Realtor Revenge Pt. 10

Realtor Revenge is the sequel to Real Estate Games. For the full experience, I suggest you start with Part 1 of Real Estate Games.

***

Realtor Revenge

Chapter 10

I never did find out where Mark Seiman slept, or if he slept. For all I knew, the only time he used a bed was to pleasure women and spent the rest of his nights dreaming up new and different ways to make my life a living hell. So, my plan to murder him in his sleep wasn't going to happen. I'd have to find an alternate location.

Most of our business was done in other people's houses... those he was buying and selling... quite often with his or somebody else's dick buried deep in one of my holes. So, due to the ever-present witnesses, killing him in somebody's house was also not going to work. But once the real estate transactions were done, once we finalized the deal with the Russians, we did our business in his office.

Yes, he had an office. It was in the downtown area one block off main street. The previous tenant was a therapist who left town when most of her clients deserted Merryville for greener pastures. Not that the folks left in town didn't need therapy, but those that remained couldn't afford her prices.

That's where I would do it. That's where I would kill Mr. Mark Seiman. In his office. After hours. When nobody else was in the building. I would have to do it soon. Because once we ran out of documents to sign, I would no longer be useful to him... and I knew what happened to those who no longer served his purposes.

Having decided on the where and when, all that remained was the how. How would I end the life of the man who had caused me so much emotional and physical pain? As I lay in bed at night, unable to sleep because the ghost of Janis Moorehead wouldn't let me, I came up with numerous ideas. But, as much as I wanted the man to suffer, I thought it best to consult with a murder expert before finalizing my plan.

Officer Flanagan and I had this discussion the day after I forced him to take me to Janis' grave to confirm, yet again, that she was surely dead. He was still a bit miffed about our repeated visits to the scene of our crime, so I properly set the mood before introducing my next little project.

I invited him to my house for dinner. The evening started with cocktails, a delicious meal (that I had catered), after dinner drinks and then progressed to my bedroom... where we went through the standard preambles for a meaningful conservation. He slowly removed my clothes and then I helped him with his. I let him molest my boobs with both his fingers and mouth and then I hummed him a happy tune as he slipped his cock halfway down my throat. But I didn't let him come, at least not yet. Because I had to ask a favor of him, which would have been impossible when my tonsils were tangoing with his torpedo.

I've always found men more receptive to an idea when their cock is sheathed in something warm and wet. So, once he appeared ready to hear what I had to say, I laid him on his back, mounted his well lubricated erection and slowly massaged his cock with my talented kegel muscles. Only then, when I had his complete attention, did I say...

"I want you to help me kill Mark Seiman."

He nodded in agreement as his hands reached up to my breasts.

"I want him to suffer," I added.

"Tell me," he said as he pinched my nipples so hard it hurt. "Tell me what you have in mind."

"First off, it has to be slow..."

I continued to ride his cock as we explored several ways to torture the man who deserved to die a thousand deaths. My initial plan involved separating him from his genitalia, tying him to a tree and letting wild animals devour what was left. But Flanagan was a man with a vivid imagination. The more we talked and fucked, the hotter I got.

Just thinking about Mark chained prostrate in the sand as a rising tide slowly covered his head sent a wave of orgasms through my body.

The mental image of Mr. Seiman standing naked on a melting block of ice as a noose slowly tightened around his neck made me shiver in anticipation.

And when Flanagan suggested burning him at the stake and roasting marshmallows while we watched, my pussy heated to the flash point before squeezing his over baked cock into a steamy, simultaneous swap of bodily fluids.

"Are we done?" my faithful public servant asked as we both collapsed in gleeful post coital bliss.

"Are we done fucking?"

"And fantasizing," he said. "Because if we are, and if you really want my help killing Mr. Seiman, then it's time to listen to reason.

"We're not going to cut his nuts off and hope a stray bear decides it needs a snack.

"We're not going to kidnap him, drive ten hours across three state lines to a beach and wait for an incoming tide.

"And can you imagine how fast the Forestry Service will respond to a fire in the woods? Burning at the stake is definitely out."

"So, what do you recommend?" I asked.

"We're going to do this the old-fashioned way. A bullet through the heart."

Wow. Talk about a buzz kill. I just gave the man the best sex he could never get from any other woman and now he gets all serious on me. He's right, of course. But at least let a girl dream.

"Fine. We'll do it your way," I said. "As long as I get to pull the trigger."

"It would be much easier and safer if I took care of this."

"No. I do the shooting," I insisted. "That's non-negotiable."

"Have you ever shot a gun before?" Flanagan asked.

"Yes, a few years ago. When I took a self-defense course."

"And how did you do? Did you consistently hit the target?"

"The instructor said that hitting the target wasn't near as important as looking like I knew what I was doing. Just seeing a woman pull a gun out of her purse was usually enough to make an attacker run."

"In other words, you're a lousy shot. We don't want Seiman to run away. We want him dead. Which means you have to aim the gun and pull the trigger."

"You don't think I can do it?"

"There is no doubt in my mind you can pull the trigger. It's the aiming part that's got me worried. You'll only get one chance. You miss with the first shot and the next round out of the gun will be up your snatch."

"After everything that man's done to me, I'll take the chance."

"Hey, I understand you don't like the guy, but don't let your emotions get in the way of success. If you fuck this up, I'm out of a job."

***

The next day, Flanagan took me to a makeshift shooting range out in the boondocks where we quickly confirmed his suspicions that I was a lousy shot. Even when I was less than a yard from the target, I still missed over half the time.

He spent what I thought an inordinate amount of time showing me how to properly line up the sights of a pistol. I didn't see the need for him to stand so close that I could feel his erection pushing against my ass. And when his hands weren't guiding my arms into the proper shooting position, did they really need to linger on my boobs?

"Don't get fancy," he said. "Don't try to shoot him in the head. Aim for his chest, the widest part of his body. That way if you're slightly off target, you'll still hit something."

Despite my doubts about Flanagan's instructional techniques, after three intense practice sessions, spaced over as many days, I was able to put nearly all of my bullets into the paper outline of a man's torso, as long as I was no more than ten feet from the target.

I was ready to take my revenge.

***

I asked Mark to meet me in his office at 8:00 the next evening, telling him I had some last-minute papers for him to sign and hinting there would be an intimate late-night dinner afterwards. As much as I would have liked to believe it was the promise of romance that lured him to his office at that hour, if the past few weeks were any indication, he was only interested in getting the business done.

This was a big event in my life. I planned to kill my first man and simultaneously secure my financial future. As with all momentous occasions, I dressed appropriately. My sleeveless shift plunged low in the front with two thin straps keeping it from falling off my shoulders. A ribbon like belt gathered the material around my waspish waist to accent my hour-glass figure. What remained fell seductively around my well-toned ass ending a few inches above the knee.

As I climbed the single flight of stairs to Mark's second floor office, the thrill of what I was about to do hardened my braless nipples and dampened my panty-less crotch. I walked through his door carrying a briefcase which held several real estate documents and a silenced .38 pistol. I closed the door behind me to find my target seated behind a large desk.

"My, you look good enough to eat," he said as he raped me with his eyes.

"I'm looking forward to it," I countered. "But business first."

I set the briefcase on his desk, opened it so only I could see the contents, and made a show of bending over to extract the documents. As expected, his attention was centered on my exposed breast flesh and not the papers I placed in front of him.

I walked around the desk, stood next to him and pressed an unrestrained boob against his arm as I pointed to where he should sign. From my new vantage point, the bulge in his trousers confirmed that my actions were having their desired effect. The knowledge that I would kill a man who, until the very last second, thought he was going to yet again take advantage of me, brought my state of arousal up another notch or two.

Once he had inked the paper, I gathered them up and returned to the other side of the desk.

"Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?" Mark asked suggestively as I returned the documents to the briefcase.

"No," I answered. "But, as a reward for all you have done to me this past month, I have a present for you."

This was it. The moment of truth. My heart pounded as I removed my belt and tossed it to the side Next, I reached up with crossed arms and simultaneously untied the two straps which held my dress to my shoulders. When my arms dropped, the shift immediately fell to the floor. The distraction worked. With his eyeballs glued to my boobs, he didn't notice me reaching back into the briefcase for the gun.

"Impressive," Mark said with an evil smile. "But how can you give me what I already own? Your body is already bought and paid for."

His words removed any iota of doubt I might have had. I extracted the pistol from its hiding place and took a single step backwards, just like Flanagan had taught me.

Mark's pupils dilated when I first pointed the weapon at his balls. The sweat dripping off his forehead sent a shiver of excitement that started in my gut, reached out to my extremities and settled in my now sopping puss.

"Tempting," I said. "But once this is done, I may want to cut them off to keep as a trophy."

Then I aimed directly at his heart and pulled the trigger.

BANG. The magnitude of the sound surprised me, as did the orgasm that racked me from head to toe.

BANG. I shot him again and was rewarded with yet another burst of sexual electricity.

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. I kept pulling the trigger and kept coming.

CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. Even when I ran out of bullets, just pulling the trigger... watching the chamber rotate, seeing the hammer retract, hearing the firing pin hit brass... the simple act of aiming and firing brought on wave after wave of pent-up release. Not the normal sexual response that comes from a good fucking. My orgasms that evening were on a much higher plane. They represented the peak of conquest... of taking on a hated foe and beating him at his own game.

I didn't stop until Mark's body slowly slumped onto his desk. Only then, when a pool of blood spilled onto the floor, did I break out of my trance and remember my escape plan. Which was dead nuts simple. Walk out the back door, get in my car, and drive home. Once I was gone, Flanagan would dispose of Mark and the murder weapon. Yeah, I was going to owe Flanagan big time.

With my briefcase in hand, I walked out the office door, down the stairs and was just about to exit the building when it occurred to me that I forgot something. My dress. Which was lying in the middle of floor. I went back into the office and, in doing so, had to take one last look at Mark Seiman.

Did I regret having taken a human life? Did I have mixed emotions, thinking that maybe Mark and I could have been more than business partners? Did I walk over and give him one last kiss to commemorate the few good times we had together?

Hell no. The lifeless man leaning over the bloody desk was nothing more than the most recent of a long line of men who thought they were better than me.

I slipped into my dress, left the office, and closed the door on another chapter of my life.

***

Reflections in the Night

I went to bed early that evening and slept soundly...

Until Flanagan walked into my bedroom just after midnight.

"It's done," he said. "I've buried the body, disposed of the gun and cleaned up the office... which was a terrible mess. Did you really have to shoot him six times?"

He stripped off his dirty clothes and left them piled in the corner. The hungry look in his eyes told me what he wanted. His seven inches of stiff man meat indicated when he wanted it.

"You really want to do this now?" I asked.

"That was our agreement. Any time. Any place."

He was referring to our business arrangement. In exchange for running my slightly illegal errands he got unlimited access to my body... a privilege he hadn't used as often as I first feared he might.

As tired as I was, there was no way I could refuse. You don't turn down a man who buried the body of someone you recently killed. So, I patted the bed next to me and motioned for him to join me.

"Not in the bed," he said. "There's a storm headed this way and I can't think of anything sexier than screwing you while I watch the lightning clouds roll in."

I could. If I put my mind to it, I could list a hundred better ways to spend the night than bent over a bay window, staring into the darkness while he did me doggy style. But this obviously wasn't about me.

He used his fingers to spread my lower lips and then his tongue to moisten the orifice. Knowing what would soon follow, I sent my mind back to the events of a few hours earlier... remembering the sexual rush that came from dispatching Mark Seiman. And then, when Flanagan thrust his hardened cock into my barely prepared pussy, I imagined Flanagan on the receiving end of the six bullets and soon was sufficiently lubricated to endure what was sure to be a rough and thorough fucking.

The total darkness of the overcast night, combined with the light coming from my bedroom, turned the window into a passable mirror. With the reflective pane of glass not six inches from my face, I watched as my free hanging boobs reacted to each of Flanagan's pelvic thrusts.

He started with deep, slow stabs which made my breast flesh ripple, starting at my chest and flowing down to my nipples. As his pace increased, my boobs swung in rhythm, swaying forward on an inward thrust and aft as he retracted. At some point, his dick and my tits got out of phase. When his cock bottomed on my cervix, my tits slammed against my belly. And when he withdrew for another go, my nipples grazed my neck.

Yes, it was painful. A woman's breasts, especially those as large as mine, were not meant to be treated so roughly. Yet, at the same time, I didn't want him to stop. Because not only could I see my dancing tits reflected in the window, I could also see Flanagan's face. He had the intense look of a man who was hooked. Like a drug addict with his fix. He would do anything I asked for the privilege of fucking me. And more importantly, do it again. And again. And again.

So, I let him continue. I let the pain feed into my pleasure. The pleasure of knowing the truth.

Like a voyeur, I watched the couple fucking in the window in front of me. The powerful man held the weak woman by the hips as he forcibly had his way with her. But the woman's smile betrayed her. Despite appearances, she was in charge. She knew she was trading ten minutes of discomfort for years of his faithful servitude.

After tonight, I would own Officer Flanagan. My mind knew it and my body reacted. My hips surged back as his dick thrust forward. My cunt contracted, massaging every inch of his length. My throat moaned so that his ears would know.

I am about to come. And so are you. You will seed my womb while I scream in ecstasy. You will feel like a God, but only when you're inside of me. After tonight, you will do whatever I ask.

We were close. Oh, so close. As if providence smiled upon us, the promised storm arrived. A bolt of lightning illuminated the night sky and I screamed...

... but not in delight. Not from a mind-blowing sexual peak. Not from the joy of capturing Flanagan's mortal soul.

When the lightning flashed, the window was no longer a mirror. It was momentarily transparent... giving me a split-second look at the couple on the other side of the window... which caused me to cry out in terror.

Impossible.

I instinctively drew back, only to get impaled on the cock behind me. I tried to raise up, but Flanagan's grip was too strong.

A second flash of lightning confirmed what I hoped wasn't there. Not four feet in front of me, a tall handsome man was fucking a blonde beauty. Just like Flanagan, he held her by the hips while taking her from behind. Just like me, her melon sized boobs swayed in response to his offerings.

Thunder roared, as if the devil was yelling directly into my ears. Sheets of lightning spread across the horizon lighting up my back yard like the sky was on fire.

They were still there, fucking like there was no tomorrow. He moved at an almost superhuman speed and she matched his every thrust.

One last brilliant stroke of lightning brought them both to climax. He powered forward and froze. Her back arched against him as her eyes gleamed. They both shivered, as if the heavenly bolt had struck them, and then they disappeared. The night again turned black. Torrential rain made the window completely opaque and I couldn't see an inch outside the house.

"Son of a bitch," Flanagan said. "I've never made a woman scream before. That was awesome."

"You didn't see them?" I asked.

"See who?"

"The people outside. That's why I screamed."

"Bull shit. You screamed because I gave you the best orgasm of your life. I told you. Thunderstorm sex is the best there is. And we timed it perfect."

"You really didn't see them?"

"Who?"

"Mark Seiman and Janis Moorehead. They were right outside the window."

"Okay. I'll bite," he said, like I was joking. "What were they doing outside your bedroom window?"

"Same as us. Screwing. Not four feet away from us. I'm not kidding. They were there."

"That's impossible. Dead people don't have sex... at least not on earth."

"Prove it. Show me the bodies. Right now."

"Listen Raven, I don't know what kind of guilt trip you've got going inside your head, but I am not digging up two dead bodies in the middle of the night during a thunderstorm."

"Fine. We'll do it first thing in the morning."

***

Realtor Revenge

The thunderstorms only lasted a half hour. However, Flanagan's snoring started five minutes after I agreed to let him spend the night and didn't stop until I woke him at dawn the next morning. Not that it mattered. It wasn't the blustery weather or snoring cop that kept me awake. There was something radically wrong in Raven world and my mind wouldn't rest until I figured it out.

Flanagan was right. There was no way in hell I saw Mark and Janis fucking outside my window. What I thought was them had to have been our reflection. Sure, the woman in the window looked like a blonde, but only when the lightning flashed. Probably some sort of optical illusion.