I-Beam and Diamonds

I take the handle in my fist – that cold, rough chrome feeling; metal on the verge of rust – and lift the brief case from the grate. Beyond all this steel surrounding me are towers of glowing, hazy lights. The roar of the city is immense, but it is all together far away. It is the collection of sirens, horns, whistles, and screams all tossed into the rushing wind. There is about three hundred million dollars worth of diamonds in this case; giant unpolished stones. The thing is heavy – heavier than I ever dreamed it would be. It's not too heavy. It's just fucking right.

I turn to the elevator. Locks of my long red hair beat around in my face in a rage with the gusts. At this high altitude, one's nose might bleed. Mine might bleed because of how rich I'd be once I brought these stones back to Crown Jewel. I can't even hear my own foot steps. Huge crates full of supplies are all over the place, sitting between the I-beams on grates. The elevator seems to get farther away the more I walk. I have such a wide smile on my face. Victory. Unbridled victory.

Finally, I get close enough to see that the big red cables are moving through the mesh of the screen. I stop dead in my tracks. Someone just had to come and check up on me. I know Dakota wouldn't miss out on this; so he had someone tapping our connections. I reach for the 9 mil' from its holster. I extend the silver firearm at the gate, waiting for the shrouded faces of who knows how many hit men to appear. The creaking metal of the elevator shaft gets louder. I'm shaking from the cold of the wind, and like an idiot, I forget to stash the case somewhere. Maybe I could drop it off. No, the edge is too far away.

There it is, the open box of the elevator. The men are all lined up in their suits, automatics drawn. I let loose, cracking shots through the mesh like a mad man. Sparks spray everywhere as each bullet pierces the screen. I hear a faint wail over the roar of the wind and the ring in my ears. Small shells bounce off the floor at my feet.

Suddenly, it's all still and silent. The red, grated walls of the elevator hide the blood well – it looks like someone splashed water all over it. Another sound emanates from inside. I fumble around in my coat for another clip, but still won't drop the God damn diamonds. A shotgun cocks nearby. I don't even look up; I just duck and cover my head, no time to bolt. Fuck, I am dead. I am fucking dead.

This little, feeble female hum mingles with the wind and I look up, eyes red and throat sore from all the gunpowder that just puffed into my face. There stands a tan-skinned woman wearing a slim business suit of some kind. There's bright red blood spattered against her chest around the swell of her breasts. The blood clashes with her Irish red hair. The mane is cropped, hanging about her shoulders and short about her face. Her navy skirt runs to a place just above her knees. In her hands is a 20-gauge shot gun, pointed right at me. I panic, staring at this beautiful assassin. She has a sleek face. Her smooth cheeks, chin and brow all go great with her full crimson lips. She's smiling at me, one of her thin eyebrows at an arch.

"You had me scared for a moment." She mocks in that pitiful, high pitched voice. The resonance of her voice is that of a sixteen-year-old, yet from the look of her, she's easily twenty-five. Huh. For her attire and her gun, I would right away guess a deeper, more demanding one. She wobbles the gun, gesturing for me to stand up. I do.

"You got blood on my suit." She mentions casually.

"That's your second problem." I reply.

"The first being?"

"You forgot to share."

Her smile grows a little and she glances at the briefcase through her sexy, oval glasses. They're almost invisible. I just now notice them sitting lightly on the bridge of her nose. She talks again. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Three hundred or more, honey" I remark.

"Mmm. That's a lot. But I suppose you beat me to it."

My upper lip arches. "Don't fuck around. Tell me Dakota didn't buy you over when I was away."

She steps toward me, her high-heels somehow not impairing her movement over the steel grate any. That's skill. Her gun is aimed right at my chest. Her features get a little more discernable. This vixen is astounding. My kind of girl. Her lips part sensually.

"I wasn't instructed to take these diamonds, dad", she whispers, though I can hear her above the wind now, "I was instructed to kill you."

"You're going to take them either way, dear. I know how much you like pretty things."

She bites her lower lip. "There are men at the bottom waiting. Dakota's men. Your body falls off. When they find it, they will know I'm done, and when I come down unarmed, and without the case, they let me go."

I smirk. I knew this would be the day I would die. I knew she would kill me eventually too. Not like this though, but I always told myself 'Crow, your daughter is going to kill you'.

"Throw me off, huh?" I say, "Inventive. Why won't they let you get the case?"

"If I go down with it, they'll shoot me to death. Dakota doesn't like me very much."

She touched the end of the barrel of her gun against my sternum, a coy smile on her face.

I run my tongue behind my lower lip. "Couldn't quite get him to bed, could you?"

Her smile seemed to grow a little. "Dad, that's mean. Dakota doesn't like me because I work for Crown Jewel, just like you."

Did I hear her right? She's working for Crown Jewel? THE Crown Jewel? What the hell? I've know that old bastard for over twenty years. I knew my little girl would pick the right figures; but what the fuck did he want her to do again? My family friendly smile just wanes away.

"Oh, Grace baby", I murmur, "He wants you to succeed me or what?"

She reaches into a little pocket against that wide hip of hers, still smiling. From it, a little metal case emerges. I wouldn't dare try to sweep the gun from her. My hands are still a little tied up, and she has always been quick. I take a moment to look at the case. Holy shit – the second most valuable thing in the world. I gave that thing to Crown as a gift; it was originally from my dad. He gave it to her as proof. You have got to be fucking kidding me. My face twists with rage and disbelief.

"He said you'd know what this was", she says, "From the look of the fire in your eyes, I'd say you do."

"Why?" I exhale.

"He didn't think he could trust you lifting three hundred million dollars worth of diamonds; he knows how good you are. Dakota is afraid of you because of your knowledge. That's why he let me come up to get the job done. There are only so many ways down... you do the math."

I can't talk. My mouth is dry as a desert, and I feel ready to cry. She's my baby, but fuck. Crown getting her to do me in hurts. It hurts like ice. She keeps talking, "Business is business, dad. Crown will get the diamonds one way or another. Just to let you know, you haven't been replaced or anything. Not by me, that is. He chose me for a special purpose."

"And what is that?" I reply, my voice all raspy and vile.

She tilted her head toward an open part of the unfinished building. I look toward an outcropping where a single I-beam reaches out from the frame. It is a little longer than the others (why, I have no idea. I'm no good at engineering). I look back at her.

"Stand on it, or I'll not get elegant and just introduce your lungs to a pound of buck-shot", she threatens calmly. I turn, case still in hand, and walk to the beam. The fuckin' case feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. I don't even want to hold it anymore. I should have guessed that this would happen, what with Crown putting the drop way up here. It made sense at first, and I would never question him. God damn it all. God damn that old fuck.

The wind is ruthless. I finally get to the beam, not after she tells me to drop the case. After a bit more of her eerily calm threats, I drop it. It hits the beaded metal floor like a trash can lid. The beam itself reaches out from the platform about five feet. There are others, about ten yards away on each side, extending all the way to the corner of the buildings. So this is it then. A long free fall to some dusty unopened grave at the bottom. She prods my back with the gun. The beam is only about a foot and a half wide, but I keep my balance. The height is daunting. As I look down along the edge of this sharp frame of a structure, I see a dull collage of hazy scaffolding, machines, and fuckloads of empty air, cold and ready for freefalling gangsters. It's an express lane straight to hell from a seventy-second floor.

"Turn around." I hear from behind me. I obey and stare at her with embittered, loving eyes.

She kicks her high heels off. I watch her closely, but my mind seems distant. On the brink of death, one doesn't comprehend quickly enough. Finally the action registers.

"Making your ankles hurt?" I ask, staring at her silky little toes. She just smiles back at me, her regal green eyes and cannon aimed at me. She slowly balanced out on the beam, closing the space between us. Oh honey, what's this shit all about? She turns around slowly and bends over carefully. Her ass touches up against my groin and I recoil little, only to find myself swinging my arms for balance. Fuck! The wind dies down, and now this? I hiss out this little breath of desperate air that I hope will catch me and lift me onto solid ground. My lungs empty out.

"Go ahead and apply pressure with your hips" she suggests, "squirm too much and I'll heave us both off".

Her cheeks rub up enough to nudge me off, so I push back against her to keep my balance. I don't feel much. I have no idea what she is doing. This is insane, she's stroking me with her ass at this height. What could she be thinking? She applies more force, as if to trust me pressing. If I stop at any moment, she'll back us both up off this thing. Nnh, she's rubbing it up and down now. I can't fucking believe this. I ain't gonna die, but for fuck's sake, I'm not gonna let my little girl die either. I stare up the length of her back to where her shoulder blades are popping up. She must have her hands against her knees and her elbows locked. Where's the gun? Who fucking cares, I couldn't get to it anyway. I push harder to combat her. She keeps going harder, stroking nice and slow.

She's been pressing hard enough to stroke my cock for a while. I feel it getting pudgy, blood racing about my body. Oh shit. I can feel my heart burning up, trying to provide my brain with the adrenaline of being on the edge as well as provide my dick with blood. The bigger I get, the more I feel her. This must be the mile-high sex rush. She breathes quietly, looking back at me from time to time with that I-am-just-doing-my-professional-job look on her face. I try to control myself, arms at my side, hands in fists. My back hunches a little, shivers running up and down my back every time I look into those two little eyes, those two glossy pink lips tugged into some machine smile.

She's so good; I didn't teach her this shit. She releases pressure slowly until pulling that soft, gorgeous ass away from my pelvis. It's throbbing now, and she must be able to see it. I took pride in my thirteen inches of sex-organ once, just like my late wife did. She turns around gracefully and unbuttons her blood-stained blouse, one layer at a time. I can't believe what I am seeing. She peels away the white undershirt to reveal a marvelous, lace, black bra tucked up tightly against two fantastic tits. The bra is skin thin and skin tight – she has to be a heavy C, or even D. All the clothes seem to float off on the wind. My god damn masterpiece; just a moment ago, I had contempt, and now I feel nothing but pride.

She tip toes up to me, all funky and hot in this high altitude wind. "Put your hands on my hips, dad" she orders. Like a little timid child, I do, fingers on fire. This person will always be my child, even when three hundred million dollars in diamonds falls between us.

She started talking to me again, like I wasn't even touching her so intimately.

"Dad, I wish I'd known you better. When mom died and everything, it was like I lost some goals. I feel like I kinda did a flip, you know?" she said all this, the tops of each breast pressing against my chest. I pressed back so that I wouldn't get toppled off the edge.

"It was like the gravity switched. Every time you'd come home smelling like smoke and gold, I'd want more. All that money I could never earn. I wanted to fill in for mom. All the jewels in the world couldn't buy her back, but here she is, all wrapped up and ready" she added, just making heat, her body stroking me. Grace, my baby – you've snapped, but I'm not going to complain out loud yet. Suddenly, I'm not even afraid of death.

I look down into her eyes, through those two glass lenses. She steps away and thumbs the zipper on her skirt down until the fabric just floats away to her ankles. Bare, smooth, and hairless, a lovely tan birthday suit, pardon the black bra. God, my girl is pretty. All the way through school, she'd come home and brag about how the boys would tease her or try to win her over. None of them got it, because she was saving for me. There's a fucking tear in my eye now. Everything behind her just blurs into nothing – all that crimson metal. Before I know it, she's carefully in front of me, freeing my bulge into this little warm bubble of air around us. All she wants is pressure, her body rocking forward. I feel the lips of her pussy just folding around the roof of my cock. Her thighs just pinch at the sides, and her body sways like there's music on the storm.

My face tightens, and I release down the back of her thighs, my dick's cap sticking out from the bottom of her two ass cheeks. Her back just arches a little, her body straightening out. She kisses around my neck, whispering.

"I want you to break my pussy, dad" she cooed, "crush it with your enormous, throbbing cock."

I imagined her telling this kind of shit to some hot shot rich guy she fell in love with while working. The thing is, she is telling this shit to a hot shot rich guy she fell in love with while working. I lean my head back, teeth bared as I keep shooting my stuff against the low of her ass and down to the crooks of her knees.

She backs up just enough so that my muscles can spring that long organ of mine up. It swips her lower belly, painting it with drops of my cum. She is itching for a fuck, my Grace. She turns around slowly, and my hands naturally find each hip. If she were a few years younger, I'd have died of shock just at the thought of her being out on this I-Beam. If I were a few years older, I'd be dying of shock just for having my cock an inch buried inside my daughter's smooth little pussy. She is like a storm of her own. Those big gray clouds floating above me are farther away than ever before. I have a good eight inches inside her. I'm pulsing like some kind of animal's heart on adrenaline. I'm pushing deeper because Grace won't stop leaning back into me. Soon enough, I'm buried to the hilt, holding her weight up with my pelvis. Shit. This is fucking amazing and fucking insane. She's like burning satin, and my worry falls off this I-Beam without me.

She moves away and then bucks into me hard. I nearly loose my balance, but I grab hold of her hourglass hips tight. She watches me over her shoulders, this demented little smirk on her face. "Six years of gymnastics, daddy" she boasts, "can you match me?"

I smile back but without the desired context, and start returning force. Our slaps don't cry out above the wind, my thirteen inches of steel basking in her heat. All the friction. I'm on my tip toes, leaning the last of my weight into her. Grace, you cocky bitch. Her smile gets wider, and I fight it. I fight my orgasm. She keeps pushing and pushing. God damn it Grace. My heart is racing. Not falling to my death versus pumping my own daughter full of cum.

I cough out in pure rapture. There's an ocean of cum spraying out of my dick into Grace's pussy, and I let go, sweat on my forehead. Wow. There's this traffic of air rushing against my back. The last thing I see is this I-beam reaching out from all the rest, rolling and rolling on the horizon, followed by this pattern of red lines. The sky is my pit. Everything behind me is just how I'm getting transported there. This is the post-orgasmic shock. Death up front, my golden lock pick. My testament to the quiet demise.

Damn was Grace a good last fuck.