-Always Strapped 3: Foreplay-
By, Unit 6
Plot: An assassin misses her shot and then heads to a gala.
DISCLAIMER: these stories may include vivid and explicit sexual content consisting of, but not limited to: non-consensual and forced/rough intercourse, roleplay, voyeurism, bondage, abuse, mind control, novelty toys, and others. These stories are, in no way, based on any fact or are accurate representations of the respective kink communities. Names, settings, etc. are all made up, and any similarities to the contrary are purely coincidental. All characters over the age of 18 years.
Joanna Echo Trave, or Jet, stepped through the threshold of the safe house door and shut it behind her. Inside, she expected to see either: an empty apartment, or her handler, Taryn, sipping a glass of red wine on the couch. She, technically, saw neither. What Jet did see was Taryn, but not in the way she expected.
Taryn was on her cellphone talking rapidly and pacing the living quarters. She had a bandage strapped around her midsection with what's clearly a bloody wound beneath. Jet plopped down on the couch and saw a white envelope on the armrest. She opened it to find her earned bounty. She pocketed the money and picked up Taryn's wine glass for a swig while staring concernedly at the blood spot.
Taryn finally hung up and turned to Jet. "I need you," she huffed.
Jet smiled, "Well it's about time!"
"No, no, not like that. Sexy fun time later. I'm in a heap of trouble and I have to fix an issue before midnight tonight or I'll be your next hit."
Jet sat up on the couch, "Oh, shit! What happened?"
"I missed my shot, fire was returned and I got grazed. No biggie. The target will be at a fundraising gala this evening. I need you to be my plus one and help me get this fucker.
"Fuck!" she continued. "I never miss!"
"What exactly are you asking of me?"
Taryn turned towards Jet, walked over to her, cupped her cheeks and kissed her. "Tonight, I need foreplay."
Jet smiled again and sighed, "Alright, Cinderella, let's get your guy."
* * *
Jet cleaned up nicely, dressing in a black suit with white pinstriping and white blouse. Taryn, on the contrary, decided to wear a floor-length navy dress with slits up the side of the leg to the hip, and the cleavage plummeting down to her belly button. Vague garter-looking belts peeked on her thighs. She completed the outfit with strappy stiletto heels that, when they clacked on the broken tile, echoed throughout Jet's whole body.
"Security will be tight," Taryn began, "so no metal weapons."
"How exactly do you expect to get your target with no weapons?"
Taryn withdrew an empty syringe. "Air in his fucking neck. I just need to get close."
"How are you going to get that through security?"
Taryn held up her wristlet, complete with a dangling medical identification tag. "It's my diabetic medicine," she feigned.