Not too fast. Slow. Teasing. My thumb gathers the precum at the tip, running it along my swollen head, adding a hint of lubrication. It’s been too long since I’ve been with a woman, by my own choice. I don’t have room in my life for a girl, not even a fling. My job is too dangerous to drag someone into, even if I wanted that.
So instead, I stroke myself to a skin mag and groan as the stress keeps building in my gut. I have a big job tonight. Something important, and nothing can distract me, especially not this damn urge to fuck. To go to a club, find some hot piece of ass, and take her. Meaningless, useless, unfulfilling sex, but it’d be something.
I grip myself harder as I lean back on the couch, the tension travelling from my shoulders down to my back and into my belly. I force it lower, so that when I start jerking myself faster, I can rid myself of this fucking stress.
Gritting my teeth, my breathing speeds up, and I close my eyes. The centerfold doesn’t do much for me. Most women don’t.
So instead, I just focus on the feel of my hard cock, pulsing like mad in my hand. This is what life should be made of. Pleasure exploding in my brain as I get closer and closer to the edge.
And when finally I burst, my entire body empties. It’s not just my balls as they tighten and spurt their cream over my abs. It’s not just my mind that clears of its fog.
My entire body feels lighter for that perfect, pure moment of orgasm, and I’m ready to do my job tonight. There’s no room for error. There’s no fucking this up.
Tonight, I’m a killer.
The group of revelers spills out of the limousine. All but one are men, dressed in expensive tailored suits, ties mostly loosened. They look like they just came from Wall Street, pretentious and full of themselves and whatever perceived victory they’d just been celebrating.
Some of them hold bottles of ridiculously expensive booze, but it’s clear that a few of them are on something much harder, looking wired. But it’s the sole woman in the group that catches my attention once the others are tallied.
I hate excess casualties in my line of work. It’s an increased risk, and one I don’t care to take. The other men are all on my list, but this woman? A young blonde, in high heels and a red dress? She’s stumbling a bit but somehow managing to make it look gracefully natural. She’s had more intoxicants than she’s realized, I can tell. I’ve seen that vaguely confused look before.
By my reckoning, one of those shit heads has slipped her something extra into her drink before they head up to the penthouse for the real party.
All targets accounted for, and one extra person isn’t too much for me to handle, not even close. But there’s something about her, that bright smile upon her face, the twinkle in her eyes. She doesn’t strike me as the usual sort of drugged-up bimbo these sorts of guys haul back for their debauchery. There’s a spark to her.
I push her from my mind though. I have to, there’s no other option. Civilian casualties are sometimes an unavoidable thing. I’ve seen that firsthand more often than I care to remember.
It isn’t long before the group has all vanished into the posh hotel, their security detail trailing behind. They do a good job looking like part of the group, for what it’s worth, but there’s no way for them to match the drunken, drugged-up gait while doing their job effectively, so it’s easy to tell how many I have to deal with.
Six armed guards. I was expecting eight, but it seems two remain with the vehicle.
Now it’s my turn.
There’s no rush. My movements are casual. The last thing I ever want to do is stand out on a mission like this, so while I have plenty of time, I don’t hurry. I make my way around back, down into the subterranean parking lot.
I sight the two guards at the vehicle; one’s smoking, the other’s talking on a phone. They look casual too, but it’s a ruse. They’re alert and dangerous, like me. I stay far enough away that I never draw their eyes. My target is the door leading up.
Through the stairwell, I make my way to an employee’s only hall. The key card lock is easy enough to bypass, and I just move on through. It winds through a laundry room, but nobody pays me any mind. The hotel is far too bustling for me to stand out, dressed in a black sweater and pants. I look like just another employee coming on or off the job before getting into uniform.
I swipe an access card from some manager, too busy berating an employee to notice its loss. This is something I could’ve done earlier in preparation, but that would have ran the risk of it being noticed. And while I doubt it’d have affected the mission, you never know with people.
But me? I know I’d have no issue getting what I need when I need it.