Ghost Stories

'Cmon, Babi...cmon....show Mami that you can make him 'sing' for you....I'm gonna make YOU 'sing' for me....Mmmmmmm, Bitch.....Oooo, fuuuuuck.....that's it...That's it!'

Involuntarily...instinctively...Sydd grabbed the cheeks of Perri's ass and pulled all that pumping plastic into her throat, twisting and torquing her head all over it. The special design of the dildo worked Perri's cunt and attacked her clit as she fucked Sydd's face. Sydd's enthusiasm only intensified the sensations....

Perri's turn to whine and she plunged deeper down Sydd's throat causing her to gag. The spasm created a backwash of thick creamy spit that draped from Sydd's lip and chin to the tip of the huge strapon like a chain of sugary confection...

Sydd caught her breath and lunged back onto to the cock fiercely, pushing it deeper up Perri's pussy, jamming it against Perri's clit. Perri felt sparks. Saw stars, and knew that her earth was about to quake when Sydd forced two fingers up her asshole as she face-fucked that fake cock....

Perri's knees buckled. A squeal wheezed from deep in her chest. She slid to the floor, popping the cock from Sydd's lush lips; spraying her with a thick concoction of faux cum—simply the spit that Sydd had creamed through her own monumental efforts. Sydd's face and chest looked as if she had just 'won' a bukkake lottery.

'Ooooo fuuuuuck, grl,' Perri moaned. 'If that muthafuka messes with this mouth, he'll tell us everything and anything....Lemme catch my breath, Babi...'

Sydd grinned, took a towel and wiped the spittle from her face then stood to redo her makeup...

***

As she stood at mirror leaning over the sink, Perri came up behind her, rested the thick, long plastic in the crack of her ass, gently forcing her cheeks apart...she had 're-oiled' it—spit and lube merging into a creamed slickness warmed by the friction of her fist... She pushed and Sydd grunted....

'You know he won't stop with your mouth.... You gonna give him this...?'

Sydd's mouth was contorted into a silent 'O'...it was as if the cock up her ass had come through her mouth and replaced her tongue. She had never experienced a dick so big in all her life...

'Mmmmmm...you like this don't you? You love it! You're a little, fuckin cock-slut.' Perri pushed deeper into Sydd's bowels and reached round to take her already hard cock...

'See? I told you. Slut. You love it. Why else would you be as big and as hard as the cock I've got up your ass?... Mmmmmm, just thinking about him fucking you makes me hot....'

Sydd dropped her head into the basin of the dry sink, the extension raising her hips and inadvertently allowing more of Perri's cock even deeper up her asshole. She found her voice as all that thick, long hardness hit bottom, knocking the wind from her lungs. It came as a long, low keening at first, that rose to a higher pitched whine, punctuated by the deep, slow staccato of Perri's thrust....

'I would want my bitch to feel every inch of my cock...to be able to count them off as I fed her ass...can you count the inches for me, Babi?'

Perri pulled back to the entrance of Sydd's rosebud and then slowly and deliberately inched back in, counting methodically: 'One. Two. Three....'until she got to twelve.... Then, as Perri began to rock in her gut deeper than she ever thought possible, Sydd wasn't quite sure if she was seeing stars or not—wasn't quite sure she was 'seeing'—flashes simply dancing and bouncing off her clenched eyelids like lightning bolts....

When she did finally raise her head to catch her reflection in the sink's mirror she could hardly believe what she saw—who she saw. The rawness of pleasure in her expression—the pure ecstasy—made her cum in the basin; her scream rattling all the glass in the flat....

Perri pulled her hand from between Sydd's legs and licked the palm.... 'Mmmmmm....you ARE a dangerous bitch....you make me wish I had a real cock.'

***

9

Friday night.

The table was even better. Further out on the terrace, thirty-two stories above traffic—and maybe the world—an urban vista of spires, treetops, and penthouses, all meticulously spaced....somewhere in the far off distance, water and maybe another country?...

They had been there a bit before the martinis arrived. The 'calling card'—expected, but they feigned surprise and delight. They were on the clock now. Perri knew there was nothing she could do from here on....nothing she needed to say...she was with a professional—in fact, her most important objective other than the completion of the mission, was observation. She was to look, listen, and learn—from Sydian. She needed to be able to clearly assess the capabilities of her recruit.

Number Two glided up to their table, all feline grace and power—in some ways a mirror of Sydd, though he couldn't have known it. The greeting was polite—even decorous.... She still couldn't make the accent—she only knew that he had been in too many spaces—and possibly knew too many languages... and maybe even things....so, the key with him—and his boss—was to always speak plainly and to speak the truth. 'Sometimes,' she thought, 'truth obfuscates....'

He kissed Perri's hand, then looked at Sydd quizzically... 'I hardly recognized you....You are breath-taking....'

'Breath-taking....' Perri held her breath on this one, literally. She waited to see how Sydd would re-direct.

Sydd had decided to take charge that evening, before they arrived. As part of her prep at 'disarming' their would-be hosts, she had given herself a new look....

***

The barber had cut the free-range wool that had covered her head down to a buzz. The close-cropped naps had then been frosted the color of winter wheat. At the time, neither Sydd nor anyone else figured that this would be her signature cut—the tight burr of her bleached head sitting above that obsidian face was quite arresting—and that was only the start....

Sydd told Perri that everything tonight would be decided on 'mood' and 'misdirection'. Perri had raised her eyebrow at this as Sydd prepared herself. The hair was followed by make-up—the 'mood'—'bronzes' and 'golds' around the eyes and cheekbones; the chin and jaw-line. All done expertly; all designed to enhance the bronze-gold, armless, linen and spandex shift, that was so short that any woman would have had to practice the act of sitting in it with great deliberation....over this mini she wore an almost floor-length, gold-bronze linen duster.

Her footwear—playing on the brevity of her hemline—was a pair of butter-colored, butter-soft, thigh boots with a 3 ½ to 4 inch heel...the sweep from the heel to her head brought the eye back to the two things that made Sydian Black a 'stunner' tonight—and that term should be taken in all of it's possible permutations. Aside from jewelry that was flawless from earlobe to neckline to each finger joint, was first the mouth. Much, much more than a scarlet slash, it was a black wmn's mouth—a thick, lush pucker of carmine lacquer that had been applied by the hand of an artist in love with her 'model'/ 'subject'. If the eye was not brought immediately to those lips and their insinuating, and somewhat insulting 'promise', then it was it was locked by the most dangerous element of this 'unspeaking' ensemble: her eyes....

It was simple. Sydd had laid out the color-scheme. It had begun with her eyes—they were to set the night's 'mood'—they dictated everything else. The lenses she had selected were a coppery-gold that not only complimented, but directed everything else she wore, yet forced whoever was in her space to concentrate on her face—eyes and mouth. The 'mood' was lightness, even frivolity—play. Mischief.

The 'mood' was 'misdirection'....Mischief—mayhem, if need be....they were on the clock....

Perri could only stare—surreptitiously—in awe.

One last thing: the boot. An absolutely beautiful piece of work. Superb craftsmanship—full, and ample—particularly in the ankle....a wonderful space for a 'widow-maker'....

***

So, there was no wonder that Casanova's pimp—that is what he was, to be sure—hadn't recognized her....and, no wonder that her look had the desired effect—at least on him. A sidelong glance to Perri said it was quite effective; she could hardly contain herself....

'You...you... you are exquisite..., he stammered....

Sydd breathed out a deep, airy , musky 'thank you', as he kissed her hand in turn.

'There is someone I want you to meet—both of you..., he said, glancing back to Perri....

'Of course,' Perri intoned as he pulled back both their seats and glanced in the direction of a booth situated across the room. It was ensconced in a secluded corner, yet commanded the most magnificent view in the restaurant....

He took them both in tow—one hand in each of his as if they were about to dance the minuet—and led them across the room. One had to wonder if any of the 'regulars' were there from the previous night—Perri and Sydd managed to create another stir: all this black beauty gliding the length of the restaurant on the hands of a bronzed god that many would have killed—maybe not—to be in the company of....

***

Sydd had focused on him from the moment she had entered the restaurant. She and Perri both knew he would be there—Perri knew their man.... Here, was a type of 'training'—military or otherwise—that became 'targeting' in sense. She had locked in on him and picked up as much information as possible from her entrance to her introduction....

'Mr. Casanova,' Number Two purred, 'this is...'

Perri pre-empted him: 'Perri Roddgers....' offering a hand....

Sydd was short, curt and provocatively husky: 'Ms. Black....' Emphatic emphasis on the 'Mizzzzz....'

Again, Perri had to laugh internally, and wonder: 'What the fuck...?' But, she was clear on one thing, from this point, 'Ms. Black' was in charge—in fact, she realized that Sydd had been in charge from the moment they walked out the door of the flat. Another persona has emerged....

Casanova—Casanova, the rather pale, porcine, thinning haired, toilet-watered Casanova—was amused, then possibly thrown off guard as Sydd began her greetings. 'Bonsoir,' 'Buenos noches,' 'Bueno sera,' 'Guten aben,' 'Nine hau,' 'Khafil....' She stopped when his face blanked over; laughed, and then said simply and smoothly, with a verbal liquid fluidness that approximated her stroking his cock without ever touching it; offering her hand, 'Good evening, M. Casanova, and thank you for the invitation....' This time, it was Sydd who had the accent that couldn't be placed....

Casanova shifted uncomfortably in the booth as she flowed in beside him...primarily because she had made his cock hard in that brief interchange....matters were exacerbated as Perri slid in on the other side of him and Number Two closed the geometry by settling next to her, but giving himself full eye-contact with Sydd. Sydd gathered he was to be her 'watcher' for the evening—in more ways than one....

***

10

'Information....information', this was all about information Sydd told herself. She recited this over and again; it was her silent mantra.... They wanted Casanova to talk. What better way to get him to than to let him know that they knew all about him?

'So, Ms. Black,' Casanova's joke now—Sydd was about to realize that even a thug could be engaging.... 'Tell me a bit about yourself....'

Sydd smiled. Pursed those richly lacquered lips, sure that what might be perceived as 'bee-stung' were actually the implements of a wasp—a black wasp... 'misdirection....'

'Hmmmmm, M.Casanova... I think that the first thing you should know is that I'm a dangerous wmn....' Her laugh was soft and deep. He laughed too and shifted in his seat again as she lightly placed her hand on his thigh. 'A bit more dangerous than her...,'nodding to Perri. 'Though, I have see her wreak havoc as well—in fact, I've abetted it....' The grin was a thousand candles as she squeezed the thigh and realized that the engorgement was a 'hog's girth' as well—the rumors might well be true about Casanova....

'Dangerous...? Casanova seemed amused....

'In several ways...yes,' Sydd went on. 'My 'cousin' and I are 'contractors', M. Casanova.... Our 'services' go to the highest bidder....' With that, she discretely took Casanova's hand and placed it in her lap—the hem of her dress had long since ridden up over her hips. The bulge in her thong was unmistakable. Casanova's eyes said so; so did the involuntary flicker of his tongue over his lips.... At the same time, Sydd was 'reading' the 'watcher'—it seemed he squirmed just a bit as well....

Perri had decided to go with the flow. The difference between life and death here; safety and mayhem, was improvisation—and close, close attention to detail. She let Sydd lead....

'So, M. Casanova,' Sydd continued, pushing the knot in her thong into the hot, damp cup of the palm of his hand.... 'I think, at some point, we'll need to talk 'business'....'

Casanova kneaded the knot. 'What sort of business, Ms. Black...?

'Any sort of business that might come to mind, M. Casanova.... As long as it's lucrative. We're highly versatile...aren't we, Perri...?'

Perri nodded. Sydd stared across the table at Number Two....

'A dangerous wmn, eh, Ms. Black?' Casanova mused.... 'Just how 'dangerous'...?

Sydd ground deeper into his palm, her erection straining against the confines of her thong. Just as deftly, she emptied the contents of her handbag onto the table, turning her head to him as she ran her tongue over her lips....

'Let's just say I'm 'packin'' in more ways than one....'

Sliding from her bag, amid her compact, brush, blush, lipstick and card-case, was the Black Widow....

'See...?' She said.... 'No need to hide it....' She squeezed the huge ridge of cock snaking down his thigh. 'Besides, there seems to be at least one or two more 'weapons' of higher caliber here....' She made sure that she caught the eye of Number Two as her words trailed off....

Casanova moaned, 'Indeed....' Looked to Perri, and smiled a soft, lecherous smile, and said 'Of course, we wouldn't think of excluding you from our tête-a-tête....' The meaning was clear as Sydd tried not to make eye contact with her. The equation had been altered. Perri was being 'observed' as well, though possibly not for the most obvious of reasons....

'Ladies,' he said, attempting to make it sound as if it were an 'afterthought'... 'what say we take our dinner in the penthouse? I can't imagine a much more spectacular view....' With that, he looked at Sydd, and winked....

***

'Calmness and power...calmness is power....' Sydd had begun her mantra as soon as they shifted from the booth and began the long walk across the restaurant's open space to the bank of elevators that would lift them to the penthouse level of the opposite tower....

Her silent recitation made the restaurant crowd oblivious...they faded into the background...became white noise as she concentrated on the task at hand and it's new permutations....Her internal chant was interspersed with one dictum which she depended on Perri to intercept and then act on: 'make him talk.' Her ploy here, was to get him to talk by forcing him to insert himself into the conversation and elsewhere—if need be....she would lead by centering attention on herself and seeing if they had his psychological profile right—was his ego as large and as needy as they thought? So, here was the test of her training-the 'psy ops' element of the black ops operative.... 'Make it work, grl...,' she told herself....

They waited the few seconds—what seemed to the two males, one guessed, an eternity—in silence. This was only punctured by the soft, yet crisp 'ding' of the elevator that was about to whisk them another incredible thirty stories above the rooftop restaurant that had afforded such a spectacular view. The silence was 'manufactured'.... Sydd and Perri needed Casanova and his second to believe that those moments at the elevator were simply the anxiety of 'female' nerves... 'female' nerves that require the 'steel' of alpha males.

***

As they rose from the table and Sydd had begun to scoop the clutter of her purse back into its confines. She stopped at the Black Widow and her eyes locked on Casanova and she said: 'You keep this....I feel secure....' He smiled...almost shyly....

Perri took her cue, sitting next to Number Two. Hiking what little there was of her skirt over gorgeous mahogany thighs, she placed her own Widow softly on the table...looked at him, her lashes fluttering, and said, 'A gift....' From men who most likely measured their prowess in Desert Eagle-size proportions, these 'ladies'' guns forced guffaws....

***

11

As the doors to the elevator glided close and they began a noiseless ascent, Sydd initiated the line of attack. Her opening was directed at Perri, marginalizing the men—most specifically, Casanova.

'This reminds me of Abu...the height...the view.' Looking out from the glass enclosed cocoon that took them up the outside of the building....

Perri: 'Hmmmmm...yeh, how did we get out of that one?' Then a giggle....

'Yeh. But we did. And that was a big pay day....'

In the background, arched eyebrows...internal mental patter....

***

The doors opened on the penthouse....

If Sydd had been anyone else—if she had been in any other frame of mind other than the ultra-focused one that now possessed her—she would have went slack-jawed at the sight of it all. Her mind did register: 'So... this is how they live....' The living room was nothing but glass, crystal, and mirror in all of its expanses. Where the rooftop space they had left was cityscape, the view here was clouds—that almost seemed touchable—and the ocean. It was a vista in which one imagined oneself nude from sunrise to sunset and sunset to sunrise—bathed in the ethereal, as it were.... It was breath-taking....

But, then she stepped into the space as if she owned it. Dropped her duster, and revealed more that her two male companions ever expected...though, functionally, she was still clothed.... It was her show, and she recognized it.... 'Calmness and power....'

There was an audible gulp—or at least Sydd thought so—as she shed the long garment and tossed it over the back of a long, custom-made Mies that was almost the exact same color as her outfit. 'This could get interesting,' she mused to herself, 'at least, aesthetically.' 'Use all available tools' she had been taught. She sprawled on the sofa like a very expensive, exquisite piece of erotica and anticipated Casanova's move....

He settled next to her, his thigh not far from her inclined head. Perri situated herself across from the two of them on an oval ottoman the size of a small sofa itself. Her position indicated not only her silent understanding that she was being observed, but also that she was both voyeur and exhibitionist in the two men's fantasy. That she might also be mayhem, and, perhaps murder, was a possibility they had seemed to dismiss—guns at the table, 'female' anxiety, yielding to alpha males—Perri and Sydd were just two bitches—two very kinky bitches. Number Two busied himself with drinks....

'So you've been to Abu...?'

And here was the opening....

Sydd shifted herself closer to the thigh, propped herself up on it as she accepted the tumbler of Glenfiddich. 'Abu?... You know it?'....

'O, very well,' he began....

She caught his eye working the length of her thigh-boot from the heel to her crotch...nonchalantly, she flexed the toe, working the arch and elongating her entire leg....for him, no doubt, it was a conduit of electric sensuality...she could feel the jolt she was giving as she lounged on his swollen thigh....

He cleared his throat.... 'So...' he began.... 'what were you doing in Abu?'

She leaned her head back...chin up, neck exposed....a line from the bottom of her full lip transgressing the hillocks that were her breasts with their peaked nipples struggling against thin linen, down to the flat plain of her belly, falling into the valley between her thighs—a place they both knew held a mound of delight...from there, the line traveled down her illusorily long leg to the toe of that exquisite boot.... She shifted on his thigh, his thick, pants-enclosed cock purposely caught in the hollow of her underarm—its heat and moisture radiating against it....