| "The Lady Killer"
by DG (email@example.com)
At a little after nine the Chaisey was waiting for walked
into the Pearl Lounge on the twentieth floor of the Intercontinental
Hotel and took a seat at the long, gleaming bar. Sometimes it took a
little while before she was sure of her man, but not this time. His
beautifully cut gray suit and stylishly long hair set him apart from
the rest of the casually dressed patrons. Chaisey had been sitting
in a booth by the window for two hours, fighting nerves and boredom
as she nursed a seven-and-seven and gazed out at the Chicago skyline.
Now it was time to go to work.
She went over to the bar and took a seat, leaving an empty
padded stool between herself and the man, whose name was Albert
Virello. The bartender came over immediately, and she ordered a
glass of white wine. She didn't look at Virello, but she felt the
weight of his gaze as she took a tiny sip of wine and then set the
glass back down on the small napkin. Then she swiveled her stool
around, letting her gaze sweep across Virello to the large windows
behind the bar. He smiled at her, but she kept her face neutral.
When she swiveled back around she made eye contact for a moment,
letting the corner of her mouth move upward just a fraction before
her gaze slipped away.
A few seconds later he was standing behind her.
"Excuse me...would you mind if I sat down next to you?"
She looked up, feigning surprise. "No, of course not."
Virello set his drink down and slipped into the stool next to
her, carefully spreading the bottom of his jacket to avoid sitting on
Chaisey smiled to herself, thinking about her meeting with Mason
three days ago. "This one should be right up your alley," he had
told her. "He's a sharp dresser who fancies himself a real lady
killer." This was said with a perfectly straight face - Mason didn't
do irony. He had handed her a photograph of Albert Virello, and she
had spent several minutes memorizing it. The photograph had showed
Virello sitting in a restaurant, wearing an elegant navy-blue suit.
He was smiling at something, and Chaisey recognized immediately that
he was quite good looking. In his forties, he had smooth, tanned
skin and dark gray hair. His features were lean and sharp, and he
reminded her of a wolf.
"Are you in Chicago on business?"
Chaisey turned to look at Virello. "You could say that. I had
a job interview today."
"Ah, I see. It went well, I trust?"
"Yes, yes it did. They offered me the job, in fact. I'm pretty
excited, I've always wanted to live in Chicago." She gave him a
"Congratulations," said Virello, returning the smile. "Chicago
is a wonderful city. I lived here for ten years before I had to move
away two years ago."
"That's great - I'd love to hear about the city from someone who
knows it well," she said. Then she blushed a little and took a sip
He nodded, his eyes gleaming. "I don't want to be too forward,
but have you had dinner yet?"
They took the elevator down to the first floor and had dinner at
Harry's. Why get into a taxi when there was a steak house
right in the building? The restaurant was busy, but Virello had a
few words with the maitre d' and they were shown to a good table.
Chaisey didn't know what he said, but she was sure that Albert
Virello's clothes had something to do with it. In addition to the
dark gray wool suit, he was wearing a hand-stitched in a soft
cream color and the most beautiful hand-painted silk tie she had ever
seen - a soft melding of green and white, like sea foam.
Most loved to talk about themselves, but not Virello. They
spent most of the dinner talking about her. Without ever seeming to
pry, he forced Chaisey to embellish her simple back-story with a
wealth of personal details. By the time their plates were cleared,
Chaisey felt a warm affection for Jennifer White, the aspiring
advertising executive from Minneapolis who loved and
black and white movies, hated politics and telemarketing, and was
training to compete in her first triathlon.
Virello did talk a bit about himself. He told her he was born in
France, which was true, and he told her he was a financial advisor
specializing in the European market, which was not. He had some
amusing about his travels, the truth of which was immaterial.
Chaisey declined a brandy, and accepted the offer of dessert,
ordering a small dish of sorbet.
When the waiter left, Albert said "Jennifer, I think you are
going to go very far." He swirled the last sip of Bordeaux in his
glass. "You have ambition, but you also have a very good heart. Both
of those things are important for type of career you want."
"I hope you're right."
He looked into her eyes. "Also, you are very beautiful. That
never hurts, does it?"
"Oh, Albert." She looked down shyly at the table. "This has
been so wonderful, so relaxing. Just what I needed after a stressful
day. How can I thank you?"
She felt his hand cover hers, warm and heavy. His voice was a
soft purr. "Jennifer, I would very much like to make love to you
She made him wait for a few seconds, then she lifted her eyes
They rode the elevator in companionable silence, holding hands.
The more Chaisey thought about his approach, the more she appreciated
its simplicity. Once they had spent the evening together, he was
entitled to make a pass. An American would have invited her up
to his room on a silly pretext - another drink, or to watch an in-
room movie. The tension would have risen on both sides, and the
conversation would have become forced and artificial, until finally
the overdue pass came. Albert's direct approach was much more
elegant, more manly.
His room was on the seventeenth floor, overlooking Lake
Michigan. As he fussed with the lights and the drapes, Chaisey
excused herself into the bathroom.
After locking the door, she ran the water in the sink and opened
her purse. The gun was in the bottom, tucked into a cosmetics bag.
The silencer was inside a small plastic bottle of hairspray.
She thoroughly checked over the gun, a .32 automatic, and then
screwed on the silencer.
This was the time to do it, of course. Come out of the bathroom
smiling with the gun held behind her back. Get within about six feet
of him, no closer. Two in the chest, one in the head. She'd done it
seven times before, with never a hitch, and she had no reason to
expect a problem this time.
She lingered in front of the mirror, undecided.
He would be good in bed, of course. A who could move
smoothly through each step in the seduction, a who dressed with
flair and taste, who took care of his body - it was a foregone
Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she unscrewed the
silencer from the gun and put them back into her purse. Then she
took off her and used them to cover the gun. She lifted her
dress and sat on the toilet, urinated, and then cleaned herself
carefully down there. She rinsed her mouth with water, quickly
combed her shoulder-length brown hair, and then opened the door,
holding her purse in her hand.
"Ah, there you are." He had taken off his jacket, and he was
holding two very small glasses of brandy. She took one.
"I love your tie," she said. She ran the back of her fingers
down the shimmering fabric.
"My weakness," he said with a smile. "An lady in Paris
makes them. Very expensive, and difficult to knot. But..." He
shrugged, a Gallic gesture that spoke volumes.
She looked up at him and moistened her lips. Albert set his
brandy down on the side table and then, his face very serious, he
kissed her. His lips were firm and warm, and his mouth tasted
faintly of coffee and brandy. They held the kiss, and when they
pressed their bodies together she could feel the stirring of his
need. His hands began to move over her body, and when he discovered
that she was naked under the dress she felt him smile.
Finally they broke apart, and Chaisey was breathing heavily.
Albert reached for his tie.
"No, let me," she said. He stood obediently still as she
worried the elaborate knot loose with her fingertips. The silk made
a cool whispering sound in the quiet room as she repeatedly pulled
the tie through itself. When it was finally free of his collar, she
was surprised by how long it was.
He wanted to pleasure her with his mouth, and she wanted it too.
The first touch of his tongue against her inner core sent a shiver of
anticipation through her, and after a few seconds she was surprised
to hear her own voice, moaning softly with pleasure. He licked her
slowly and thoroughly, until she was soft and wet and fully engorged,
like a flower about to release its pollen, and then he concentrated
his efforts in just the right spot, moving up and down with the
motion of her hips until she stiffened and called out.
Then, he did it again.
Her limbs were sleepy and loose with released pleasure now, and
looking down she saw how stiff and needy his cock was and almost felt
"Your turn," she said, and he didn't object.
She wanted to make it good for him, the way he had made it good
for her. She lubricated him with her saliva, enjoying the masculine
taste of him as she licked his cock and his balls, and then she
turned her lips and tongue into a and began to slowly fuck his
beautiful cock with her mouth.
He didn't want to thrust himself in and out of her mouth, and
the realization amused her. Such a gentleman. Well, every had
his limit. She slowed down until he started thrusting, just a
little, and then she slowed down some more, until he was fucking her
motionless mouth with needy jerks of his hips, banging his cock
against the back of her throat at the end of each wet thrust.
"Oh, Jennifer," he gasped. He pulled her head away from his
groin and pushed her gently onto her back.
"Fuck me," she whispered, spreading her legs for him,
She thought he would be quick now, but he surprised her again.
He fucked her steadily and firmly, sending a ripple of pleasure
through her body each time his hips collided with hers. She came
again, more gently than before, and then she felt the warmth deep
inside as he found his own release.
They lay together for a few minutes, breathing deeply, and then
he sensed something was wrong.
"Why are you crying?" he asked.
She shook her head silently, and wiped her eyes. "I'm not."
"That was incredible, Jennifer. I hope I didn't...."
She smiled through the last of her tears. "Don't be silly."
She got up and went to the window, still nude.
"Fireworks," she said.
He rolled out of bed and stood beside her. "Yes, I remember
they would always shoot fireworks from the Navy Pier when I lived in
Chicago, every Saturday night. You Americans - always celebrating."
Chaisey walked into the bathroom, retrieving her purse on the
way. Without switching on the light, she screwed the silencer back
into place, her hands doing the work by themselves. She flushed the
toilet and came back out holding the long gun loosely at her side,
like it was an extension of her arm. Albert was still at the window,
staring out at the fireworks, which were really quite spectacular
from this vantage. She walked up behind him and watched over his
shoulder, close enough to catch the scent of his skin.
"If he turns around...," she thought.
But he didn't, and as the last rumbling of the fireworks began
to fade she shot him carefully in the back of the skull, just above
his neck, and he dropped soundlessly to the carpet.
She dressed quickly, keeping her eyes averted from the nude body
under the window, and then she wiped her fingerprints off of
everything she had touched. She was on her way out when her eyes
settled on the sea-foam green tie, neatly draped around the collar of
his on a hanger. She rolled it up carefully and put it her
purse, and then she left, quietly pulling the door closed behind her.
The End, "The Lady Killer"
@1999 by DG
Comments are welcome: my email address is firstname.lastname@example.org