Her warm, wet mouth starts enveloping the tip of my penis. Noor takes in another inch, and another inch until she is unable to fit anymore. She whimpers while trying, as if just the taste makes her go crazy. It's clear; she wants to get in even more of my dick. Noor's head bobs up and down. Her tongue begins to twirl around the nerves of my manhood, making my toes curl and my muscular legs take an even wider stance.
Noor delights in it as if she's a pro. Her mouth has yet to fully appeal to me, even though she's already taken in 5 inches. Half my dick is getting no attention. "Deeper, Noor."
Again she opens wider, becoming more vigorous as her mouth waters even more. She slides her mouth slowly up and down my cock, miraculously tasting more every time...6 inches. 7 … 9 … She's almost there as the rhythm increases and my moaning begins to match hers.
My release is hard, creating an explosion as cum mixes with Noor's saliva. Noor sucks every bit of my seed, and then licks my liquid from the tip of my cock.
"Mmmm." She dabs the tip of her plush lips with a manicured finger.
That was only round one. Three days later, while sitting in a gilded chair, I peer through the turquoise sheer drapery teasing the curves of her body. "Noor."
"Yes, Vic," she replies in this coy tone. My member swells with need. I know she's sleeping off the sex from an hour ago, but I must have her again. The door opens before I can command her. I'm not the least bit worried; the Sheikh knows nothing of this private place.
"Excuse me, madam." Burt the Butler enters, his penguin suit perfectly displayed. He's seen each and every one of my conquests naked. But noticing Noor's face, he scoffs. "Your majesty … Noor." He apologizes, and then quickly looks toward me with cold gray eyes.
Noor's golden cheeks flush with peach swirls as she places the covers over herself.
"Excuse us." I stand up. My hands move down into the black khaki's. I take one last look at her beautiful body before stepping out of the room with my butler.
He closes the door and we stand in the 24k gold wallpapered hallway. Burt's prudish eyes match mine, since we are of matching height. But he's at least 50 pounds lighter. Having known me all of my life, he reprimands me as only he can do. "I came to provide you with two propositions, but am I to believe that nuptials with Noor are in the question now?"
"Give me these propositions," I reply, not at all interested in Burt's latest bout of hysteria.
"If the Sheikh found out you slept with Noor, you'd be done. Victor, do you have a death wish? How would your mother..." Burt stops mid sentence. He clutches his chest with a white-gloved hand. "You are Victor Wesley Thomas D'Ross, Duke of Arlington. You're cognizant of your royalty. How dare you act so … so … beastly?"
"Easy. Noor begged for it."
"Are you off your trolley? Every day we've been here, Noor has been in drapes and linens," Burt scoffs. "How did you even know that what was underneath wasn't a boyish figure?"
"Negative." I lean against a gilded statue, cross my legs at the ankle and explain, "The telling is all in the eyes. You've just seen each and every curve. I'm sure anything the Sheikh could toss at me, wouldn't stop me from fucking Noor again. Besides, I didn't conquer any new territory; moreover, you saw Noor's body, she's the epitome of beauty!"
"Yes," he replies, baffled. Having been assigned to me for the duration of my life, I am now confident that I've weighed down the old man, as Burt forgets duty, instead adding, "A very voluptuous body nonetheless, but … "
"Tell me about these two propositions, Burt." I angle toward my goal.
"No. I refuse." He clutches a smart tablet to his chest; it consists of glass electronic invitations sent by mail. I had only just requested a new assignment, and am happy to have options, so I snatch it away. Burt huffs and provides the other before the fragile electronic can fall on the ground.
Two pages are open. I slide my fingers across, from one to the next. I'm unsure of which prize would hold my interest more over the ambidextrous Noor. Then I flip back and forth between my potential targets. For whatever reason, I expect to see a sign, some type of reason in their eyes. Though the reason is no concern of mine, the X-Member organization is pissed off enough to order their deaths. How could these seemingly simple men garner the attention of the X-Member, an underground, elite, and discrete assassination service?
"So I am to murder an English prophet or an American inventor? Hmmm … " I push the English prophet's profile away, his profile picture would warrant some form of retaliation. However, that would bring Burt and I closer than I wanted to be to home than I want to be; no matter how shady this Man of God appears to be, I'd rather play it safe. I'm veering toward the black inventor. The person requesting his assassination is anonymous. Doctor Jonah Whitson's profile photo doesn't strike me in any manner at all. I could murder him from two miles away with an Accuracy International sniper rifle. The inventor's location provides an abundance of prime opportunities. It would be quick too. So that in itself deters me. Too easy. Too quick. It all takes me closer to Arlington.
Burt tears through my thoughts with, "We aren't leaving Dubai until you propose marriage to the Sheikh – "
"Marry the Sheikh?" I joke, my attention still fully engulfed with each kill. But word choice with Burt is always amusing. Hmmm, I consider the timeframe of each - fly to the United States and expire the mark, and then back to London for the prophet.
"You know what I mean! Ask for his daughter's hand! We've just been gifted everything under the sun for the murder of one of his adversaries."
"That was nothing." The Arab that I murdered a few days ago was a simple mark. The Sheikh has more than just a strong-arm on the entire country, but murdering one's own family doesn't sit right by him. So I came in to smoke the financial advisor, who is also the Sheikh's brother-in-law.
"Our finances put us in a semi-reputable state," Burt begins making plans as if he's pitching the marriage idea to somebody who gives two fucks. An oil heiress, Princess Noor, and myself? We both have billions. So what? Their billions stymie the few that I have and then there's my hobby. My love for murder.
The Sheikh would offer his daughter as a possession. I have no need for a possession – with a heartbeat – in my field, unless I'm enjoying down time. That is after getting the business of being a royal Duke out of the way.
"Okay Burt The Butler, take it easy." I give a calming chuckle, finally putting the glass tablet on the statue's ledge beside me. "I'm not marrying Noor. America is best. What if this prophet is the real deal? Don't want to murder the Messiah," I joke, reading how many people the guy "saved" during Evangelism. After murdering the American, another assignment might come in, one that whisks us opposite of Europe. I can live on the move.
My royal duties can be handled via phone conference. I can stop in once a month for the D'Ross Enterprise business meetings.
"There's nothing funny about this mess you've gotten yourself into, Victor. Of all your hobbies and vices, this is the only one that you pursue on a daily basis. God forbid you seek a new hobby? Those fencing courses at age 4 only made you worse as a child." Burt pauses briefly, then continues to babble, "And now you are murdering people for the cost of gassing up your private jet."
"We'll ride first class." I pat his shoulder. "Good idea?"
"Commercial? Good idea, eh?" Burt is stumped. He's the only one I allow to make a debate and even now knows his limitations as he decides to keep mum, since I'm not to be persuaded.
"Let's enjoy a few beach blonds, or how about music video vixens? Burt, you choose. Then I can murder Dr. Whitson and we will head home for a while." At the mention of my palace in Arlington, Burt is momentarily placated. I quickly accept the American assignment, press the button for self-destruct and allow the smart tablet to fall into one of the magenta, blue and gold clay pots in the hallway.
POOF. The sound resonates against the walls as Burt mumbles about retirement. Not at all worried about his usual tactic, I retreat to the room that I've been sharing with Noor this past weekend.
She's comfortable and naked again, eating green grapes. "Vic," she flirts. I recall how I had placed a grape into her pussy, taken it out and made her eat it. I'd even made her tell me just how good it tasted, enticing me to eat her out. Noor had yet to convince me to reciprocate. I consider giving her one more chance, but America is calling and I've only ever been there for Vegas.