some circles—and in her case, appropriately, it would seem—called a 'Black Widow'. It was almost covered in the palm of her hand. A silencer, the size of a lipstick tube, slipped out next to it. Sydd looked up....

'Protocol...and protection....' Perri said softly. 'We'll have to figure out several ways to secure it—your thigh is obvious...but I have the feeling that anyone looking there will be expecting something of higher caliber,' she grinned. 'In any case, they'll know you're carrying. You're supposed to be a 'dangerous' wmn...or at least one who knows how to take care of herself....'

Sydd mused. 'Get me another, please. Just like this....' she hefted the pistol and sighted out the balcony door across the skyline....

***

Perri was gaining a new appreciation for her lover. She could see why she had risen so quickly in the Corps—as brief as that career had been....

They had just gotten in from the practice range, where—for a person who supposedly didn't have much use for guns ('not the most effective—or preferred—tool of intimidation')—Sydd again gave Perri something to think about. There was the old 'blindfold' disassemblage/assemblage routine; the then marksmanship from every possible vantage and disadvantage. And, of course, the fuckin' trick shots....

She loved the way Sydd handled the 'Widow'... 'How is it?' she queried....

'I like it—actually, if I were to 'love' a gun—I love it....probably because it fits the persona, more than anything else....'

'The 'persona'?', Perri cocked a brow....

Sydd just ran her hands through her rough blue-black naps, and then over her curves—faux or not—and grinned.

'Ahhhhh...,' Perri grinned back. 'Dangerous wmn,' she thought.

The small pistol nestled in the small of her back, she bent over her files.... 'Casanova...? We know anything other than these files?'

'Hmmmmmm.... He's a freak....can be something of a sadist. He's smart...and also impulsive and unpredictable. Ruthless—but you can see that in the files. And....

'And he loves wmn like you....'

Sydd's turn to arch a brow.... 'Really...?'

'Truly. Which is why you don't to even try to hide it. You don't need to be butch, but you need to maintain that edge you have to your femininity....'

'So, Sweetness, what is it exactly that we want from this man?'

Perri pursed her lips, paused. 'That's easy. Too easy, in fact. We just want him to say that he's the biggest fuckin' distributor in the region....'

'Ahhhhh, 'too easy', huh? So I'll need to be wearing more that this peashooter if you want a confession like that....'

'Nope,' Perri countered. I'd prefer you wear nothing at all. Modern technology will take care of the rest. You just need to make him sing, Darlin'. And you have a date with him in two days....'

Sydd glanced up from her worktable. 'That's with his man....'

'You misjudge the relationship. He'll be there. That was his 'scout'....' Perri smirks....

***

8

Thursday afternoon, Sydd fresh from a hot scented oil soak, creamed her skin, bending and flexing from the waist down in stilettos—knees locked to keep her tone. Always practicing in those heels....

Practice. The face was flawless. She had become expert with makeup—in part, because she wasn't afraid to play; to experiment....

Perri stepped into Sydd's peripheral vision, silhouetted in the afternoon sun.... 'You need more 'practice'....'

Sydd looked and caught the silhouette. Perri was naked in the shadow, the cut of her upturned breasts and stiff nipples clear...her muscled ass protruding over equally muscled thighs and calves, gliding into another pair of equally stunning stilettos....

But what really caught Sydd's attention was the huge protrusion jutting from her between her thighs. The strapon—like most things Perri—was specially crafted. It was a two-headed job meant to pleasure the woman who wore it as much as the one who received it. The end that Perri had so delicately inserted into herself was angled to not only hold, but to deliver its own measure of ecstasy when she rode whomever....it was held in place—firmly—by a set of leather straps that gave it a sense of elegance that enhanced its menace....it was huge....

Sydd caught her breath as she took it and then Perri in.... Before she could say anything, Perri had her against the wall; her mouth covering hers, hand on Sydd's cock as she tongue-fucked her....

Sydd moaned just the way Perri wanted her to—just as she hoped she would—like a little bitch....a little bitch in heat....

Perri slapped her ass hard—the report rang through the flat. Sydd moaned even louder, grinding her hips against Perri's thigh, forcing her cock deeper into Perri's fist....

Perri's hands were all over her body.... 'Good, Bitch....' She whispered hotly.... 'You do need 'practice', don't you...?' biting Sydd's bottom lip....another moan was all Sydd could manage.

'Practice....' Perri whispered as she pushed Sydd to her knees. 'Just what do you think he'll do to you...huh? You think he'll just want to 'hold hands'?... gently slapping Sydd's cheeks with the big rubber cock...

Rubbing her dick against those full, plush red-lacquered lips.... 'What do you think he'll want, Babi, after he gets a look at you? Mmmmmmm....' Perri's breath becoming more ragged now....

'Mmmmmmm.... He'll want to fuck this pretty fuckin' face...'

With that she forced the head of her rubber cock through Sydd's swollen, puckered lips....Perri's knees trembling....

'Oooooo....' She moaned. 'Yessssss... he'll want to fuck my babi's mouth....' Her hips began a slow, deliberate rock, feeding the pretty face she'd created...