Choices: Between A Cock And A Hard Place

Shooting a man ain't like in the movies. Sure, the mechanical part's a cinch: cock, point, bang, done. But they don't show the emotional cost of taking a life. The endless replays. The blast. The recoil jolting me from wrist to shoulder. The way Brennan ragdolled back onto the motel bed, his blood smearing then pooling on the crumpled sheets we'd recently occupied.Doubt I'll ever forget the surprise. The finality etched on his face as the entry wound in his forehead bloomed. Frozen shock as he flopped to the sheets, my pink cum-stained panties looping his cock, sticking up from the fly of business pants like a pervert's ring toss.Between bouts of racing to the mold-ridden bathroom to throw up, I sat on the floor, my back to the bed, wondering what his last thought was just before the bullet bit into his brain. Each time the visions threatened to consume me, I placed the cold gun barrel to my temple. Trembled as I applied steady pressure to the trigger. Squeezed. Tighter. Then tugged it away.Sob.Puke.Hyperventilate.Repeat.It'd been less than an hour. Was this a blueprint for the rest of my life? Or would it fade like the fringes of late afternoon sun streaming into the stark motel room through the Venetian blinds?I stared through the slats, light scattering off the particles that hung between the acrid stench of Nitroglycerin and graphite from the bullet. I expected the wail of distant sirens to grow louder, followed by a screech of tires against the worn parking lot asphalt. Clattering steel-toed boots up the concrete stairs. The door kicked in. Barked commands: Freeze, Bitch! Catch the wrong cop on the wrong day and it'd be fifty-fifty between being hauled up and bundled downtown, or riddled with bullets where I sat. Corruption in Rock Point was unstable like that. Icing the mayor in cold blood would have blowback. The guy was connected.Resting the hammer of the gun on my forehead, I sighed. Drifted my eyes shut and fought the urge to vomit again. Fuck. FUCK. Why didn't Brennan take the offer? Why had he played hardball?I needed to think. Plan. Run. But I also needed cleanup. And my underwear.Reaching back over my head, I brushed his clammy arm and recoiled. Nearly threw up again. Fuck going anywhere near his dick. Maybe later. Gingerly running my hand over the sheets, I located his pants pocket. Swallowed and dipped in to slip out his phone.Placing the device face up, I steeled. Breathed. Eased it beneath his lifeless hand and slid the sensor around until it matched his print. Yeah, two can play that game, asshole.I scrolled through the gallery. Deleted the interior photos of my apartment he'd staged. Made sure it synced the changes online. Prayed he hadn't sent copies, or his goons hadn't kept some. I checked his emails and IMs. Nothing but lunch appointments and one-liners from sleazeball lawyers and Congress cronies wanting a slice of Rock Point pie.Unclipping the back, I ejected the SIM and kept it. Might be useful. Placed the memory card on the bare floorboards and smashed it to pieces with the butt of the gun. One more problem down.Breathing fast, I slid my own phone from inside my short leather jacket. Swiped. Entered the unlock code. Twelve digits committed to memory. Unique so it dies with me. No more fucking thumbprints. That's what got me into this whole mess in the first place.Sure, biometrics was easy. Convenient. Unlock your phone with a print claimed the ads. Faster and safer than passwords. Fucking liars. That's where it started. The beginning of the end. Because from there it escalated to using the same print to unlock your car. Start the ignition. Unlock your house. Authorize bank transfers. Yahde yahde. One, unchangeable password for everything.Everything.I shivered. Stared at the screen, its icy hue illuminating the soft taper of my cheeks and stray, matted locks of inky hair either side. Hitting phonebook, I hovered over the number in the recent calls list. Paused. Dialled and lifted the receiver to my ear until the purr of the ringtone gave way to a click and the gravelly texture that only twenty years of cigarettes delivers."Yeah?""It's done."There was a pause. "Done? Or handled?"I squeezed my eyes shut a moment and saw Brennan's expression again as the bullet's force propelled him back to the sheets. "Done.""Fuck. Hang tight. Don't breathe a word. We'll be right over."I hung up. Stared at everything and nothing. Thought of her. Kylia. Scrolled to her number and brushed my fingertip over the avatar as if it was an extension of her soul. As if I were stroking her cheek moments before our lips connected, magnetized by lust. Just like we'd done in the quiet of her fancy bedroom the week before, sitting on her bed, faces a few inches apart.She smelled of petals after a downpour. Always had. I loved the tiny moans that buzzed between us as our lips met and tongues clashed. The way she scuffed her petite hand up my side to cradle my head and crush our mouths together as need rampaged. The way she took over, almost on impulse. Pushed me back to the bed, hauled her thin sweater up over that honeyed mane and sank on top of me, predatory stare flicking to mine before her lips landed once more.Skimming her torso, I fumbled to undo her bra, the straps loosening over her shoulders as I dove under to massage soft flesh. Teasing and pinching led to ferocious kisses and bites before she broke free, a dewy string of saliva stretching between us. I adored her hunger; wildness caged by amber irises as she began undoing the buttons of my pale blouse from the top down. Starting slow then accelerating, she struggled near the pool of my belly, desire overtaking dexterity. Giving up, she yanked the garment open instead.The cooler air in the room raised gooseflesh. Her hands slithered up my abdomen and connected with my breasts, squeezing the sensitive orbs through the material. She scooped them out. Gripped and lowered hot breath to hover a firm nipple. A kiss. A lick. A bite as I arched into her touch. I rolled my head, a tangled corona of dark hair against the brightness of the Egyptian cotton.Sitting on my thighs, she slithered both hands down to tug the buttons of my jeans apart. I bit my lip and watched those piano-player's fingers snake beneath the elastic of my panties. Almost missed her mouth reconnecting with mine. Her hips ground against the angle formed by her wrist wedged between us as she curled warm digits into my depths, moaning into the kiss.She rocked and I gasped when her palm connected with my needy clit. Twisted and writhed in her grip as she played me like a piece in one of her virtuoso performances. Crests and peaks, pianissimo to crescendo, she drove the dynamics of my cries until I spilled; came hard, struggling for breath under her watchful lust.There was something liberating about giving myself to Kylia. Relinquishing control. istanbul travesti She made everything right. Restored balance. A balance that the man gradually rotting behind me had threatened to rip away.I kept telling myself I had no choice. That he'd forced me into it.But we all have choices.Don't we?Swallowing again, I outstretched my arms ahead of me and turned the Beretta's barrel to face my forehead, thumbs shaking on the trigger. Took in the same vista as his last sight. It was menacing, staring into the darkness of the 9mm bore hole. My throat rippled, cheeks watering, stomach retching. It was the coward's way out but maybe it was for the best. He was right: I was good as dead anyway.I tightened my grip on the trigger and images of the last few years flashed through my head like flipping through my brother's comics?graphic novels, he insisted. Worn pages. Stills in frames flicking by almost too fast to take in. Kylia's smile. Her curves. Soft moans and the shlick shlick of lapping her delicious pussy. Gripping her hands as she came. Stroking. Chasing her downstairs. Laughing. Pleading in her driveway. Tugging her hand to coax her away from home. Her reticence to leave the city's hellish grip. The heated arguments. The make-up sex. Hot city days. Humid city nights. Bars and clubs, lasers and beats. Meeting Yousef in a crowded bistro. Conversation. Connection. Having my eyes opened to the stink of corruption in this metropolitan excuse for living. Plans. Covert meetings. Training. Kylia's radiance. Her heat. Sex. More sex. Breathless fucking in alleys and mall changing rooms and secluded woods. Combat. Guns. The mayor's threats.The imagery slowed. Froze on the scene where I'd given him the choice to back down, impersonating his mistress. The borders of the mental freeze frame gave way. Became the crowded underground bar where we met.Finding Marissa hadn't been hard. I knew a guy who knew a guy who knew a PI. A few hundred bucks and a pack of smokes was all it took to track her down. An anonymous phone call on a burner to meet at La Nautica or I'd spill her sordid secret.She agreed.I was already in place, tucked into a booth. Chasing droplets of condensation off a beer bottle while thrash metal and raucous conversation filled the space. Ten stairs and two bouncers away from a different kind of filth at street level.She was skittish, clearly unused to rowdy bars. Scanned over heads and spied me wearing the cherry bandana I'd described. Approached. Easy to see what Brennan saw in her. Thirties. Strawberry blonde. Big chest. Curvaceous. The perfect trophy girl. Everything his hag of a wife wasn't. No doubt fulfilled the kinks she wouldn't, too. Spanking. Pegging. Anal. Maybe she even pissed on him. Takes all sorts, and Marissa oozed slut. Not your everyday attorney.She slid into the seat opposite, placing her stars and stripes clutch bag aside. Glanced around. Fucked if I knew whether it was for cameras or to check she'd not been followed. Maybe she plain didn't trust me. Her gaze eventually settled my way, dark jade in smoky wells that spelled trouble. "Hi.""Hey." I raised my eyebrows. "Drink?"She screwed up that delicate nose, gazing to the bar in the middle distance then at my beer. Nodded at it.Draining mine, I attracted the attention of the scantily clad waitress with the local accent and ordered two more.I eyed Miss Middle America across from me as she stroked the edge of a cardboard beer mat with a manicured pink nail. Let her stew a moment longer before speaking. "So you've guessed why you're here, right?"She paused stroking. "You want me to stop seeing Cal."I fixed her a steely gaze. Said nothing."So what is this? You muscling in? This his way of saying it's over?" Her eyes glazed and she blinked it away. "Wouldn't surprise me. Younger, fitter model. You?re his type."A wry smile played on my lips. "Trust me, he's not mine. I just need a chat. To negotiate."Confusion registered. "On our date?"I flicked my eyes away a moment. "Something like that."She chipped a corner from the beer mat. "Look, you don't have to be totally straight with me, but I deserve to know what's going on. Or I walk. Right now. Tell him about you. This. Fuck the consequences.""Don't." My hand flew to cover hers and she flinched. I pulled back, apologetic. "I just need his attention. Focused. To present my side of the story. And you have direct access?" I tailed off."The fastest route to counsel?" she finished.I nodded as the waitress slammed the beers on the table. She took the money I offered and fake smiled, turning to flirt with Budget George Clooney at the table across from us.The beer's icy tendrils in my throat gave way to warmth on their way down. "I need to know a few things.""Such as?"I looked away again. "What he likes. Dislikes."She paused. Waited for me to slide my gaze to hers. "In the bedroom?"I breathed out and nodded. She took a pull from the neck of her beer then lifted one corner of her mouth like the aftertaste was diesel."And why would I tell you that?"Fishing in the inside pocket of my jacket, I slid an envelope across the table. "There's five hundred tax-free reasons."She paused. Reached and drummed her fingernails on top of it. Lifted the flap. Poker sure ain't her calling.Dragging the envelope towards her, she bagged it. Took another swig of alcohol. "One meet."One was all I needed. And the information Marissa provided was the reason I was dressed the way I was. The micro dress. The fishnet stay-ups. The jacket. No panties. And indirectly the reason there was a corpse behind me and I was staring into the barrel of a loaded Beretta.I shut my eyes tight and shook. Wished I'd brought my meds. Calm the warring voices that raged in my head. Death was all I deserved. I'd be hunted forever. A rabbit awaiting the inevitable teeth of the Lurcher. No place on Earth safe. And for what? Selfish gain? Love?Yeah, love.Another memory of Kylia formed. A park on the outskirts of the city. 'bout as far from corruption as made no difference. Or all the difference. Back when the world had color in it.We'd been lying side by side on the grass bank facing the azure heavens, breeze tickling the skin on the back of our entwined fingers. Just enjoying the sun. The companionship. Joking how we could see musical instruments in the cloud shapes.I pointed with my free hand. "There's a violin."She followed my gaze and giggled. "Silly. It's too big for a violin. Clearly a viola."I rolled my head to catch the twinkle in her eye. "Scale's relative. I say it's a violin."Kylia stuck out her tongue and gazed up. "Ooh, see that one?" I focused beyond her fingertip. "That's a crumhorn."I burst out laughing. "A whatnow?"An effortless plum British accent flowed from those crossbow lips I'd kissed a thousand times. "Crumhorn, darling. Ye olde medieval instrument.""You're making istanbul travestileri shit up."Her giggle lit me inside. "Am not.""Huh. Looks like an anal hook to me."She giggled again. "You, my love, have a dirty mind.""And it's all yours for the taking."A circuit flowed between us, from my jumpstarted heart down my arm, through our fingertips. Tugging my hand, she pulled until I sat astride her. She carried on moving my hand until it rested on her breast. I glanced around at the other park goers. Dog walkers. Joggers. Businesspeople on lunch break. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Forget about them. Focus on me."I gently squeezed her breast, her sigh driving me to cup the other. I massaged both and she rolled her hips beneath me. Slid a hand down her toned midriff between our bodies and snaked fingers under cutoffs and panties. Her eyes rolled back as she zeroed on her slit. Dug inside while I pinched and rolled her nipples through her crop top.Her face told me what was going on beneath the cotton that clung to her bare pussy. Wide eyes, fire brimming behind them. Jaw slackening before catching her lower lip with teeth. She loved crushing her clit under the palm of her hand while she fingered herself and I watched.My exhibitionist.I concentrated on her chest, increasing the intensity of my pinches in response to her actions and groans. Part of me worried we'd draw attention. The majority of me didn't give a shit, the thrill of discovery electrifying. Magnetic.She somehow kept herself in check. Chewed her bottom lip as the orgasm rose, mouth dropping open, breath held until the gasp eventually escaped as a concentrated huff, and she shuddered under me. I held her tits as support. Massaged them throughout her fluttering climax. She plucked her hand free and offered fingertips up for me to clean. Those rainy petals again. Almond sweetness and Balsamic. It coursed my body and I dripped into my panties as I dismounted and sat alongside her, stroking her midsection.We watched the afternoon unfold, knees hugged to our chests. Ate ice cream. Kissed. Acted normal, like two people in love, not two people who couldn't be together because Brennan decreed it.A group of animated students strode across the hillside by us. Kylia nudged me and nodded. They were a mishmash of colors and styles. From ripped jeans, faded tees, piercings and Dockers to tie dye tops and cutoffs, they had one thing in common: they all wore Pride badges. Kylia leaned in and brushed her fingertips over mine. "One day we'll win and everyone will be wearing those."I watched them a moment, all excited chatter and outspoken ideals. Swiveled my gaze to Kylia and smiled. "We'll have won when nobody needs to wear them."That thought swirled. That thought presaged everything since. The idea we could be free of tyranny, free of judgment, free of the need to belong to an exclusive club, because there was no need for that club to exist. Because we were normal.It sickened me that I had to be the one to do it. That I had to choose between the dead mayor behind me and my own freedom to love who I damn well pleased. Gamble whether one bullet would galvanize others. Light the touch paper and inspire change, or make things worse. Guess it depended which slimeball took Brennan's place. But maybe they'd think twice now the untouchable had been touched. Choose a different path. A brighter path. Then it would all be worth it.The motel's events replayed in my head yet again, the cycle seemingly endless. Maybe my way of dealing with it. I needed a drink. Fuck, ten drinks. Silence the doubts swirling my head. Knowing my luck, it'd amplify them.Maybe I was crazy, like my shrink scribbles in her little notebook as I stare at the ceiling tiles and unload. Who was I to say who was damned and who could be saved in this monochrome shithole of a city? Who was Brennan to have done likewise?When he swaggered into the motel room, confidence incarnate, if he suspected anything, he didn't show it. I was already there behind the door. Boots, fishnets and a thundering pulse that radiated the same perfume Marissa favored. No chances.He carried that complacent air of knowing he could do anything he wanted. Lie. Cheat. Steal. Fuck. He knew everyone in his city that hadn't already been bought, could be.Unbuttoning his suit jacket, he tossed it on the chair by the dresser. Stepped to the foot of the shabby double bed and loosened his necktie.At the snap of the riding crop by my thigh, he spun. Grinned. He seemed bigger up close than on TV. More imposing, and I feared he'd see through the black, sequined masquerade mask. Maybe notice the way I didn't fill the clothes well enough. Marissa and I were similar builds, the inch or so height difference compensated by the boot heels. But curves like hers are harder to fake.I twirled my finger in the air and he turned away from me again, no wiser. Only saw what he wanted to see. The dominatrix. There was an edge to his voice; definite excitement in his drawl. "This is new. Been thinking about our last conversation?""Shhhh." I snapped the crop again. Tapped it to his ass. He bent forward at the waist, knuckles deforming the mattress. Presented himself for punishment.I could have led with the gun, but needed his trust to get the panic button. Pants pocket, she said. One click of that and his security team would swarm in. Game over.The good news? Due to the nature of his trysts with Marissa, the cavalry were up the road in the strip mall lot. Safer not to advertise his location. That gave me a ninety-second window. Maybe less. Barely enough time to get out if it all went south, but a head start nonetheless. I wasn't intending to need it.I stepped forward for a better angle. Side on. Tapped the leather crop head to the seat of his pants. Once. Twice. Then swished. The tip connected and he stiffened as the strike registered. Nothing more.Switching to the other cheek, I tapped again. Prepared him for the swish and the crack that echoed off the walls. Took some perverse satisfaction that his breathing hitched and a sigh escaped when the leather landed. It was almost fun.I lost count of how many times I struck him. His sighs turned to moans with each swat as I strengthened my strokes. Varied the landing points. Pushed him. The irony? What he thought was pleasure I was doing to hurt him. Payback. Guess it's true that the chemical rush is the same and it's how the brain interprets the signal that determines the feeling. He took everything.Standing, he rubbed his ass. "Stings so good. Thanks, baby."I grabbed the red headscarf from the dresser and approached. Wrapped it round his eyes and tied it behind his head. Didn't want him noticing my hands were different to hers as I removed his tie and began to unbutton his shirt. I was thinking on my feet. Trying to work a way of getting to his pockets. travesti istanbul But some part of me wanted to take my time. Hurt him on the way.Starting at the top I popped each button until his torso was exposed. Peeled the shirt from him and tossed it to the bed. Not in bad shape for a man his age. Slight belly from the excesses, the parties, the kickbacks, but taut muscle otherwise. Either workouts or all the extramarital fucking. Despite what Marissa wanted to believe, I doubted she was the only one.I ran finger pads then nails across his nipples. Twirled the wiry hair. Pinched and made him hiss. I traced outward, under his arms. Snaked nails down his back, hard enough to leave red trails in their wake. He sucked in air through his teeth. "Jeez, Marissa. You're an animal today."If only he knew.Returning to the dresser, I picked up the black flogger. Paced the gap to the bed and set it swinging in a pendulum motion so the falls dusted his back. His muscles flexed beneath the skin, one gnarly twist of cartilage above his waistband on the left. A bullet extraction, she'd said.I let the flogger scuff his back harder. Then harder as he tensed, finally lashing it in a diagonal stripe from shoulder blade to kidney.He gasped. Stiffened as I returned to swinging. Then he breathed, "Again."I picked up speed. Spun the flogger in a circle, disturbed air swishing in the quiet, before cracking it against his skin. Brennan groaned when I traced the welt with my fingertips.To his credit, he let me do what I wanted until his back was criss-crossed with hundreds of angry pink lines. How the fuck he would ever explain them to his wife was beyond me. Maybe she was the forgiving type.He did nothing for a while. Flexed his back. Sighed. "You've usually given me your panties by now."I stiffened. Considered deflecting the request. Then the opportunity dawned.Hiking the hem, I thumbed down my underwear, the cool air of the room filling the gap between my thighs and making me shiver. Balling them up, I slid them into his palm.He immediately unzipped his pants, freeing his firm cock and wrapping the material around its length. His ass jiggled as he masturbated into the warmth of my underwear.Stepping in, I placed one hand on his. Slowed the pace a little. Got him used to the idea of me exerting control. The flared tip of his rigid cock rhythmically entered and left the confines of my panties as we shuffled his meat inside them. The ripple of his skin brushed my hand on some strokes. His snorts and huffs filled the room, events clearly beginning to overwhelm him.Now or never.Slithering my hands back over his hips I reached his pockets. Dipped both hands in and scratched the edges of his balls through the silky material. He growled. "Perfect."I scuffed my nails over the sensitive skin, swiping up with one finger and down with the other, matching his rhythm. He snarled through bared teeth, hips jerking. "Yeah, baby. A little more... that's it. Love it when you treat me bad, then gimme a reward. Fuck."His hips locked, a sharp inhalation signaling loss of control. He gripped the tip of his shaft, cupping my panties under it and groaned as jets of milky cum splashed into the fabric, staining dark rose patches across the gusset. Marissa said she usually put them back on after and he loved watching his spunk smearing against her pussy, matting in her pubes when she traced her lips through the material.With his attention diverted, I slipped my hands from his pocket, the panic device in my grasp. Stole to the dresser and swapped it for the Beretta in the drawer. Whirled and trained it on him, trying to maintain a steady hand like Yousef taught me. He said half the battle was showing front. Being composed. Businesslike. Helped with detachment, he claimed.Brennan breathed hard, hanging my panties from his cock to catch the remnants. Slipped the blindfold off and dropped it on the bed. "Thank you, baby."He turned. And to his credit didn't flinch. Maybe he was used to the wrong end of a gun. Instead, he smiled.That simple act threw me for a moment, until I steeled, paced forward, jabbed the weapon in his chest and shoved him to sit on the bed. His hands came to rest alongside his legs on the cotton bedspread.For the first time, we made eye contact. He stared. Cocked his head. Recognition flickered. "Nina. I might have known."No further need for pretence, I slid the mask off and tossed it aside. "Back off, Brennan. Leave me alone. Leave us alone."He scoffed. "Or what?"I flexed my gun arm in his direction. A clear warning. Stared him down.The guy chuckled. "Look at you acting tough. Aquí hasta los gatos quieren zapatos, eh?"I let the insinuation wash over me. Bristled. "No, I'm wearing the fucking shoes." To demonstrate the point, I placed my boot between his thighs on the edge of the bed. "Call off the hounds.""You're in no position to make demands.""I think you'll find I'm holding the gun. Now delete whatever pictures you Photoshopped and leave us the fuck alone."He said nothing. Looked vaguely amused, which pissed me off."Don't play dumb. Your team broke into my home."He smirked. "You should review your security practices."A twinge of regret knotted my stomach. Yousef had been right: How many things do you touch a day? A hundred? Two? Every door handle. Every handrail. Every elevator call button. Even your phone case. You might as well write your password on scraps of paper and litter them behind you.It seemed so fucking obvious, but I'd been blindsided like everyone else. Hoodwinked by TV. The revelation was too little too late, the damage done. Brennan had sent his thugs round. Scammed my door sensor. Staged my office to brand me a terrorist; aiding and abetting to bomb a shopping mall in L.A. That's life, or Gitmo. Same animal; different level of torture.The photos carried a warning when they hit my inbox: Leave her or your life's over, bitch.He studied me. Smirked again. "If it's any consolation, we don?t need your fucking prints. Your precious Yousef friend could tell you all about that. But?" he waved his hand dismissively, "you won't leave this room alive. And then we'll take him too."And so it came down to this moment. This choice. Nobody else I could turn to.Cops? In Brennan's pocket.Senate? Corrupt.God? Took one look at the city and fled.No choice.I'd turned to Yousef instead, and we hatched the plan to shake Brennan up. Seems we'd underestimated his arrogance. But I had to stay the course. Make him see sense.I improvised. Focused on Brennan. "How 'bout I take photos of you right now?" I nudged his balls with the boot toe and pulled my phone out. "I can see the headlines: Rock Point Mayor in Motel Sleaze Romp. I'm sure your wife would love the detail of my stained panties wrapped around your dick."He was unflappable. "Please. You think she doesn't know? Think she married me for lurve?" He scoffed. "Money and power rule. Love is dead."I bristled again. Phone in one hand. Gun in the other. I pocketed the tech. Nobody'd believe the pictures were real anyway. "Dead?!" I spat. "Try telling that to Kylia. She chose love. She chose me."