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!



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