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! 

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

misty in malibu...


    For one brief moment, misty had forgotten about the very sexy murder she had seen last nite.
     women, killing men, always hot.
     but in the 'bu', malibu for the uninitiated, everything is younger.
     misty had seen a teeny booper...a member of what now must be the z-generation...bring a boy toy bar pickup home from a club. to, presumably, daddy's summer beach house.
     she did the nawty nasty with him.
     and then iced him.

     sooo very misty.
     but misty get's paid good moolah for killing guys. misty's a professional. and misty has a code.
     little miss malibu was simply satisfying her inner brat.
     killing for fun.
     misty does not approve of such tres licentious behavior.
     tho...misty did love watching.
     bad misty!

misty had been a peeping misty, using her black ops nite
vision binox to spy a very very delish murder in the 'bu'

     so i was in 'the' bu.
     barbie dollz who could walk, talk, and suck cock at the same time. talents never cease in 'the' malibu.

     misty was getting misty-faced on greygoose greyhoundz at the cove restaurant and bar. how quaint, n'est pas?
     the guy behind the bar looked like stonewall jackson, but was apparently that dude who wrote the bobby mcgee song.
     what was next? mick jagger and warren beatty coming in on walkers, going boy to boy like the '60s?
     yikkity yukkk!

     i had stopped in this hotel california twilight zone to make a call.
     i needed work. someone to kill.
     that's what i do. i'm a hitwoman.
     la news tragique pour misty was that hits fucking waves. they get here when they get here.
     ohhh, myyy, gawddd! i was making surf analogies!
     malibu was having a very delimiting effect on our sweet hit-babe misty!
     but there was hope.

     and she was wearing 4" valentino stilettos with perfectly frosted blonde hair and blood red lipstick.
     she was part of the never never land misty was stuck in.
     a vacuously deoxygenated environ that drew the substance from one's very soul.
     normally misty likes asphyxia...but this was unrelenting!
     if tall frosty blonde in valentino spikes didn't walk through those patio doors tres soon...misty would pay her bar tab. stagger to her rented '57 356 porsche speedster. and drive a mile or so to the malibu ranch motel where she could collapse in a drunken misty stupor, in comfort. if the ranch had cable on demand, i could catch 'romeo's bleeding', and touch myself as lena olin strangles gary oldman with her thighs in that car scene.

misty was a professional assassin, like lee marvin and
that other dude in shades in 'the killers'...except misty
looked so much hotter in a prada leather skirt than
lee evah did

     i watched the fat brown pelican shit one last time on the vomitously rustic malibu cove pier, shimmering like cow crap in the early afternoon malibu sun.
     i told my grey goose saturated beautiful flesh to rise and leave. but grey goose has the side effect of causing time delays in the muscle reactory continuum vis a vis the mind synaptic relays.
     fuck! misty was drunk. she was thinking in sophomore biology class-speak. yukkko!
     i thought that during my high school years, healthy doses of awakening lesbo sex, copious rum and cokes, and unhealthy amounts of lysergic acid diethylamide, had wiped my nightmare high school academic experiences from my misty mind.
     like the time i raped my algebra teacher with a dr. pepper bottle.
     he asked me to do it. begged me. gave me a year of A's. it traumatized poor young teen misty. and people wondered why mr. dannerforst walked around my junior year with a big fucking smile on his face...and a slight limp.
     oh well. welcome to misty hell.

okay, misty was a baddd teen. i raped my
high school algebra teach with a '10-2-4' classic
dr. peppah bottle. hey, he asked me to do it!
gave me a year of A's if i would. sick bastard!

     now, maybe you all are beginning to understand how someone of my...qualities...came to be.
     drugs. libertine sex at a tender age. a juicy misty body way beyond my misty years that teachers, male and female both, were asking me to do things outlawed in the Bible, as well as 50 state penal codes and several scandanavian countries.

     so here misty was. in her adulthood. drunkers.
     oh lord, stuck in 'the' malibu, again!
     wasn't that a creedance floodwater hit? whatevahhh...

     i struggled to forget the intoxicated stuporous floodgate of childhood memories overtaking me. i concentrated on standing up to leave.
     then...'She' came out the patio door!
     the world ceased.

misty was about to leave, get a room at the malibu ranch motel,
and catch 'romeo is bleeding' on free cable. that flick is where
yummerz lena olin strangles gary oldman with her legs from the
back seat of his car...ooooooooooh!

     "my apologies darling! those barbie dolls inside simply wouldn't stop talking about their thigh lifts and tummy lipos. i finally tore myself away!"
     barbie dolls? was she really aware of the vapidity of the world she inhabited
     she had a brain as well as a body.
     even had she not...this lady was such a haute hottie, misty would have died just to kiss her succulent calves. run my tongue along the soles of her well-arched feet, visible through her low slung valentinos...

     " are here. i was...was waiting. and here you are..." misty babbled stupidly.
     'She' smiled.
     like God. sending warming rays down upon humanity.

     "oh my, you are intoxicated aren't you," she said.
     "well, don't worry. if an hour or so conversation with me doesn't sober you up, we'll go to plan 'B'," she said, sitting so close i almost came.
     "wha...what's plan 'B'?" i inquired as my misty heart beat like a tom tom.
     "i'll take your flirts a few minutes ago seriously and show you why the guys voted me pasadena high's most kissable."
     ohhh myyy Gawwwd!!!

my new friend suzanne was playing toe tag with
misty under the table...her red painted steel heel
valentino stiletto was so...oh sooo!!!
     "by the way, my name is suzanne. no, you may not call me suzi. i was not a cheerleader in high school."
     misty didn't think before speaking...
     "can we go straight to plan 'B'...suzi? i mean suzanne?"
     " 'suzi'? am i going to have to spank you...hon?"
     ohhh myyy Gawwwd!!!

     misty's answer was obvious.
     "yes. you are!"
xoxoxo, misty

[to be...mmmmmm...continued...]


Sunday, November 22, 2009

mmmmmm.... reD

     hi dahlings.
     misty has been misty busy, but i thought i'd take this momento of spare time to share another of misty's fave pictures with you. it says so much to me.
     yoo too?

mmmmmmmm...reD is such
a...reD colour! goes with the
the colour of bullets...

     might i also share with you, my luvs, that my dear friend reston cane has added another of his delish installments on nasty ladies for real for real (that's mistyspeak, like fer sure fer sure?) on !

     my little reporter friend, writes on the stuff that just never seems to get into the papers and mags. misty thinks the powers that be don't like to think Ladies can take things into their own hands. especially their manhood, let alone their lives.
     it's sooo refreshing to find a male who knows the truth about these things. ressie has been begging to interview misty...but i'm doing such a good job interviewing myself i think i'll let him sit on it for a whilst. ;D
     tah for now luvs. next bit of blahhhging coming about 'the' malibu...but it takes a while to go over past participles of my life. hell, i don't just make this stuff up sweeties!
     tahhh fer now fer now dahls...
xoxoxo, misty

Saturday, November 14, 2009

'this could be Heaven...
...or this could be Hell'

[continued from before. duhhh!]

misty had seen a hot chic thrill kill her boyfriend near
zuma misty was stuck in 'the' malibu...
hot and hungry for a kill of her own

     all misty knew about malibu, besides surfing and brainless beach blondes, was casa malibu.

     it was built in 1949 and was the original 'hotel california'.
     lana turner checked in for a day and stayed for a year.
     i'd started to feel like lana. or the eagles.
     'hotel california'.
     or a roach motel.
     you check in. but you couldn't check out.

     misty was stuck at the cove coffee shop and bar.
     time was standing still.

     even my watch was dead. it could have been the battery.
     more likely the fucking conversation at the next table.
     a malibu blonde, with hair dyed by the warner bros special effects department, was blabbing.
     "davenport was, like, preggers. could barely walk without bursting. so todd bought her the hummer, as if the suburban were too small! as iF?! like, gag me!"

     i'd gag her with more than a spoon, which was what malibu bleach-frosted beach blonde air heads used to keep the margaritahhhs from turning into tummy tires.
     misty was listening to the air whistling through the brains of the bimboz at the table next to moi.
     the last thing misty needed when she was achhhhing for a kill was bubble-headed beach blonde babble.
     the thought of 'davenport' being preggers...or any malibu bleach blonde spawning a child, made misty vomitose, speaking of gagging with a spoon.
     it made misty think of that thing popping out of a chest in 'alien'.
     of course, 'alien' also had some good things. sigourney weaver and flame throwers. BBQ-ing aliens.
     that's a hitwoman.
     a sweaty sigourney in a tank-t, spraying flames out her nozzle. sounded like misty on a good saturday nite.
     i neeeded a good saturday nite. or any nite.

misty was stuck in the cove bar and coffee shop
listening to malibu bleach blonde barbiez burble inanely.
i think this was in the Bible...Purgatory, wasn't it???

     misty had become insanely, maddeningly, sexually aroused last evening watching a very naughty thing at a beach house off pch in 'the' malibu.
     a thrill kill.
     yes, misty had been peeping through windows.
     now misty needed a hit to satisfy herself after what she saw.

     so, misty left the bar for the patio. to call 'josephine.'
     i flipped through 'the' malibu news as my blackberry went into redial purgatory, waiting for an opening to 'josephine's line.
     'the' malibu news gave misty an insight into the nouveau riche wasteland here, of barbie bodies and chatty cathy brains. as if i really wanted to learn about these idiots.
     les riche nouveau were feeling the pinch of the economic downturn, according to the 'news'. downsizing ferrarri GTB fioranos and lamborghini gallardo superleggeras for humble carrera porsches and LS9 vettes.
     talk about slumming.

i oh sooo needed the hot sexy yum yum feeling in the pit
of my soul that misty gets when she executes a mark...

     two more minutes of redial and i was ready for greyhounds.
     my manolos took me back to the bar, which opened early. they start ahead of time in 'the' bu.
     "grapefruit fresh squizzled? vodka grey goose?" i demanded. misty was not in the bestest of moods.
     bartender looked like stonewall jackson. confederacy. army of northern virginia. creepy.
     that, or kris kristofferson.
     "not going to sing 'bobby mcgee, are you?" misty added.
     "yes. yes. and, uh, no..."
     "ok. start the greyhounds sweeetheart," misty approved.
     "we talkin' pitchers, or one at a time?" stonewall asked.
     "i'm waiting for a very important call, darlin', so let's take it bit by bit."

the bartender at the malibu cove looked like either
stonewall jackson or kris kristofferson...whatevahhh!

     being in oz was wearing thin.
     A gull landed on a post on the pier outside as my drink was being prepared. the redial kept...redialing.
     it had been going five mins straight.
     i was so horny i'd have shoved the phone between my legs if that woulda calmed me.
     but only getting a contract for a kill would do that.
     stonewall pushed over a greyhound.
     best misty had sucked west of the big apple. church room at the tribeca hotel. misty is sooo religious about her drinks.
     "niccce. you're forgiven for that mcgee jingle," misty told the bartender.
     i decided he looked more like kristofferson.
     misty made her way to a corner booth. i could watch seagulls and terns shit on the rails of the terminally boring pier, waiting for my call to connect.

     misty's pretty, and increasingly intoxicated, mind redialed it's own number.
     last night. as i sat in the 356 speedster. on the zuma cliffs. looking down at the beach house below.
     misty was playing peeping misty. looking through windows.
     what i'd seen got me hot for a kill.
     a pretty teen hottie turned a boyfriend for the nite into a corpus delectable. amazing what a tight wire can do to a young man's deliciously tender neck.
     amazing what goes on behind closed doors at nite in 'the bu'.

misty trusts her prada cloud-white silk blouse.
black strappy crocodile manolo's. and glock .380
with noise suppressor. all quality products.

     at lassssst. redial connected. the remaining drop of the greyhound trickled down misty's throat.
     and 'josephine' answered.
     i cannot say who josephine is. male or female. tall, short. yankees or red sox. gin or vodka.
     misty would have a misty of her own on her tail if she said more. or perhaps, a guido. anyway, it would be oh so ironic for misty to be hit. a waste of a good body, if nothing else.
     thanks to misty's deliteful and sexy writing, i'm put up with in the world i inhabit.
     but misty knows limits. lines not to cross.
     so, let's say, 'josephine' is someone misty has never met, but trusts as much as she would her prada cloud-white silk blouse. or black strappy crocodile manolo's. or glock .380 with noise suppressor. all quality products.
     i was overjoyed to hear jo's voice!
     misty: "josephine...i am sooo happy to reach you. i am sooo desperate..."
     j: "yes misty, i can tell in your voice"
     m: "i need work, j. it's been two months."
     j: "you've gone longer. you know it's always like that. some good things coming. be cool. you sound a little tense, why so...urgent?"
     m: "can i be honest, j?"
     j: "that's all you can be with me misty."
     m: "ok. i saw something last night. a kill. misty was peeping. voyeur. it was hot."
     j: "it's good for you. keeps you hungry. your next one will be nice for you."
     m: "no j. it's very bad. this was hot. hot hot. hotter than hot hot. she was as good as misty. but she was doing it for fun. so that made it better for misty to watch. and she was wasn't even old enough to buy a gin and tonic. legally i mean.
     "so right now i'm poppin' back grey goose greyhounds in malibu, j., made by some guy who's either kris kristofferson or the undead reanimated body of stonewall jackson. i'm on edge. i need a mark. yesterday. since yesternight."

i told 'josephine' how much misty needed a hit. jo said
there were some nice things coming down the pike.
problem was, i needed to kill someone now! that
time of the month i suppose.

     j: "misty, you are a riot. but i see here that you are completely serious"
     m: "fucking straight! you're tellin' me!"
     j: "you crack me up. look, we cannot suggest this, but surely it's occurred to you to..."
     m: "thrill kill? you know what i think of that, j. it's not part of my code. it's sick. disgusting. crummy. capricious. cavalier. crappy."
     j: "one of the many things i've always loved about you, misty, is you can talk like a gay sailor, yet such a marvelous vocabulary."
     m: "don't patronize me, j.'
     j: "see what i mean? half our contractors think patronize is a czech tequila."
     m: "ok. you're funny too, j. but it's lost on me. i'm hungry. and i'm not thrillin' away my needs on some innocent idiot i pick up at a bar.
     "no offense. i'm just sooo..."
     j: "yes. i see. ok misty, i will tell you like it is. you've got to get ahold of yourself. by the clit if you have to. there's some good stuff coming down the pike. really good. i'm talking V-work. vengeance contracts. marks that have done nasty things to people. the avenger misty. it's your cup of tea. or vodka. whatever the case may be these days.
     m: "yes. thanks j. but..."
     j: "but nothing. that madoff thing was the tip. so much of that coming out in the news. and so much no one knows about. v-kills up the yinyang. you're on the top 20'll get the best. they're in the pipeline."
     m: "that is sooo appreciated j. but, that's not the point. it's immediacy. i have no idea if i can get through the day. nite. jefferson davis behind the bar has six more greyhounds waiting for me. pelicans on the charming pier outside are starting to look interesting. and you know i despise charming, not to mention pelicans."

i told jo how hot it was watching that young sweetie
tenderly strangle her boyfriend to death, deliciously
looking down on him as she took understood.

     j: "misty..."
     m: "the inane airhead malibu frosted bleach blonde chat chit is starting to sound fascinating to me!"
     j: "that bad, huh?"
     m: "comprendo?"
     j: "ok misty. no thrill kills. have you thought of euthanasia?"
     m: "i'm NOT going to kill myself J!
     j: "not you misty sweet. euthanizing someone. pick up some old dude in a bar who has terminal cancer. lost his sweetheart of 50 years and wants to be with her. a young fellow insanely in love whose wife just died in a plane crash. they're out there misty."
     m: "that's pathetic."
     j: "misty, i'd love to stay and talk, and God knows i wish i could help you. i can say, just hang in there. and no, i'm not talking asphyxia. we don't want to lose you."
     m: "whose writing your material j.? bob hope?"
     j: "he's been dead awhile misty."
     m: "precisely."
     j: "you can get rough, can't you. ok, hold on. a few weeks they'll have something superb for your skills and wants. i must go. things piling up. love, as always..."

jo said there were no contracts right now. booo!
my only plan was to go back to the bar and
get totally smashed on greyhounds...they were
already stacked up and waiting.

     and that was that.
     kris kringle, i mean kristofferson, had another double on the bar for me.
     the bubble headed frosted blondes were chitting, or was it chatting, about bcbg versus la perla when they should have been talking bottega veneta versus prada.
     worst, i was paying attention! geeeeeeeeeesh!

     turned around to get my next double, and in between misty and the bar was a six-foot two, in four-inch steel-heeled valentino stilettos, superbly frosted blonde with blonde roots, non-botoxed bronzed sculpted (by God, not docs) face, with dolce & gabana undies that could just barely be seen through her diaphanous chanel silk skirt. her divinely golden muscled legs tapered to 17" lush-a-licious calves that misty wanted ultra-succulently wrapped around misty's neck!!!!!!!!!!!!

     "oh. excuse me," she said as we nearly bumped into each other.
     ", excuse me. i'm on my way to a lost afternoon, and to catch my next greyhound at the bar," i burbled, almost unable to stop panting. or keep my misty heart from palpitating out my pert misty chest.
     "greyhounds. perfecto. i must do the same after chatting with know," she said, shaking her mane of blonde frost towards the bimboz in the main bar. "the merveilleux, n'est pas? should try his sex on the beach," she said winking.
     "actually, i'd love the drink, but i bat for the other team. even if i was a switch, he looks too confederate for moi tastes," i said, checking him out.
     she grabbed my arm and i felt the geese bump up all over my body.
     "you are totally precious! not from around here, i take it. look, if you're still here when i'm done with the girls, try my sex on the beach. oh, and i'll buy you a drink too," she winked.
     misty was in misty love.

misty turned to go back to the bar, and bumped
into her heart's desire, a horrifically sexy perfectly
frosted blonde in valentino 4" spikes...yummerz!

     "i'll be here," i said. "bartender does have a sense of humor. i told him his drinks were so good i forgave him for writing the bobby mcgee song."
     blonde frosty in valentino spikes laughed.
     "oh, he probably appreciated it. most of the crowd here rides him for writing that song. at least you forgave. kris is cool about it. he drops in and dishes the cactus juice for kicks. sucha doll. see you in a few..."
     and she was off.

     i snuck to the bar and got my drink.
     misty attempted to vamoose, but was stopped by...kris.
     "hey lovely. i'm really sorry you didn't like the song. i do have others. i have to admit the title's not the coolest," he said.
     "oh...i was sooo just kidding...please accept my apolo..." misty started to say...
     but he cut me off.
     "not a bad song, but that name. producer at monument gave me the title. grabs me and says,  'me and bobby mckee.' I thought he said "me and bobby mcgee.
     "that sounded to me like the worst idea for a song. he said they'd be traveling around or something. i told him to go fly a kite, or words to that effect. he said, just 'try to write it. so i did.'
     "my apologies," he smiled, and left to give drinks to two ancient blondes who needed embalming.
     misty left with her greyhound.
     and looked forward to talking to...her new frosty blonde friend in valentinos...
---xoxo, misty

[to be oh sooo...continued]

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

not a tin Lezzie...but the real thing!

yum! misty's found some delish stuff on! like this lez-licious pic by
anna span, who says, "reality is an important

aspect of what women look for in porn." 
misty says, you gottit hon!

     well dahls, your luscious and deadly misty has been fooling around on the netters and came across
     kind of a naughty place to go on the fucking world wide web, and where i came across the above photo of the type of subject matter misty creamz over. sorry for the language graphique, but how do you expect a hot blooded kill-chic to speak?
     aaaaaaaaaand, on the latest sexy erotic women murdering guys installment by my pal res cane...the guy's a journalisto, which makes me juice while i read, since he may change the names and places a tad (we all know about that around here, huh dahls?) but the killings are for yummy real.
     uh...kinda like heeere...
     so glad i found you ressie. if you had a cunt i might even take you to bed. from what i hear you have howard stern're a lez in a man's body...or am i telling too much. that's misty for yoo.

misty in 'the' adventure you won't wish
to miss. by the way, that's not your misty above...
i'm sooo much more delish!

     as for my sweeties here, misty's real life adventures in malibu-land will continue here oh so soon. i do reveal so much of my heart and soul...i can't believe just six months ago i was going through so much travail...boohoo. well, no need to get into it here. it's sooo lonely getting off killing guys, having wanton sex with lez dolls, and all the while never finding true love.
     don't wish to reveal much here...but...guess you'll have to wait a few daze...
     tah for now luvs...and do remember, misty's not quite so baddd as she seems...

     she's oh so much worse!

xoxo, misty

Friday, November 6, 2009

mmmmmmmmmm...misty's kinda movie

     just found this trailer for totaleee the kind of movie misty luvs.
     i'm guessing you might too ;D - Music Videos

     oh...and misty's guessing you're wondering if i've evah done anything like in this fine feature film.

     whaddya'll think, dahlingsssss?

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

a porsche with a view...

[just to fill in the stoners among you who aren't following along, misty was asleep on the zuma cliffs, in the early a.m., in her auto, after watching some teen honey strangle her pick up from a west l.a. club. i was being a peeping misty, and, guess i just got lucky...]

a chip is not the first thing you want to see in the morning.
thank goodness it wasn't that erik estrada guy!

     i heard a knock not far from my head.
     believe me sweeties, that's enough to earn you a .22 in just the right place, when i'm sleeping soundly.
     howevahhh, when i looked up and saw who was knocking, i "copped" a different tude...pun, pun, misty made a pun!
     a hollywood handsome chp was rapping on my speedster window, with that look of, "not another bimbo passed out in her porsche..."
     which, i'm sure happens a lot in 'the' malibu.
     howevah, i wasn't stoned.
     misty is not a big believer in the drug culture. unless, of course, i'm using narcotix to put a vic under.

     "yes officer, may i help...uh, help you."
     i was still waking up. by the looks of the sun over the zuma and trancas canyons, it was eightish.
     misty should always be allowed to sleep at eightish in the a.m.
     "Yes mam, you can help me. i want to be sure you're alright. have you been sleeping here since last night?" mr. chp officer said. ohhh so nicely i might add.
     "why yes, sir, i'm sooo very all right. guess i fell asleep. didn't want to drive as i was, er, getting sleepies."
     misty can be very very nice when she wants.

     "that's always a good idea mam. might you hand me your vehicle registration and driver's license? just protocol," chippie so courteously requested.
     of course, misty always had her california state i.d. with her whenever in lalaland. or anywhere else in the wacko state.
     i handed it to him.
     "thank you mam. miss donna leslie. donna, is this still your address in west los angeles?"
     "why yes officer sir." i thought i'd throw some of his mam crap back in his pretty face with a 'sir' or two.
     "and i see your insurance is up to date. this is a rental?"
     " i do a lot of traveling, so i don't keep a car here. so yes, a rental, sire."
     maybe that was a bit too much crap to throw. sire. geeesh misty, give the guy a break.
     "right mam. this is california. in fact, i think we are in malibu. even so, last i checked, there were no royal titles in use in this municipality."
     " sooo right. my apologies. i wasn't trying to be..."
     "sarcastic mam? that's ok. get it all the time. however, it's a pleasure to be getting it from such an attractive young lady so early in the morning. my girlfriend doesn't get her wit going until 10 a.m. so it's very much appreciated."

chp boy was kinda cute. walked back to his bike like
hud...that 'roll of nickels up your ass' kinda way

     well. if i didn't punt for the other team, he'd be quite the charmer to take to the malibu surf motel to fuck for a day or so. or whenevah he got off shift.
     "you are certainly a darling. your gal friend is a lucky doll. if i may be so bold to comment on your personal life," i nawtily said.
     "as they say in court, i opened up the line of questioning, here's your license back. do be careful mam...uh, donna," he said with just the sweetest smile.
     "you are a honey. don't take offense, i am a big girl. i will be careful."
     "i don't want you to misunderstand...donna. there was a murder in the area last night. or, we assume it was last night. while you were asleep, a body was found up towards neptune's net. young man. strangled. i'd be careful around here. least until law enforcement puts this together."
     ohhh myyy.
     my little sweetheart from last nite was a busy daddy's girl.
     i fell asleep and, very un-misty-like, i assumed she'd keep her dead date at beach house central until the next day.
     i sooo had the urge to turn around and look down the hill, but i knew what i'd see. honey doll's mustang gone. she'd spent the early morning hours dumping her plaything. up around neptune's net.
     "oh my goodness. thank you for telling me. i had no idea things like that happened around these parts," i said, lying my stinkin' panties off. oh, i forgot, i wasn't wearing panties.
     which reminded me. luxo rentals was going to have to detail my passenger side leather bucket recaro upon my returning the speedster...i am always so juicy watching a good kill. whether i did it or not.

last i'd seen of killer girl last nite, she was standing naked, above
her honey, who she'd just, the cops had found her dead boy toy

     "ok, mam..."
     "donna, pleeeease..."
     he smiled. such a nice smile. for a fucking cop.
     bad misty!
     california chips are as much like real cops as tuxedoed groom dolls on wedding cakes are like real men. which is a compliiment for those of you keeping score. misty is not a fan of men or cops. generally speaking.
     "yes, donna. please be careful out there."
     he gave me back my faux license and reg.
     "ok mister chp officer. by the way, anyone ever tell you you're the cat's pajamas?"
     "just middle aged malibu ladies with too much botox trying to talk their way out of left turn tickets. you're a refreshing change. now, be careful."
     he turned and walked back to his motorbike. he had that 'roll of nickels up his ass' walk of marilyn in 'some like it hot'. or paul newman in 'hud'.
     mmmm, misty! don't tell me you still have it in you to switch hit?!

     i thought of shoving a roll of nickels up mister chips' tight ass as i shoved my speedster into gear, and peeled onto pch going back towards civilization.
     i also thought of that poor dead kid in a field near neptune's net, nearly coming all over my recaro again!
     watching that boy toy get his neck tied tight had taken hold of me like nothing before.
     don't get me wrong. i'm not a fan of serial killing. so de classe. gauche. a true act of desperation!
     my goodness...if you can't find a legitimate way to kill people in this big wonderful sick world, then you are a real loser!

so honey musta locked up, and slipped down the beach house stairs
after packing  murdered boy toy into her mustang...then drove off to
dump him at neptune's net! whatta time for misty to have fallen asleep!

     howeverrr, daddy's little college girl in the mustang last night was probably just finding herself. perhaps she was a future misty. i did commit a few nawty delites prior to my first real job. so, don't judge too harshly, misty.
     the point being, i don't approve of killing willy nilly. i'm very proud of my profession. maybe i'm a closet republican. believe in order. the free market system. at least when it comes to murder.
     but, as slummy as serial killing is...and how much i totaleee disapprove of such rampant libertinism...when performed by a luscious doll, on a male of the species, i get all gushy inside.

misty drove off in her speedster, parked on pch, and had jo
at the first dive i came across. misty was all worked up...

     which meant i had to do something about how hot i was feeling.
     something i rarely did.
     i would call josesphine.
     i couldn't wait for the next job to just come rolling in like...well, like the surf at malibu.
     i needed a kill now. like twenty minutes ago.
     i'd pull in the first open dive on pch, have a cuppa jo. and call josephine.
     no, assholes, not her real name. don't even try to figure jout who, what, when, where or why. just enjoy what i do tell you.

misty, like her heroine, loved the nightlife...which for misty
 meant a kill. after watching that teen doll murder her date
last nite, i needed some kill action of my own...

     anywayyy...josephine was a sweety.
     she always hooked me up when i had that lust alicia bridges would say...

[to be oh sooo continued...with a few surprises about your misty...]

Sunday, November 1, 2009

happy Hallow's Eve...

misty wishes you had a deadly nice Hallow's Eve

     well my lovelies, misty had a quiet Hallow's Eve. no jobs to do, though it would have been a delightful time to so do...i'm sure you all get my drift.
     misty dear is having some issues writing the next piece about the zuma beach incident, if you're up to date on my little adventures.
     it involves some real opposed to fake self-revelation...hahaha, misty made a funny.
     but heck, that's what this is about anyway...right dahlings? no, not jokes. but revealing one's self.
     annnd, you all don't really know me, as in face to face.
     if you did, you'd either be some interesting doll i was about to explore female adventures with...or you'd be a job, and your number would be about to be punched...albeit in a very yummy way i assure you.

     but most of you are none of those, so revealing the innermost misty to you is making her squirm a tad...can you imagine, me, squirming?
     well, start imagining. i've decided to go through with the sequel...sharing it with you all.
     no names, dates, places, or other ways you can track the lovely mist down...but you may get a clue as to who i truly am in my heart of hearts...not that i've hidden anything from you up til now...

     enough my sweets...enjoy the rest of your Holiday...and i will be sharing soon...tah

misty note!...i was just contacted by some bassoon who wondered what i meant by "female adventures"!
can anyone truly be that obtuse? i'd recommend anyone who has those type of questions to turn off the computer and spend the rest of your recreational life watching the disney channel...but as a one time courtesy to the freaking fool who had the nerve to ask me such a question, here is your answer, get a clue!

Thursday, October 29, 2009

i so love nasty!

that nasty res is writing about chix killing guys again...yum!

     hello dahlings. i'm sooo busy doing busy things, as you would expect a dangerous doll like moi to be.

     howevahhh, i do recommend highly the next chapter in my new friend, journalisto reston's blahhhg about a superbly nasty killer chic from way back when.
     res wasn't too happy about moi pulling his posties for our little get together here.
     normally i'd threaten to do deliciously awful things to the sweetheart if there was a problem. but, i appreciate his jourmalistic respect for...shall we say...women of the deadly arts. which is the theme of his oh so arty reporting.
     sooo, whilst i take care of business...if you know what i mean, and you need some killah lady action...shoot (pahdon the pun) on over to

     until i come back to you, dahls....