Friday, July 15, 2011

misty in Berlin! JAWOHL!

    misty had arrived.
    Lahhh, di, dahhh...

    no parade to welcome.
    no limo at der flughafen with angular jawed teutonic driver in black hugo boss suit looking for misty as he holds a sign reading ‘internationalen attentäter’.

    i’d carried only my small flight bag with only my misty necessities.
    quite in style and practical for your sexy international killer on the go.
    i needed to bring no weapons as most likely i’d be strangling rauch with my panties or nylonz, or giving him a heart attack as i undressed and he saw my killer body (get it? oh you must!).

international-never-break-rules for sexy international assassinettes
is don't carry weapons aboard flights! so misty often strangles
her oh so lucky targets with reinforced la perla panties. a
dying victim's fondest wish, whether they realize it or not.

    but one of the rules of air travel is never bring weapons! if misty needed a glock or stiletto (not the kind on my sexy feet...the kind i shove into men’s hearts and twist)...they would be provided moi dans berlin.
    what misty did have was mucho ‘KY’ for when Elka screwed the living insanty out of me. Elka’s clit was larger than average size, if you pardon the expression, and could actually enter misty.
    men and their pathetic oversized but underquality organs could never compare to what my love had in store pour moi!
    and i had all the good KY in my sweet d&g travel bag...’sensual silk tingling Ultrahhhhh-gel’... ‘warming liquid gel’... ‘tingling 2-in-1 touch massage’...mmmmm...

    ok, back to other important things. like mmmurderrrrr. la raison d’etre for being in berlin...yum.

    it had been a nice trip.
    misty sooo doesn’t have issues with air france. the french may be bitchy snobs, but misty loves bitchy snobs.

it was earleee when misty got into der flughafen.
i sooo needed my transfusion of caffeine. as the
slogan goes, you can sleep when you're dead.
and that oinker rauch would be oh so dead sooon.

    when i arrived it was earleee morning. birdeee tweeting time in berlin, where even the birdeees wear torsten amft and hugo boss (ohhh, misty, you crack yourself uP!).
    but seriously, i made my way to the 24-hour airport bar where a charming germanic older couple was waiting for someone to arrive at this ungodly hour.
    to keep misty going she simply had to have her nectar. coffee...drink of the Gods. and lovely international assassinettes.
    my misty specialty drink was a double-strong coffee frappuccino with copious amounts of brandy dumped in like crude from a BP deepwater blowout.
    topped with whipped cream. the more brutally whipped the better.

    as my caffeine and alcohol arrived, mist began licking the overflow off the smoooth sides of the tall cup. as i would soon do to the juice off Elka’s thighs.
    mist made sure no one was catching the show. or so i thought.
    i’m sooo not an exhibitionist, tho i do like to show off a new pair of christian louboutin toppe by a chanel mint-green leather skirt on a spring day.
    but when it comes to acts of sapphic nymphic erotomania or licentious murderous guy killing...misty keeps it behind closed doors.
    but this morning i got carried awayyy...

the german lady in the airport was a sexy old hag
that reminded mist of my third grade teacher! a leather-
faced bag misty had a crush on. third grade misty had
always wished she would have bent me over like a
flexible drinking straw and thwacked my bare bottom!

    the simply delightful older couple had caught misty’s unintended soft core display with my coffee cup.
    the lady did not appreciate misty’s tongue expertiese! the look on the sexy old bag’s face reminded misty of her third grade prep-school teacher (yes, mist was a little prepster).
    teach had caught little mist carrying self-education too far...practicing my onanistic skills in the class cloakroom at way too precocious an age.
    don’t ask what fantasy propelled little misty to touch her prepubescent self...i think it was the idea of strangling little georgie with my knee-high sox that had got me going.
    mmmmm, some things nevah change!

truth be told, misty always had a crush on the harsh old
nasty bats like mrs. danvers from rebecca, trying to get
that innocent twit to jump out the window here. mmmm!
judith anderson...i would have kissed her feet...and other
things toooo

    luckily ms. hodgepodge didn’t spank my young misty ass, tho truth be told i would have lovvved it had she.
    even at that tender age misty had an emerging attraction to old harsh looking spinster types with leather faces and thick thighs over which to place misty and spank her.
    i suppose ms. hodgepodge (not her reeeal name, geeesh!) must have sensed little misty liked her.
    the sexy old bat never punished me for touching my misty self. or anything else, like when i really did try to strangle georgie.
    he was sooo a creep, the type who no doubt grew up to be one of those wingtipped sub-prime hedgefund managers who brought down the world economy. misty should have finished his little ass back then!
    ok, calm down mist! back to the present.
    i smiled at the scowling gruff sow in the airport bar and put my tongue-licked coffee mug down. i picked up my misty flight bag and stood to depart the flughafen.
    in an instant the german lady’s other half flashed a nasteee wink at moi without his ball and chain knowing.
    i ever so naughtily flicked my misty-licious tongue across revlon ‘summer sky umbre’ frosted lips, and returned the gent’s covert flirt.
    if misty must be honest, and she must, his 200-pound old bat wife, with ankles stronger than a german clysdale’s, turned me on immensely.
    if i had more time, misty would have tried to pick them both up. i’d have done him just to get his leather-faced frau to spank me. hard.
    naked of course.
    yes, misty is a total lezzie nympho pervette. and so very proud of it.

    but there was no time for such games.

misty imagined how i might kill rauch! perhaps
like in one of those true crime magazines...i'd
wait for him in the alley as he left a bar...unwrap
my misty garotte from my thigh, and then pull
the pig into the shadows to die a luscious
asphixi-licious death on his knees! oh yummerz!

    off i misted to taxi out into the berlin burbs. and prepare for my execution of that pig rauch.
    i still had not decided how that uber banker would die.
    should misty lure him into a hot tub of steamy h20 with the promise of misty sex, and then dunk him under for a wet death (his) and a moist orgasm (mine).
    or would i do something more traditional. pull rauch into the alley shadows some evening as he exited the adagio bar. or his favorite, the 6vorne?
    tho i look misty-yummy, i am quite dangereuse!

as i waited in the alley for rauch to leave
the bar, my misty feet would simply tingle
in my dries van noten stilettos, my misty
toes twitching with the excitement of
yet another delicious kill...

   a millimeter or two over six foot in sweet naked feet, six-four in timeless black leather ankle strap dries van noten stilettos, $1585 on sale at nieman.
    i’m a tall strong dahl that could yank his fat  goldschlager-bloated, hugo boss fitted body into the shadows, wrap my misty garotte around his blobby neck, which is about the size of the brandenburg gate. tighten...
    he would fall to his chubber knees, unfortnately ripping his charcoal black pleatless h. boss suit pants and scuffing his $1900 black berluti demesure scritto court shoes.
    misty would pull the cord tight, yanking his pighead between my standing, spread misty thighs, and pull him up into misty land!
    my gucci leather front-slit skirt, $799 on sale last summer in manhattan, would spread apart, allowing der schwein’s head to pull hard against my black lace la perla panties as misty strangled him into an asphyxionic stupor.
    his sweet little schweincock would be stiff with orgasmic excitement as rauch felt strong misty thighs against his dying oinker head.

the alley of death! rauch on his porcine knees, misty would
pull her misty garotte tight and feel his squirming head
against my wet la perla panties. it would be time to, as they say,
faster pussycat, kill, kill, kill!!! (i sooo love russ, don't yooo?)

   i’d deliver la coup de gras as his male organ strained against the expertly tailored crotch of his boss suit, yearning with the pleasure of near death.
    at the right second, i would turn the blood supply to his corrupt brain off like a light bulb with a twist of my garotte.
    his blimpy body would twitch in mortal delite, and a moist spot would soak through the fabric in the fly of his custom altered suit...rauch would be coming...just as he went.
    the pig would twitch his last delicious moments of life and death. just as the beautiful blinking berlin night lights cast caravaggio shadows across his waxen fat face.
    misty herself would very quietly yet deliciously come, following the international lady assassin’s handbook on orgasm protocol during target termination: “scream for a thrill, but not during a kill.”
    then misty would loosen her cord and allow rauchpig to drop onto the alley pavement. misty would walk away, her dries van noten stiletto heels clicking ominously in the night as rauch’s lump of flesh lay dead, to be discovered in the morning light.
    sooo erotisch.

or maybe i'd just shoot him with a glock.
decisions, decisions. 

   or maybe misty wold just shoot him with a custom silenced glock 19.

    it would be so fun deciding as i lay between Elka’s spread thighs, misty tongue tasting her Elka warm flavors as i might a good oak chardonnay. small sips.
    Elka would feel my love, and herself ponder the best methods for target elimination.
    with over 102 kills, Elka has much experience to share. and like misty, the act of sexxx is only enhanced by thoughts of assassination.
    so misty was off to visit my love. and work out plans for the german banker’s execution.
    combining pleasure with pleasure.

    but then, in an instant, everything had changed.
    misty spotted a male she simply had to kill.


Thursday, June 16, 2011

ich bin ein assassine!

     rauch was a pig. oink.
     but he was misty's pig.

     i was in a most darling wine and cheese cafe dans la
south of france, online as mon maitre d’ allowed misty to keep her adorable netbook open pour my weekly lingerie shopping.
drats! my online neiman marcus shop-a-thon
was so rooodley interrupted by those workaholics at hq!
but how could misty be tooo was a kill order! kill orders were yummmy! tastier than the faugeres wine monsieur henri had just poured!

under the table at le vieux puits, a delish cafe in the 
south of france, my silk stockings tingled all the way down from 
my la perla panties to my black chanel stilettos as the order to 
kill kill kill gustav rauch came across misty's netbook!

this was a delish kill order on guntag ekkehardt rauch...a pretentious german banker who should have been terminated for his name alone!
     of course, not his precise name. as your
misty must remind you, I can’t spill all the beans, but close enough for a game of tag with AIM-9 sidewinders.
FOX TWO sweeties!

     my sweetie rauch was, shall we say, one of your bigger
cogs in the machinery of world corporatocracy. that slimey disease representing evil, bad, nasty nasty (not the good kind of nasteee!), greedie piggies, shape shifting lizard aliens from the 4th dimension trying to rule space & time, etc, etc. (made me wonder how ‘w’ was doing these days?)

     surpriiiiiiZe! yes, misty fans, your mist does work for the forces of Light (or Lite as i teeeze them).
sorry to disappoint all those who thawt misty was the Evil Bitchstress of your dreeemz. i am, but with a delicious dark nougat center of licentious murdering  nawtiness.
and it’s all turned against the forces of 'Not So Nice' use their Technical Name.

gustav ekkehardt rauch, a cigar smoking piggie-slash-servant of 
the world's machinery of nawtiness. misty would do 
very baddd things to him. yum.

     sooo, the cat's out of the bag. or pussy's out of
the Chanel silk panties, if you prefer near obscenity, which i alwayz do.
mist works for Good. using the luscious forces of bad against themselves. truly the only way to go. fun & effective.
specially if one enjoys, getting off.

     but we are getting sooo far afield. back to my misty story of acing of mist's most delicious recent capers.
sooo, as misty was saying before was oh sooo important that rauchie die. and sooon. the little piggie would be in berlin next week.
so would misty.
the pussy was out of the panties...i was a hitwoman
for the Forces of Sugar & Spice, and Everything Nice. Yes,
it is a Womyn's organization.

going to the land of bmw’s, Dominatrixes and fuhrers for this kill, i would be sure to visit my adopted mother, lover and mentor of murder & assassination...we’ll call her Elka since  misty can’t tell you her real name. at least not without killing you all (smile smile!).
Elka, a strong teutonic lady...six-foot-two of sweetness that can snippity-snappp a man in two.
she would suggest the best and most delish way to nix rauch. Elka knew german bankers, and had not much love for them. or any banker for that matter.
Elka (face blanked out, of course dahlings!), 
my lover/adopted mother/mentor, in a picture from her 
active days some years ago. she could break a man in two with 
her body or break me in two with her loving. she would help me 
with rauch. then she would fuck me good. 'lecker'!

after suggesting how to kill rauchie, Elka would break me in two (or more) with the type of nawty hard loving only a german bitch can do.
i will be in misty Heaven. which is harder for most people to take than hell.

     henceforth, misty was off to berlin. to slaughter a pig.  

     ‘Lecker!’ Elka would often murmur after devouring meee like a bavarian kirschtorte with double whipped creeem.

-- more to come my loveleeez!...misty

Sunday, September 12, 2010


mmmmmm, misty loves to write...& i've been writing some oh so noir novellas.

don't fret...i'll be back to my only slightly disguised non-fiction so yummily penned here. but why not a litto read from a pretty little passage, naturellement based on something i naughtily did more than a few times...
whatchya think dahlings...

'the last thing herr rauchen saw through the
translucent, breath-steamed plastic dry
cleaning bag tied tautly around his head, was
sunlight streaming across her ass as his
killer turned to dress, then leave, now that
the german banker was naked, bound, on the
bed, slowly asphyxiating to death. 

rauchen, a fat, paunchy overfed capitalist, felt his small 
cock harden as he sighted the pretty blonde wisps of baby
hair across her partially exposed ass, under the lingerie,
stockings, garters, as she dressed hurriedly.

no worry. he'd be dead by the time she was fully
clothed and leaving the 400 euro a night
Berlin-Alexanderplatz suite. in less than
300 seconds.

the only question...would he come as he went. 
she so liked it when they did. quite the compliment.'
           --exerpt from my 'misty short story' series
           (mmmmmmmmmmmmmm...& u thowt i couldn't rite!) 

[don't worry dahls...more to come, so to speak, oh sooo soooon]

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

a MiST returnsssssss...

misty's been bizzzy, doing those kills that just wouldn't
get done without her. but i'm back, for awhilst...

     well lovelies and dahlinks, no doubt you had never expected
to hear from your sweet mist again.
     goes to show you may not deserve a sweetie that doesn't
forget her fans.
     sick and twisted fans albeit, who drool reading
of sexpots icing doomed guys in the most gourmet ways. julia
childs eat your heart out. and rest your soul.

     but, of course, no one's more sick and twisted than moi, so
don't feel all alone and abandoned sweeties.

     speaking of abandoned...misty dahl would not leave her
dedicated readership for six longgg and lonelyyy months
unless forced by the necessities of murdering guys in hottt
sexy ways for large amounts of cool sexy cash (well, actually,
deposits in offshore bank accounts).

je suis such the writer...n'est pas? tho misty does so
love to write about us women and our straaange desires ;D

     this forced delay in sharing my innermoist (pun. i slay
myself) secrets was trying on your dark heroine. i get off
almost as much recounting exploits as i do commiting them.
maketh moi thinketh i be a writer at heart.
     a murdering hot bitch of a writer. yet one

     as such, i enter my verrry early misty 30s (give or
take five years to keep offguard you junior detectives,
interpol, fbi, mafia, narcotrafficos, cia, mossad,
komitet gosudarstvennoy bezopasnosti, gru,
etc, etc, etc).
     coming of age, misty finds une certaine maturite unfolding.

     these days (et nuits) je desire a smidge of emotional
attachment with sex partners. of late, lusciously killing
targets for obscene amounts of cash has become
like that 50th straight rollercoaster ride. twentieth
el presidente shot. tenth snort of blow. that
seventh la perla panty model of the evening
you've soixante-neufed. that fifth season of
dexter (can yOu believe they nixed his wife!
someone needs to serial kill the writing staff...
i sooo volunteer. oooops, just a joke fbi ;) ...
     all of it has become a tad like the peggy
lee song.

myyy darlinggg young gal pal 'Dorreen'...a sweet young thang
who happened to share misty's naughty naughty delite in...
let's just say it...murderrr. yum.

     what does it all mean my honies? hmmmmmmm..?
     i remind myself of one of misty's naughtier intimates. a
sweet 20-something wickedsweeet asphyxia domme with a
taste for male sacrifice. as readers of moi know, misty does
nOT approve of thrill killing. so de classe. for me, 'murder
sweet' is a calling. a profession. a career.
     however, her kills died in such ecstasy, just how
misty recommends chix nix their vix, i turned the
other cheek (no pun intended, children).
     besides, her ass tasted like Heaven.

     dorreen (let's call her for purposes here), like all addicts,
found kills became less and less satisfying. misty
could relate.
     as a severe christian louboutin addict, after
my 37th pair, the thrill of slipping my hot,
deliciously sculpted foot into a louboutin
stiletto lost it's gloss. at a grand a pair, such
a waste. misty practised immense self-control.
limiting my purchases to a louboutin
every two months got my cunt wet again.
and misty's always best with a wet cunt.
hydroponic. drowning. glub. glub.

what can misty say!? i'd kill for a new pair of 
Christian Louboutins! annnnnd...i often do!

     and so dorreen's murderous addiction led
to her catching yummy sacrificial prey at an
alarming rate. almost a doomed male a
month. kindly, she chose single males who
were loveless. not just because it was easier,
but, bless her soul, dorreen didn't want a
poor wife, child or girlfriend to be bereft.
dorreen always had a big heart.
     and strong piece of rope.

     then one hellacious weekend of skiing,
sucking and fucking each other dans les alpes
francais, my young dear admitted a tidbat
over a very dark steamy cup of sumatra roast at
chamonix mont blanc.
     yummy sacrifices of bound, frightened yet
orgasm-ing lonely, handsome males had worn a bit...
     "mist...i admit it's getting to lose that...qu'est-ce
que c'est?"
     of course, misty thought it was a joking
reference to the talking heads first hit. but
mist was wrong.
     my sweet asphyxia domme-slash-ski-slash-
fuck and suck partner's translucent eyes looked
sooo bleue. so sad at slowly losing her sweet
     misty understood. killing was love itself.
union with your prey. a meeting of the souls.
that moment when vic yields, becoming
part of your very being.
     we were not sadists, or certainly not
misty. sure dorreen could enjoy administering a
wicked whipping. a harsh strapon to a
wimpering hogtied male. but with killing...
it was pure love.
     this she was losing. the dahl had come to
a crossroads in life...sweet thang.

as if you had not guessed, Dorreen and i were close friends.
verrry closssssssse!

     "it doesn't make me come as before. i used to be
a river. now i drip. you, have what, a job three, four
times a year? maybe that makes it better. you have
the thrill of planning. waiting for the assignment. right?
makes it more special."
     misty nodded.
     "maybe doing it whenever is the problem.
quelle probleme, n'est pas, mon amour?
remembering is becoming more exciting than
doing. what is happening to me! you know?"

     i did.
     why misty never let hunger for le
meurtre make her compromise principles.
     oh yesss, dahlings, pay for murder killers can
have principles.

     enjoy the kill. but never kill just for enjoyment.

it was a weekend of getting lost in powdery moguls togetherrr.
we also left the room and threw in some skiing...wink wink.

     as my honey dorreen's crimson lips sipped her black sumatra
roast, the oblivious holiday skiers shussed by.
     her long tongue flicked, and licked her red lips. there's a
shade of blood red only a murderess wears. it looked good
on dorreen.
     to see her tongue run across that color, circle around
the lips of her half open mouth, soiled my panties then and
there. don't think that's a load. misty's a fucking good writer
who doesn't need hyperbole, dahlings.

     i imagined the blessed victims, falling into wicked, fatal
unconsciousness. she, bringing them to sexual release. that
tongue, now innocently licking her cup, licking their
dying faces. tasting her i had done so many times

     as we sat, a wind blew. the chill of chamonix mont
blanc swept the patio, adding to the misty shivers through
my misty body.

[to be deliciously continued...can you stand it?]

Sunday, January 10, 2010

that 'misty' thang...

     merry twenty-ten my luvs. hope things are going swimmingly for you all.

     a very lovely friend of misty sent me this delushious video saying it sooo made her think of moi.
     of course i had to share it with my dahls out there:

     only thing i can see wrong is that misty uses a shovel for digging, and my glock, garrote or stiletto know. but on mr. west ;D

     oh...panting hard for the next misty? don't worry. your luv has been busy terminating a few...excesses...during the ever so young year...but i've got some yum yum experiences to share my sweets. my dear friend, i hope you always know misty sooo luvs you!
     tahhh for now...

xoxo, misty

Friday, December 25, 2009

a Christmas kill (well, really new year's, but what the heck)...

     it was that time of year again when misty gets chills through her very soul.
     no, not my annual working vacation in the south of france. bang bang, if you know what i mean... was Christmas going on new years. so full of wonderful cheer and good will towards men.
     of course, good will towards men meant misty would ice them nicely, leaving a smile on their face.
     still, most holiday seasons misty had taken a break from the garrote, glock, and stiletto. hmmm, sounds like a law firm (misty,  yoo are too much!).

     but just a few holidays back, misty had a very special yuletide...
     it was midnight, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a rabid little rodent.
     on the other hand, misty's blackberry was buzzing off the friggin' nitestand! it was, you know who...
     alas, this holiday would be a working one.
     a special request for misty had come through...seems a very dear and respected man would be leaving for retirement on new years day, and something just had to be done.
     no. i'm not talking Santa Claus.

     so, misty wrapped her stylish italian-made firenze leather garrote around my lovely waist like a prada belt (much easier to get through security at JFK), and took off for the big apple.

holiday travel is oh sooo boring...but i was excited
as it was my very first new year's kill. so festive!

     the flight into kennedy was longgg. took a few vogues with to check fashions for misty's upcoming kill season.
     so gauche to work in anything but the finest style. shows no respect for your vics...and misty always respects her marks!
     in flight, one darling little boy from manhattan couldn't keep his sweet brown eyes off misty's spikey salvatore ferragamo high arched boots.
     either had a total foot fetish and would grow up making some sweet bitch a wonderfully submissive husband. that, or junior was destined to become a drag queen.
     as they say in NY, 'laaa ti dahhh'.
     after a decaf-accino latte (no, you nevah wish to see misty on caffeine) at a stylish little cafe in-terminal, i was off and about town for a few hours shopping.
     you can take the mist out of the morning, but not the shopper out of misty.
     whilst misty had her glocks and yummy selection of stilettos (with thigh holsters, sexxxy!) at moi permanent big apple flat, i knew tonight's affair would be intimate.
     and there's nothing more intimate than wrapping leather around a man's neck...
     ...and killing him with it.

     and, so came the nite.
     misty was off to spread holiday spirit to one special man in the big apple...

     knock knock knock...

     it was a subtle knock. as in fashion, misty never overdoes.
     it took another couple knocks to raise the not yet dead. after all, it was new year's eve.

     "yeah. who's there. don't you have a bottle of champagne to stick up your ass?

     well, alrighty then. mister big shot was going to be rude...sourpuss!
     "hey there!" i shouted back in my sweetest misty voice. "i'm with the city's cheery angels program. we spend a few moments with folks who are alone on the holiday."
     what a load of new year's eve crap. sometimes i amaze my misty self with the bullshit that comes out of my dior 'lavendar summer peach' glossed lips.

     it may have been a load of holiday manure, but it worked like i'd rubbed a genie lamp and got my wish.
     the door opened.

     "huh?" the craggy old wisenheimer squawked after opening a half-dozen deadbolts and cracking the door.
     "mutherfucker! you are an angel. but i didn't order, like i said..."
     asshole! i wasn't taking nada!
     "look, sir, i'm here to spread holiday cheer. you're the last on my list this year. don't be a pain in the ass, please."
     "i got something for your ass 'angel'..."
     while geezer laughed his last few chuckles on earth, misty pushed past and into his little mulberry street new yawk new yawk pad.

     his place was cheery. not what i expected. sooo perfect for the holidays...and a delightful ambience in which to ice a guy.
     "bedroom's to the right honey," mister geezer said with a very nasty tone in his grumbly geezy voice.
     "look mister...?"
     "sal. call me sal before i nail your sweet ass."
     "look, sal, i'm here to spread cheer, not to give you a nookie ride. now i expect you to behave. otherwise i'll leave!"
     once 'sal' saw my licious legs i knew he'd prefer me around than not. even just to drool over...
     "ok, ok. don't get your panties in a twizzle. how're you for rum 'an egg nog? bacardi 151."
     i didn't normally drink on the job, but it was the holidays...
     "i'm not supposed to, but you are the last of the year...just easy on the 151. i don't like flammable nog."
     "now we're talkin'!" he beamed.
     misty spied the twinkling lights outside sal's window as he poured our holiday cheer in his darling little kitchen. it was a party...
     never aced anyone on new year's eve before...but it just might become a holiday tradition!

time was running out for
misty was about to ice him good

     with sal in the kitchen pouring airplane fuel into our nog, i strolled the cheery little place. sal had a green thumb. hope all his little plants wouldn't miss him after misty was done, in a few minutes.
     i walked over to the coffee table, and sat my misty self down. my legs looked misty-licious with my valentino A-line boucle skirt hiking mid-thigh as i sat on sal's leather couch. a little leg would keep sal's mind off what was about to happen...
     my long misty fingers were about to reach under the coffee table, but sal popped in too quick.
     he snuggled up next to me with drinx. i snatched his and let him take a sip from mine. old trick.
     "what, you don't trust sal?"
     "sorry sal, you're a little too close and have a rather spunky attitude for an older gent. just being safe. nice nog."   
     "so, i don't get any tonight huh?" sal persisted, worse than a hungry cat.
     "you get my company sal."
     we sat. drank. sal enjoyed staring at misty's legs. misty enjoyed knowing what was coming next...
     maybe it was the airplane fuel egg nog. or misty was too relaxed with the holidays...but misty made a boo boo.
     i ran my long misty fingers under the side of the coffee table...

     "who the fuck are you, honey?" sal said. he knew what misty was doing. ooopsie daisey!
     "nice wood. i mean the coffee table. vintage?" misty played innocent.
     "cut the crap tootsie. i ain't had a piece in years. but you knew where it woulda been! you been researchin' me!
     "who the fuck are you!?"

     so embarrassing!
     "ok sal. my bad. i'm not as good as you some things. but much better in others."

     he looked shocked.
     hot darn! i didn't expect to lose the jump on my last mark of the year. now misty had to scramble to get back on the offensive...

     "wha? you a hitter? holy shit!" sal said.
     "okay sal, let's not use profanity. not while it's still the holidays!"

     before we got into a big discussion, misty did what she had to do. i sat on his lap.
     my strong juicy misty thighs wrapped around his legs all pythony like. now sal couldn't get up.
     my misty hands tenderly and firmly gripped sal's wrists.
     "holy moly sal! whaddya got in your pants!? a weasel? you're 78!!!"
     "don't sit on a man's lap if ya don't wanna feel his johnson! and yeah, i'm 78."

as i tightened my beautiful italian leather garrote
around sal's neck, i felt that wettening between
my legs...i so love my work...

     in a quicksmooth motion, i made up for my bungling the gun search.
     unwrapping my italian leather garrote from my misty waist,  i rewrapped it nicely around pop's neck.
     "so that's how it's goin' down huh? i ain't seen one a them things since the truman administration. you're a strong broad, but it's not easy stranglin' a man..."
     "oh sal, don't worry. if you must know it's got a handle in the back. just a turn of my pretty hand and it tightens quite easily...i won't even break a nail..."
     somehow sal didn't seem too reassured...pity!

     misty was never one to kill and run. i'd hoped to spend a nice few minutes with sal...take him quickly, kill him slowwwly...
     but things had changed. still, misty was brought up right, and i wasn't going to snuff sal without at least a bit of pleasant conversation.

     "look...what's your name anyway...i should know who's takin' me out..." sal inquired, stalling for time...
     "misty, sal. you are officially being done by misty."
     "ok, miss 't'," sal said...why do marks have such a hard time with my name!
     sal continued, "...look, i ain't taken out no one since '92. i just been livin' here, waterin' my plants, ain't hurtin' no one for all that time. now why ya gotta do me like this."
     "oh sal, do we really have to do this? what's your lifetime score? one-fifty? two?"
     he blushed.
     "ok. i was the best. i used a .22. no need to make folks ugly for the funeral. place that .22 right, no one feels a thing. i was 'the' guy."
     "well, sal, you're the guy tonight. your plants might miss ya, but at least two people have been waitin a long time for this. i don't know who you offed, but whoever loved them hired me...and it got me work on new year's eve."

     i shoulda known that wouldn't shut him up...
     "how'd you like a hundred grand? i got some bucks. i been planning on taking off to cuba after the first. never hurtin no one again. why not let an old man enjoy the rest of his life? and you get rich in the process?"
     oh, they always think it's about the bucks! sooo wrong.

     "believe it or don't, sal, i like my job. i'm gonna do you right..." i said as i began to tighten the fine italian leather...
     "ok, ok..." he squealed..."how's about a little poke before ya turn out the lights?"
     'turn out the lights'! i loved it.
     i was offing a piece of hitman history here. the language! and in little italy, n.y. of all places!
     as much as i appreciated sal, he was asking too much.
     i could feel his...uh...'johnson', as he so rustically called it. he may have been 78, but he still had steel in his weenie!
     "sorry sal. but fact is, i bat for the other team honey..."
     "other team...what the fuck does that mean..." he rasped as i kept the leather tight around his neck.
     i put my face right up close, my luscious misty lips brushing his...sweet warm misty breath fresh across his nostrils, so sal could breathe me in just before i put him on ice...
     "other team means i go for the ladies you do."

     if you could've seen sal's eyes! precious. howevah, he wasn't totally out of luck.
     i tightened the leather...there'd be no more conversation as we got started...

     "okay sal, this ain't as bad as it seems..." i cooed, letting him taste my warm breath across the surface of his gasping tongue...
     misty began tightening...tightening...evahhh sooo slowww...mmmm...
     i could feel sal get harder under my misty ass, still seated firmly on his lap.
     at first sal's hands went up toward's his neck...natural impulse...but as things got tighter, he relaxed them down to his sides...where they should be.

     "i'm gonna put you to sleep my sweet. none of that strangling and gurgling stuff...
     "misty's going to turn off that blood to the brain...make  you go nite nite, like your mommy used to. you go nicely, i may even give a little kiss as the lights go off..."
     i have such fine bedside manners, don'tcha think?
     like so many times before, as my garrote got tighter, a mark's little mister got, shall we say, tres tres grande...a physiological fact of life i misty enjoys...
     i now felt sal's little mister poking up against his pants and my skirt, hard into my misty tush as i sat on his lap...geeesh!
     "sal! i must say, you are still quite the man!"

     as we proceeded, things got pretty moist pour moi.
     normally i'd rub my misty regions against a man's back or neck as i do him...but after my faux pas i'd had to act fast and plop my yummy ass on sal's lap to keep him from bolting.

     with sal grinding his salami into my wet, and getting wetter, misty regions, i was glad he had pants on. and me a skirt...
     still, watching sal's eyes go dreamy as the leather got tighter, it felt good to rub against something...

     a faint salvation army bell wafted in through sal's slightly ajar window, and i felt the spirit of the season...the beauty of spending this time between Christmas and new year's with that very special person.
     i realized more clearly than ever, this would be sal's last holiday...misty was determined to make the next few moments oh so special...for the both of us.

sal's sex release, as i terminated his nasty life, was
as wild as a '62 corvair with a blowout...kablooie

     "okay sal, here it comes...which means here you're gonna go nice...real gift to you..."
     we were on the home stretch as misty cranked her leather almost all the way...
     the effect was delicious...i could feel sal like mt. saint helen's, about to erupt...
     and, of course, watching his carotids pulse evah so more slowly with each crank of the leather...misty was getting oh so hot and creamy...precisely why she wears undies whilst dispatching her marks.
     i still recall my first garrote, a handsome young lawyer wayyy back when...
     i thought it would be hot to do him undie-less, aux naturelle...
     it was, until i got the dry cleaning bill!
    it's been industrial strength panties evah since.

     sal's body was now...shaking, vibrating...and mr. johnson must have been very patriotic, because he was standing at attention...
     "bye sal..." misty whispered across his lips...
     then i flicked my tongue against the tip of sal's, which was extended half out of his mouth...

     and that was it...sal blew!
     the old geezer hitman shook like a '62 corvair with a blowout..i cranked my garrote tight as tight could be...those massive sal neck arteries that'd been pumping slower and slower, were now the night

     sal's eyes were rolling back in his head as he rode the 'O' of his life...and the seconds ticked out on my last kill of the year...and then...
     ...i blew!

when i was done with sal he was finally still...permanently.
and i was all hot and bothered, and wet. oh, so wet!

     when misty blows during a kill, it's a quiet affair...
     between my clit and my soul.
     a  hitwoman has to maintain control. even when she's coming like a mare in heat...and i wasss...ooooohhhh...was i evahhh...

     sal's rod was straight up under me. with no blood to his brain, it was all in his sausage!
     without my valentino, and industrial strength polyester victoria secrets, and sal's pants, between his manhood and my hot mistyland...i'd have slid down on him like a cool dab of oleomargarine on a hot butter knife.
     luckily that did not happen. i'd have thrown up in the morning just thinking about sal's 78 year old thing in me...
     as it was, i held still as my misty insides shook, and i held sal's neck tight in my leather until his head was a bright purple red...and his cock and body stopped doin' the tango under me...
     those few moments with sal inner kaboom now a purrr...the cheer of the season, the coming of a new year...all, made my misty heart sing...
     i could feel a tear...mist up in my misty was too beautiful to even explain here...

     oh myyy...even now i must sit back and reflect on the beauty of the season.

     ok...whew...i'm back.

 after icing sal, i stepped out into the big apple night, and
took in the last minutes of new year's was sooo beautiful...

     sooo...with everything still...the ringing bells off in the distance, down on mulberry street, and sal warm and dead beneath me, misty let loose my garrote.
     sal's massive carotids were on a permanent vacation now...he was gone.
     i could feel his 'johnson' below me laying down to rest...a tender moment
     as promised, i gave sal's dark purple forehead a kiss...and removed myself from him.

     finishing my nog, i felt the warmth of bacardi 151 down my throat...and the wet mess that my panties had become, under my valentino skirt...seems i can't even off a 78 year old hitman without creaming my brains out!
     oh well. what dry cleaning is for...
     i put on my bruno magli calfskin gloves, wiped off my glass, and quietly left.

     downstairs i looked back up at sal's window...the dear little mini-pots of cacti...what a perfect plant for an ex-hitter...all thorny and like.

     i'll always have a soft spot in my heart for sal...a fucking bastard who aced close to two hundred in his amazing career...
     and still, he went so sweetly...except for a little profanity, a few rude allusions, and telling me to spread my legs like a breeding hog, he died a real gentleman...

      sal will always be my sweet, new year's eve kill...
     in fact the only mark misty's ever taken out between Christmas eve and new year's day...
     so very special...and something close to my misty heart that i had to share with you all this holiday! kinda like a hallmark moment.

     may you all have a wonderful Christmas, new year's, Chanukah, or whatever you celebrate...from my sweet, dark misty heart to yours, i send the season's best love!

     oh, and by the way, i did get the friggin' misty spot outta my valentino!
     yay for misty!


Thursday, December 17, 2009

misty news...yum

     hello my luvs. i'm sure you've missed me as much as i've missed thee.

     let's just say, i've been busy doing some naughty things.
     but that doesn't mean your misty has forgotten about you all. i'm busy writing my Christmas classic 'misty at Christmas: a Christmas kill". for all my fans.
     it is a true story of a heartwarming job i performed not too many Christmases ago. it will bring tears of joy to your Holiday eyes.

     but enough of that crap for now.
     whilst your misty is working on that story, i bring you some of the most fascinating news that i could find. you all know what a big believer misty is in female, just take a look at what i do for a living. duh?
     so, in that spirit, i bring you the latest that will make all you holdouts reconsider what gender to bow down before.
     oh, and, don't worry. misty in malibu will continue. after the Holidays, of course. now...misty news!

russian doll has strongest vagina in the watch out!

42 year old Tatiana Kozhevnikova from Russia set a
new world record for lifting weights inside her vagina...wowsky!

42 year old Tatiana Kozhevnikova from Russia has set a new world record for lifting weights inside her vagina.

Kozhevnikova already holds the title of World’s Strongest Vagina in the Guinness Book of World Records but she has beaten her previous record by lifting a 14 kilo glass ball with her lady parts. Kozhevnikova told reporters that she had been training her vaginal muscles for 15 years to achieve such a remarkable feat.

mmm, a demonstration

“After I had a child, my intimate muscles got unbelievably weak. I read books on Dao and learned that ancient women used to deal with this problem using wooden balls,” she said. “I looked around, saw a Murano glass ball and inserted it in my vagina. It took me ages to get it out!”

Since then Kozhevnikova has moved on to using the correct custom made vaginal balls.

tatiana gives new meaning to being 'stuck in the urals'

“You insert one of the balls in your vagina, and it has a string attached to it with a little hook at the very end. You fix a second ball onto this hook.”

“It’s enough to exercise your vagina five minutes a day, ladies, and in just one week you’ll be able to give yourself and your man unforgettable pleasure in bed,” she says.

(this week, misty's Christmas tale will be not miss it!