Robert Ferrigno - Sins of the Assassin

The Colonel kissed her back, gently at first, then deeper as her heat filled him.

Baby fanned herself with her hand. Pulled away from him. “Colonel, suh, you have an erection! What will my daddy say?”

The Colonel reached for her, face flushed, but she darted away.

“I bet it’s a big ol’ purple screamer, isn’t it? I heard stories about you.”

The Colonel touched a button on the wall, maximized the privacy windows. He could see the last of the sunset, but the sentry posted outside could hear and see nothing inside.

“I know what you’re up to, you nasty man.” Baby wagged a finger at him. “You’re gonna try and put that big ol’ thing inside of me.”

“Baby, please…” Her games made the Colonel uneasy. All the variations, the sheer joy of her play was intoxicating, but he worried that she needed the games to hold her interest. “Baby-”

“Today’s my wedding day and I can do anything I want.” She lay back on the sofa, lifted her skirt, and the rustle of silk sounded like a roaring fire. “Oh, damnit, I forgot my panties.” One hand crept down, lightly stroked her smooth pussy. “What am I ever going to do? Johnny’s going to be so mad.” Her fingers traced their way up her inner thighs. “He thinks…” She gasped. “He thinks I’m a little bit of a whore. You don’t think…” Another gasp. “You don’t think I’m a whore, do you, mister?”

“No.” The Colonel smiled, started unbuttoning his jacket. “No, ma’am, I don’t think you’re a whore at all.”

She watched him from the sofa, back arched, the wedding dress bunched around her waist. “Johnny, he’s a big boy, got muscles on top of his muscles, but I think he’s scared…” Her fingers flew back and forth. “Scared of my…little…pink…pussy.”

The Colonel tossed his jacket onto a chair. “I suspect that Johnny feels like he’s the luckiest man in the world.”

“I hope so, because I love him…love him to death.” The moist sound of her fingers filled the quiet room. “That’s why…why I’m so worried about what he’ll do…when he finds out I’m not wearing panties. He’s got a terrible temper.”

Thunder rolled off the mountain, shook the house. The Colonel lowered the lights as rain patted the roof, gently at first, then harder. The sentry hunkered down, head lowered. “Rain on your wedding day…that’s a good sign.” He tore open the Velcro snaps of his shirt as he stared at her.

“You have to help me, mister,” she cooed.

The Colonel laid his shirt on top of his jacket. “Anything.”

“Anything for the bride to be.”

“Anything for the bride to be,” he repeated.

She beckoned him closer, her finger moving with the lightest touch. “Johnny…he’s gonna put a whipping on me if he catches me without panties. He’s not like you, mister. You like a dirty girl, I can tell, but Johnny, he’s just full of rules.”

The Colonel knelt in front of her. “Maybe marrying Johnny is a mistake. A…dirty girl like you deserves to be with someone who appreciates her.”

“I wish I could, I dearly wish I could.” She ground her hips. “Johnny, though…his family owns everything in our little town. The mill. The grocery store. The bank. If I don’t marry Johnny…his family’s going to fore-close on my daddy’s farm. So you can…see…my problem.”

The Colonel couldn’t see anything else but her. “I…I’d be happy to help.”

She grabbed his head, slowly moved him closer. “I want you to paint panties on me, mister.”

The Colonel looked up at her.

“With your tongue, mister. I want you to paint panties on me with your tongue.” She pulled his face into her, groaned as his tongue gently probed her softness, teased her. “Anything for the bride to be, that’s what you said,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

The Colonel pressed her thighs apart, circled her with the very tip of his tongue as she worked against him, and he thought of other intimacies, other women…all gone now. Even the memories of them fading like photographs left in the sun. There was only Baby. She twisted against him, tore at his hair, but he held himself back…just enough. He always knew when to charge and when to retreat.

She cried out, laughing as her wedding dress floated down over his head.

The Colonel stood up, wiped his mouth. “What time is the wedding?”

“I got to be at Gethsemane Baptist in two hours.”

The Colonel unzipped his trousers, let them fall around his ankles. “Plenty of time.”

Baby clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “Well, look at you. That’s positively fierce, mister.” She gnawed on the hem of her dress. “I don’t rightly know if I can handle something like that.”

The Colonel settled down on her, the wedding dress crinkling around them. He entered her slowly, entered in one long, liquid movement, and she rocked with him, her heat boiling away any doubts. Any thoughts. She held him close as he drove deeper and deeper, whispering in his ear, urging him on, working with him, the two of them panting, fighting for breath as the rain beat on the roof.

It was dark when they awoke, the Colonel’s communicator buzzing.

“Don’t,” said Baby, reaching for him. “Let it be.”

The Colonel put the communicator to his ear, listened for a moment, and started getting dressed.

“Zachary?” Her wedding dress rustled against the sheets, the top unbuttoned, her breasts peeking out. “You’re no fun,” she pouted as he hurried into his pants.

“Moseby called, darling.” The Colonel pulled on his shirt, his expression eager as a schoolboy’s. “He’s found something at the bottom of the tunnel.”

Baby examined her nails.

“You want to come look? Moseby sounded-”

“No, thank you, Colonel. I’m just going to lie here and pleasure myself thinking of other men.”

The Colonel laughed, grabbed his rain slicker off the peg, and started for the door.

She watched him stride past the sentry, shoulders back, reveling in the storm that raged around him. She sighed in the dim light. Slid her hand down the wedding dress. Rain slanted through the night as she idly stroked her nails across her flat belly.

She was still touching herself when lightning streaked across the sky, flashed on Lester Gravenholtz barreling toward the house in his high boots, soaked, good and angry as usual. The sentry saluted, but Lester ignored him, taking the steps to the front door two at a time.

Malcolm Crews kissed the silver shekel. “I hope you’re telling the truth.” He pushed open the door to the rickety chapel and ushered Rakkim inside. The men sitting in folding chairs turned around, followed their progress to the front of the room. Most of them wore skeleton costumes. Wind whistled through the dry branches that formed the wall. Howled through the roof woven from twigs. Electric lights propped in the corners cast shadows across the faces. It smelled like an old grave.

“You’re not scared, are you?” said Malcolm.

Rakkim looked at the men staring back at him. “Scared of getting fleas.”

“You know what you need?” Malcolm picked up a couple of gallon jugs off the floor. He spun the screw top off with a flick of his thumb, the top rolling along the dirt floor. “You need a drink.”

“That’s okay.”

Malcolm nudged him with one of the jugs. “I won’t take no for an answer.” He waited for Rakkim to take it, handed the other one to a man in the front row. “Bottoms up.”

Rakkim sniffed, wrinkled his nose. Tilted back the jug. He spit it out, coughing.

Malcolm took the jug back. Drank deeply, smacking his lips. “Satan can’t abide strong drink, ’cause he’s afraid he might up and tell the truth.”