Hard as Steel

I should have been on a plane and halfway round the world. I should have been sipping champagne while my fingers eased away my tension beneath a blanket, my own little private mile-high club. I should have kept to myself, not daring to trust anyone, no matter how innocent they seemed.

I should have fled the airport the moment they grounded the planes, but storm-led chaos was affecting the whole city. I had reasoned that it was safe to wait till morning. I had reasoned that it was better to be seen as part of a couple rather than a woman alone, knowing that the authorities were sure to have figured out by now who they were looking for.

But that was the sophistry of a woman who has seen something she desperately wants. A handsome, muscular youth whose politeness did not lessen the hunger in his eyes, and whose designer suit failed to conceal a significant bulge.

My mission was complete. Successful. As usual I was horny as hell - the aphrodisiac of danger, not helped by the residual aroma of gunpowder and the familiar ache in my wrists... Too much gunfire, today. Someone had leaked. Not that that had stopped me, but I'm glad security didn't question the fresh bandage around my left calf.

Nursing a margarita at the bar, I was only too glad of the distraction, my mind in overdrive with paranoia - it's only paranoia if you're wrong, and this time I wasn't - when he sat beside me, his gaze unashamedly surveying my curves before sweeping up to meet my eyes. "I'll have what she's having," he said to the barmaid, who nodded and drifted off in search of tequila.

His accent was cultured and very British. He had to be five years younger than me at least, and his aura of confident and dominant masculinity provoked me. "What's your name?" I asked.

"Charles. And you are?"

"Pleased to meet you, Charles," I said, adopting a slight Italian accent. "Call me Diana."

His lips quirked in amusement. "Are you hunting for anything tonight, Diana?"

"I have my eyes on some prey, Charles."

"I've got all night," he said.

"Me too. Shall we kill it together?"

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, enough to make me wonder. "I promise to be quiet if your wife phones."

Charles laughed. "No wife. No girlfriend. You?"

"No wife. No girlfriend." The barmaid placed a margarita beside him and he turned to pay. I used the moment to scan the newsfeed on my phone, but saw nothing to alarm me.

"That's not what I meant," he said, smiling as he turned back to me.

"Would it make a difference? Drink up, Charles. Let's go get a room."

I didn't wait for him, but he caught up quickly, and we chatted neutrally about the weather, the way the British so love to do, as we made our way to the hotel. There was one room left, a double on the top floor.

As soon as the door closed he caught me in an embrace, his lips finding mine even as his hands pulled the zip of my dress down to my bum...

The passion of youth is a wonderful thing, but I had different ideas. Disengaging, I pushed him away. "Lie down on the bed," I ordered. Looking puzzled, but curious, he obeyed, lying back slowly and crossing his wrists behind his head to get a better view of me as I stripped slowly, taking care not to crease my dress. I could tell he liked what he saw.

Until, wearing nothing but a scarf, I climbed onto the bed, straddling him, the hard bulge of his cock pressing through the thin wool of his trousers against my trimmed and unprotected pussy. "No, no, no," I admonished as his hands reached for my breasts, though in truth I would have enjoyed their attention.

With my scarf I bound his wrists together, and smiled at the sudden concern in his expression. "Don't you trust me?"

"I don't know you," he said. "For all I know, you're a serial killer."

"Can you think of a better way to die? Relax. Trust me." Trust me - I'm an assassin. I only kill for money and self-defence. Not for fun - though it does make me horny as hell, sometimes.

He submitted, though I could feel tension in him as I wrapped the scarf around his neck, thereby forcing his hands to stay crossed behind his head. Shuffling back, I opened his trousers and pulled them and his knickers down about his knees, exposing a good-sized cock.

With fingers more used to the touch of steel than to male flesh, I caressed the eager shaft, laying my head down beside it so that I could watch the way it stirred and twitched like a wild animal in a cage. Such smooth skin. So warm. So hard.

I wished I had my harness with me. I wanted to turn Charles over and have him beg me to fuck him, but of course that would never happen. Instead I lay there admiring his length while I worked it steadily with a firm but gentle grip.

"I'm close," he warned, so I slowed a little. "Oh God, I'm coming," he said a minute later. Quickly I took the head between my lips, and stroked gently as he filled my mouth with cum. Until he was done.

He sighed, and relaxed, breathing heavily. I crawled up and kissed him passionately, flooding his mouth with cum. "Agh!" he cried out, and choked, fighting against my scarf and trying to roll me off.

I scowled at him, angry at how pathetic he was. What I would have done next, I don't know. The room door crashed open as two men with handguns charged in, visible in the mirror for a fraction of a second before a line of fire opened up.

Instinctively I snatched up an ashtray and flung it, catching the first gunman on the nose. His weapon fired wide as he stumbled back against his partner.

I leapt at them. The confined space of the entryway had them at a disadvantage, and we fell in a heap with me on top. I head-butted the one beneath me, and wrested his gun from him. His partner took a desperate shot at me, but I made sure there wouldn't be a second. For the second time that day I was in the middle of a personal war zone, my ears ringing.

The dead gunmen were wearing bulletproof vests. My bullets had aimed higher. Were they police? If so, why only two? Were there more?

I turned to look at Charles, and jumped sideways with an involuntary scream as he swung another handgun towards me, his expression pure rage. Plasterwork exploded by my head and I leapt out of the room into the corridor, firing back at him without any expectation.

Slamming the door shut, I fired at the handle, hoping to screw the lock somehow - it works sometimes - and ran for the stairs, even as two more bullets punched through the wooden door where I had just been standing.

A gentle ping behind me announced the elevator's arrival. Fearing reinforcements, I swung round and took aim... at an elderly couple, who clutched at each other in sudden terror. "Please get out," I said.

They scurried out, and I ran in, pressing B2 for the parking lot, and suddenly I was alone with only my reflection for company. The huge mirrors either side showed a naked woman, attractive in spite of numerous scars, holding a gun in one hand, her hair and makeup messed up, the bandage about her thigh freshly stained with blood, a fresh wound bleeding from her upper left arm.

"Fuck," I murmured. On top of everything else, I had no passport, no cards, no money, no phone.

The lift came to a premature stop at the lobby. When the doors opened, I was aiming my gun at a receptionist whose bored expression transformed instantly. I ran past her, leaving her screaming by herself, and out of the front door of the hotel.

"Hey, you can't..." the driver said as I climbed into the back of the taxi waiting there.

"Yes I can," waving my permission in front of his eyes.

He gulped and nodded, and turned to drive. "Where to, Miss?"

"Anywhere. Wait, no. The beach. I need to work on my tan."

"Yes, Miss," he said, and drove off. From his smile, I knew the absurdity of sunbathing was not lost on him. It was a dark and stormy night...