29.5.13
#2 of An Assassin's Journals
The following is a violent sexual story involving anthropomorphic animals. If you are under eighteen, please do not read it. If you are squeamish, please do not read it. If you're looking for 500 word porn, please do not read it.
29.5.13
What a job I pulled, oh what a job I pulled.
Isn't that a great phrase? Pulling a job? I love it! It's almost got this double meaning if you look into it closely enough and associate with me. Think about it, think about it. Well, I imagine that the sentient world isn't going to grow too much smarter before the pages of this puppy rot away, so I'll spell it out for you. Pulling off. As in masturbating. Clever, eh? And what makes it even better is that that's exactly what happened!
So I'll share it with you, progeny, because it just feels so Goddamn good.
It was the Theists that wanted me tonight. Well, they always want me, but they wanted me especially tonight. They caught wind of some vague happening within the Atheist ranks. Most probably it was a meeting to consider next year's budget, but the Theists couldn't take that chance. They needed me to kill someone, and they needed me to kill someone big.
The man I was talking to--a fellow with about as much sense as a beheaded firefly--was quite adamant about that. But he didn't give me a specific target, no. He just kept saying it over and over again, "Big, big, BIG!"
Jabbering idiots. Always in my line of work I have to deal with jabbering idiots. I wouldn't be half surprised if the people I was always assigned to kill--who are for the most part not jabbering idiots--were agreed upon by both the Atheists and the Theists. That way, no matter what happened, the jabbering idiots wouldn't have power wrested from them by the strength and will of competence.
Sadly, they're too stupid to think that far, so I doubt that that's the real explanation. Especially when this Theist here is telling me that he wants me to kill one of the incompetent fatheads in the Atheist network.
How could I refuse though? Especially when the Theists were hanging an even 50,000 credits over my head? It was easily the biggest carrot that I'd ever been offered. Hell, with something that big, the news media would probably find out and start publishing sensational headlines. And that's fine with me so long as they don't get my picture--fame is the last thing a hired gun wants, after all.
So the deal was 50,000 credits in exchange for the head--or multiple photographs--of someone with A8 or higher rank in the Atheist camp. Now, I've never heard of this fucking A8, so I had to get a list of personnel from the Theists. Don't ask me how their spies were able to penetrate far enough to detect that something like A8 even existed, I don't know. But I got a list--incomplete, my babbling Theist employer told me with the sorrow of a Captain bringing home news of a husband and father's death. Sickening, ain't it?
But I have to like the idea. A8. Aces and eights. Dead man's hand. If there's one thing that's survived the ages, it's random trivial lore like Wild Bill's fatal hold cards. A very romantic kill it would be, even if it was a jabbering idiot.
I looked over the list while my Theist employer stared at me. And what a relentless stare it was. It got to the point where I threatened him with Chewy. Now, there was no way I'd survive if I actually shot that cunt (note the reference to my first entry and bask in its glory), but said cunt values his life far too much. So he left me in peace so I could figure out who I should kill. After reminding me that I needed to pick someone of A8 or higher. Cunt.
Sadly enough, few of the names rang any bells in my head. It wasn't hard at all for me to narrow it down to two. Those two were both contacts of mine who have given me a couple of assignments before. It struck me as an honor, really, to have contacts that work so high up in the chain of command. But then again, I would not accept anything less.
Narrowing it down to one was easy enough as well, since only one of them was A8. This one had less likelihood of being guarded by an obscene amount of Atheist pricks, he's shown considerable interest in my own prick, and there's that dead man's hand thing again. Can't pass up the dead man's hand.
I was given use of a private jet underhandedly tied to the Theists for this one. First time that happened, but then again, this is the first time I've been given a time-sensitive mission that had to be carried out on the other side of the former United States.
So I left on that jet plane, and the trip passed rather uneventfully. I felt the desire to masturbate on the wax fruits they left on the table, multiplying their aesthetic beauty tenfold, but I decided it would be for the best if I didn't. My plan counted on my ability to seduce this dead man, so it would be best if I actually felt some genuine need to relieve myself while I was doing it.
We landed. I went to one of numerous secret entrances for the Atheist tunnels, and encountered a boorish boar-like fellow that didn't seem happy to see me.
I'd muzzled Chewy with a silencer while I was on the plane. You wouldn't believe just how much I wanted to test him out on this boar of a guard, who also sounded like he wasn't happy to see me when he asked for my business.
Chewy was best left in his holster, I figured, so I simply told our pig--with more than a touch of curtness--that I was here to see my dead man, and then flashed my Atheist credentials at him in the most insulting manner imaginable.
"Go on in." He was more non-chalant about it than I'd expected him to be. I couldn't just leave with that.
So when I walked by him, I said, just loud enough for our pig to hear, "God bless you."
That got his goat. Now I normally hate to use that expression for reasons that I'd like to think are obvious, but once or twice isn't going to kill anything now, is it?
Few things are quite as satisfying as breaking through one of those walls where people try to block out their emotions. Emotions are, after all, meant to be worn on one's sleeve. It's much more fun that way.
I kept my credentials out so I wouldn't have to be bothered with anymore nonsense on my sojourn through the caves. My credentials are quite nice really. They're the sort that very few assassins get--the sort that says, "Fuck you, get out of my way." And I've got one of those from both camps. How many assassins can say that, hmm?
Anyway, I went on until I reached my dead man, making sure to do lots of thinking about brilliant, heart-pounding sex. What purpose does this serve, you ask? You'll see, progeny. You'll see.
I walked in. "I'm here for a mission."
"A mission? I didn't call you."
"I was wondering," I said, sitting down in the single guest's chair he had in this office, "If you had anything for me." Now, when I sat down, I made sure to press down on the right thigh of my trousers with the back of my hand. The erection that I'd been nurturing suddenly became quite visible, especially when I subtly bucked my hips the dead man's way.
He was practically blubbering when he spoke, but somehow he managed to retain a shred of composure. I was impressed. "W-what--when were you thinking of taking a mission?"
"Oh," I sprawled out in the chair a bit, doing quite a number on the fellow, "Anytime after tonight. I have plans for tonight." I even winked. I knew that a wink would make him suspicious if he weren't raging with sexual desire at that point, but I also knew that he was raging with sexual desire at that point, so I was okay.
He stood up and motioned to the door behind him. Poor fellow thought I was only here for sex. "The details of the mission are right this way."
I stood up and walked as though I were trying to retain a professional disposition for any cameras that were watching. Through the door I went, and the dead man--who was, since I forgot to mention it earlier, some sort of canine; something like a labrador--followed, closing it swiftly behind him. He then walked quickly by me, passing a couple of doors on the left, and stopping at the first door on the right. "In here," he said, sounding a tad breathless.
I opened the door and walked into a dark room. As expected, the dead man followed me in and turned on the lights to reveal a rather posh bedroom. I glanced at a far wall and noticed a large collection of toys, whips, and black leather. All very interesting, but none of it quite what a man with a job to do would want.
While I was considering all of this, the dead man went over to a computer terminal and typed a few things into the keypad. There was a noise that sounded something like assent, and the dead man looked up at me grinning, "I turned off the security cameras and told the guards not to check on me for a good long while."
My hooves made a light clipping noise on the hardwood floor as I walked up to the labrador. He waited expectantly for me to do something, and so I did.
Note that I could have killed him right here, but I definitely did not want to pass up an opportunity for sex like this when it presented itself, so I put my hand ever so lightly against his crotch and leaned in to kiss him.
There is something supremely rewarding in feeling a penis swell under your hand, and kissing a man who, though certainly not as attractive as me, was easy on the eye felt good after the string of female targets that I'd served. His hands wrapped around the back of my head, and we actually remained together that way for a long time.
Eventually he broke the kiss and gently slid his smooth claws slowly down my chest, creating a whimpering noise somewhere in the recesses of his throat.
Honestly, I didn't find it cute. I didn't like it when dogs whimpered; it's one of the least sexual sounds that I've ever heard in my entire life. I assented to his unspoken request, however, and removed my shirt. The dead man didn't seem content with just his own shirt, though. He went ahead and simply removed his pants.
I took the canine phallus that appeared into my hand and squeezed it once. I'm not entirely sure how it would feel for a non-goat to have his penis squeezed by my hand. Unlike most other furs, I have only two fingers to complement my thumb, but each one is roughly as large as two. In addition to that, my fingers have a sort of hoofy quality about them, which is to say that they're quite smooth and hard, and usually a bit colder than the rest of me. I imagine that the dead man enjoyed it, though, since his eyes closed and a hint of a moan came from deep within his body.
As he stood there, half-expecting more, I pulled off my pants (with Chewy still attached) and used a thrust of my palm to the dead man's chest to push him backwards all the way until he fell on his bed.
He looked quite surprised, but seemed to erase any trace of unpleasantness from his face rather quickly when I sauntered over to him. He got the hint, and raised his legs into the air.
I didn't want to put my member into him straight away since it had been a relatively long time since I'd had a man, so I knelt down on the floor and began to lick the area around the dead man's anus. I was quite delighted to taste the salt of sweat there already, and grew impatient because of this. My tongue quickly ascended to his genitals, which received a few cursory licks before I stood up, now quite ready to perform the old in-out (A Clockwork Orange was perhaps one of my favorite novels).
The dead man was smiling beautifully as I eased my glory into his receiving end. As I've said before, I'm definitely no where near the largest when it comes to the size of my penis, but something about the way I thrust, or the way I hold the other's legs tightly, or the way I add faint tinges of goat-like bahs to my exhalations, or something else seems to get people. And I got the dead man. Got him good, as they say.
It was a very short time before my entire penis was going in on the thrusts, and it was an even shorter time before the dead man grunted in time to those thrusts. He was having quite a time of it, with his eyes closed and his hand periodically pulling at his swollen red penis.
I made sure to have as much fun with it as I could, inserting those bahs I'd mentioned earlier into my every breath. You may find it strange now, but somehow that sound is as much an aphrodisiac as the saliva of a raging bull. Take that how you will.
In the ecstacy of the moment, I leaned over him, shadowing his excited glans with my body. In a surprise move, the dead man reached up and took hold of one of my horns, which of course made the both of us quite happy.
I'm uncertain how little the dead man had gotten before I'd come to give him some fun, but he was simply unable to control himself. I compare it to a volcano, though of course he did not emit nearly as much lava as one of those would. It started with two small streams that were more reminiscent of water spilling out of a boiling pot than anything, but then there was a grand shot of baby batter that almost flew as high as my chest before falling back down with a semi-audible splat on his groin. A little more spilled out to close the demonstration, but I have to say, looking back, that I'm quite impressed with the force he put on it despite having not received very much direct stimulation.
Being the exceptionally aroused fellow that I was, I actually stopped thrusting when all of this finished, and pulled my horn out of the dead man's grasp so that I could feast on the sperm he'd left for me. I knew it wouldn't have as much meaning if I had waited to eject my own seed.
It was very quick and done with little mess. I didn't finish the job of course, as that would take too long, but the dead man seemed pleased anyway, smiling up at me when I resumed the violation of his anus.
In a short time, I too was spent, though the display was not quite as engaging at the dead man's had been since its full fury could not be seen.
We stood locked together for a while as I collected myself, the dead man smiling up at me still. After I was quite finished, I pulled out of the labrador laid down on top of him. I believe he expected us to be in that position for a good long while, because he was exceptionally surprised when I punched him squarely in the throat.
As you can imagine, one of my talents is killing people without having to use weapons, and crushing a fellow's windpipe is one of the ways I can do that. It didn't kill immediately of course, and there was lots of gurgling and clutching of the throat, but most of all that look of surprise. Angry surprise.
I walked back over to my pants where Chewy was waiting for me and pulled him out. Then I pointed him at the dead man, and fired. It was astonishing how quickly the gurgles faded and how beautifully the blood spattered over the wall.
I pulled out a small camera from my pocket and went around taking pictures of the dead man, then took out a business card of mine and left it next to his body. Why not capitalize on an opportunity to receive another lucrative contract from a camp that wants revenge?
I got out quickly after that, and with considerable ease. No one wants to fuck with a man with credentials like mine.