Starbursts of blue, pink and silver explode across the inky blackness of the sky as showers of confetti and curlicues float to the street. Down below a crowd of partymakers gather in the street. A contagious festivity. Mardi Gras-like. The revelers shout, sing and blow whistles while sparklers sizzle the air.

On the top floor of an old abandoned warehouse, she awaits. The room at one time set aside as a storage area, now dark and shadowy. Sitting empty. Only the harsh street lights several floors below cast a dim light. With her face pressing the window pane, she gazes out, watching the crowds mingle below. But not for long, the warmth of her breath against the cold glass has clouded her view and she steps back from the large glass windows lining the wall, and turning, hears the sound of footsteps. Masculine and hard, echoing thru the dirty concrete and rusting steel that zigs and zags upward through the fire exit. Her heart races, beating with a wild anticipation. It is here in an old section of the city, that they've agreed to meet. A place where few ever go save winos and addics. A place of secrets and lies.

The fire exit door creaks open. She looks over, meeting his gaze. Their eyes lock. While she gazes at him, she notices he's wearing a black trench coat over his dark suit and tie. He's young and hansome. A catch for any woman. Even an older more experienced one. But there seems to be some confusion in his eyes. Dark and questioning, they begin to dart nervously over the black velvet of the loose hooded cloak she's wearing. Wandering, as though sizing her up. Is it possible that her appearance has made him overly nervous? She purposely wore it to better blend into the comforting darkness of the night. Unseen.

The room crackles with an eerie silence. She believes she can hear his heart beating. Over her own.

She speaks first, softly, choosing her words carefully. Her mouth the only thing to move. "Mr. Michaels, I presume?"

"Yes." Then he walks with confidence to the center of the caverness room and waits for her.

"I adore the fireworks," She says, back lit fron the distant lights outside the windows. "It gives the New Year a special feeling."

"Are you ready." He asks coldly, indifferently.

Her heart skips a beat. The impatience of youth. She moves cautiously away from the windows and towards him in the center of the room. Making a large circle around the empty room before spiraling towards the center. Her heels clicking ever so lightly on the cold grey concrete floor. To stand before him. Mere feet away. Face to face.

"Remove your clothes." His face is expressionless and somber.

Lifting the soft black velvet hood from her head, a cascade of rich golden curls spill out, tumbling around her neck and far down her back. Then after undoing the cloak's clasp, she shoves it from her shoulders. Then in a practiced motion her hands catch it and allow it to simply settle gently in a soft circlular heap on the floor around her feet. Like a shield.

She knew what would happen tonight. Just not when or where, but she knew it would be in an abandonded place like this. His youth had caught her off guard. She han't expected someone so young. And she would have layed money on the fact that they would send a man. She debated for days what to wear for him. To put him at ease. Disarm him as it were.

On this particular occassion she decided to entertain her own singular wild fantasies, just once, while still jumping thru her employers' hoops. She decided this would be the night. A good night. Her heart was still racing with excitement and anticipation. Even though she had carried out this type of assignent a hundred times in the past. But people in her profession tend not to live long. Tonight she was determined to try something a little different. Do something wild. Before someone decided she needed to be `retired'.

Under her rich warm velvet cloak. Her tall slender, yet shapely, body looked as though she had dipped herself in a coat of paint. A pale pink paint. From head to wrist to toe. The thinest of lycra catsuits stretched tightly to fit her every curve and crevice. Classic red stiletto heel pumps with a slender ankle strap made her inches taller than him.

Her eyes never leave his as his eyes dart over her completely covered yet seemingly naked form. Caressing her curves yet not touching her. He was obviously not sure quite what to expect from her. She knew this would be a quick and easy job. Should have been. The hard features of his face have softened. And his eyes want to do more than sting at her flesh.

"Raise your arms please."

The nipples on her full breasts are firm and erect, pointing upward as she arches her back. Threatening to poke two holes in the thin fabric. Their round darkness, and the darkness of her neatly trimmed triangle, are clearly visable thru the glossimer material. It's as though she's posing for a photographer. She lowers her arms while performing a sensuous rotation in the circus ring of her cloak.

"To your liking Mr. Michaels?"

"Um, yes. But let's continue. The chip if you please."

She lowers her hips slowly downward squatting on her heels. She looks directly at the long buldge beneath the fabric of his trousers. She glances upward and gazes into his eyes.

"Not just yet, Mr Michaels."

His eyes tell her everything he would like of her.

As she unfastens his belt buckle, there's a metallic cling as it scrapes across his trousers. When she pulls at the zipper, nestling in its placket, metal teeth grind along its track. Then separating the flap in his silk boxers his bulge, hard and erect, leaps forward. An enormous member, throbbing and tinged in purple. Her hands curl around his erection, squeezing and sliding along it ever so gently. Instinctively, she parts her lips, sliding its smooth round head inside. Covering his enormity with the warm wet confines of her mouth, she sucks it. Sucking slowly at first, swirling her tongue around and feeling it mushroom. Then she sucks harder, covering his erection with the walls of her mouth. Carefully, she grates her teeth lengthwise, nibbling its ridge gently. She can hear him gasping, moaning in a slow desperate way. Taking that as her cue, she sucks harder, applying more pressure. By now, the sounds he utters are incoherent, as though he's reached some ecstasy. Is about to.

She lets her fingers caress around his tight young rear and slide down his lean hard thighs covered by his silk suit enjoying the feel of his flesh. Feeling his hard muscles ripple in the cold of the night. Then rakes her long red fingernails back around to his sac hanging warmly below his base. His moans become more frequent and his sac draws up tightly away from her nimble fingers. Her erotic efforts are rewarded as his thick salty seed pulses and swirls in her mouth. She lovingly sucks and swallows every drop. Only when his softening shaft slips from between red lips does she pull back.

His hands quickly and deftly replace his member, and return his pants to there former state.

She stands slowly letting her hands caress up his flat stomach and chest. Careful not to go near the buldge tucked under his arm, against the side of his chest, lest she make him nervous and undo all the work she has done to put him at ease. Make him feel she is no threat.

Bringing her heel up she opens a tiny compartment and removes a small computer chip. She straightens and holds it out to him between two red fingernails. He calmly takes it and examines it. Satisfied, he begins to back slowly towards the stairs.

"Mr. Michaels, my payment?"

"They'll mail it to you."

And with that he turns away from her. Continuing to walk casually towards the stairs. Confident.

Fool. She thinks to herself. Squating, silently and quickly. Her hand makes a practiced move into a hidden pocket in the lining of her cloak. Her fingers wrap around the fimiliar cold steel handle of a small Deringer with a long fat silencer. She smiles to herself at the imagery. But only briefly.

Meanwhile, the revelers below them have pitched a frenzy. Shouting, "Three...two...one..." The crowd goes wild. Large colorful fireworks shoot high into the cold night sky.

Standing, quickly and calmly. Her legs apart. She extends her arm and squeezes the trigger twice. She feels the handle twitch twice then become warm to the touch. Her arm lowers slowly.

Calmly replacing the gun to its hidden padded pocket, she picks up her cloak and brushs the dust off. Wraping it around her shoulders. Casually attaching the metal clasp below her neck. Taking her own sweet time. Pausing only breifly to look around her. She takes a long slow deep breath of the cold night air thru her nose, blowing it silently out between her puckered red lips. Then moves towards his body.

She places two fingers on the side of his neck. Nothing. A pool of red forming in the small of his back with a tiny waterfall running off one side. A look of suprise on his face. Resting on the concrete floor. She retrieves the chip and removes all of Mr. Michaels identification. Removing the cash and later to discard the wallet. She smiles sadly down at him, pulls her velvet hood over her golden curls, turns, and makes her way calmly down the rusting metal stairs.

END