The Lady-killer
by BJ Franklin © 2005

It was so easy. Almost too easy, really. Part of me sat back and chuckled as the little worm dangled on the end of my hook.

Carefully, I began to reel him in, giving all the required answers and ticking all the right boxes. Yes, I was single, and no, I wasn't looking for a relationship. I was far too young, still had so much to do, all the usual clichés. It's funny how much you can get away with when the man opposite is trying to peer down your top. His eyes were almost popping out as he craned his neck for a better view.

Admittedly, I hadn't made it hard for him. The deep V of my cleavage was clearly visible, plump mounds spilling enticingly from the low-cut neckline, with only a hint of lace showing I was actually wearing a bra. To be sure, it was top of the fuck-me range, but going without would have been too déclassé. I wasn't portraying a whore, just a woman. A woman who was a little bored, a little jaded, and just ripe for the plucking. Alan considered himself irresistible and, with his money, he practically was—to a certain type of girl, anyway.

The type I was pretending to be tonight.

Not that he was unattractive; I've seduced much worse. His face was young enough to pass for the thirty-five years he'd admitted to, rather than the forty-three I knew he really was. His best feature was those piercing blue eyes that seemed to look right through you, but he also had a lovely full mouth and trim figure, from what his tailored black suit revealed.

We were at a very swish restaurant in Piccadilly, the kind where the waiters' suits must have cost more than the patrons'. No expense was spared, and discretion was assured, making it ideal for our secret tête-à-tête. A candle lit the space around us, giving everything an intimate glow and scenting each breath with jasmine. The soft light enhanced the blue of his shirt and showed how perfectly it matched his eyes. Alan knew how to dress—or, more likely, someone had told him. It was nice to know I rated the full seduction treatment, even if it wasn't needed, and I let myself be seduced. Being the complete focus of someone's attention this way was deliciously erotic, as he no doubt intended, and so was the furtive stroking of my knee under the table.

He really was expert at this, and by the time dessert came I was genuinely aroused. We fed each other strawberries, and his tongue gently licked my fingers before the sweet juice dripped onto the pristine tablecloth. I returned the favour, lapping shyly at his fingertips, maintaining the pretence of a woman charmed against her better judgement. Then it was Alan's turn again. He was bolder now, his whole tongue caressing the length of my fingers and finding the tender skin where forefinger and thumb met. It felt like he was exploring much more private areas, and moisture began to gather between my thighs.

By unspoken agreement, we skipped coffee. He paid the bill, thanked the waiters as they helped us into our coats, and held my hand as we approached the door. A typical upper-class gentleman, except I'd fully researched his background, and knew he'd been born in London's East End. A voice coach had worked hard to eliminate the grating twang, but a trace was still there if you listened carefully. I've never understood why people are ashamed of their origins.

Just before we reached the door, he checked no one was looking, and guided me into a secluded alcove that was almost hidden by a huge pot plant. The curtain of leaves gave the illusion of privacy, and I put up no resistance as his warm lips closed over mine. He was a good kisser, gently coaxing my lips apart and slipping his tongue inside. I thoroughly enjoyed the feel of large, strong hands at my waist as he pulled me closer. My arms went round his neck and I kissed him eagerly, rubbing my body against the erection I could feel straining his trousers. One hand was combing through my hair, and I knew he enjoyed the silky feel of the long strands, while the other moved to my side. Two fingers started caressing the side of my breast, just those two fingers moving in maddeningly light repetition, and my nipples became tighter and tighter. Still kissing me, he opened a small gap between our bodies, and that hand suddenly darted between us, squeezing the nearest nipple, before returning to continue its gentle torment.

I knew he owned a flat nearby, and had prepared a great excuse not to go, so I was ready when his mouth left mine and kissed a path to my ear.

'Sweetheart, I'm sorry, I have to catch a flight in an hour. There's an important business deal I need to finalize in Miami, and I don't trust anyone else to do it properly.'

'How long will you be gone?' I asked, making sure only disappointment showed in my voice.

'Ten days. I would ring but my wife insists on checking all my phone bills, and to use a mobile would be so expensive. I'll ring when I get back, I promise.'

Two-timing skinflint, I thought, but aloud I said 'Of course, I understand. But I want you now…'

His eyes gleamed with victory. 'I know. I want you too. Have you ever had sex in a public place?'

'Not yet,' I purred.

'Would you like to?'

'Yes, please. No one can see us here, can they?'

'Of course not,' he assured me, lust completely overriding common sense. His mouth returned to mine for a passionate moment, nibbling on my bottom lip, then he abruptly pulled back. Firm hands turned me to face the wall, and I instinctively braced myself against it as I heard the soft rasp of a zipper.

'It'll be easier to give you pleasure this way,' he murmured in my ear, and lifted the back of my skirt. I heard a condom packet being ripped open, and moaned as expected when his sheathed prick settled between my quivering ass cheeks. He chuckled softly. 'What a naughty girl I've found, not wearing any knickers on a first date.'

'I never wear them. They're too restricting.' Then, mischievously, I added, 'I love the naughty thrill of the wind whipping up my skirt, invisible fingers teasing me to wetness, imagining the shock and helpless arousal on everyone's faces if they knew.'

His breathing quickened as I spoke, and by the end his swollen penis was grinding rhythmically against my bottom. 'Oh, yes,' he growled. 'And I bet you're wet now, aren't you?'

'Why don't you find out for yourself? Since you don't trust anyone else…'

'Cheeky minx.' But his fingers were already probing my slick folds, delving inside my pussy to find the sweet moisture gathered there. 'Fuck, you're dripping,' he whispered, and would have said a lot more had footsteps not shattered our private world.

'Alfred, did you hear something?' A cut-glass female voice shrilled.

'No, darling.'

'I'm sure I heard a noise… well, hurry up and get the door then—Mr. Manners never goes on holiday, you know. And find a taxi before I freeze to death, it's far too cold to hang about.'

'Yes, darling,' came the placid reply. A soft chime rang as the door opened, and Darling's complaints faded into the frosty night air. There was a quiet click as the door closed, and then we were alone once more, but who knew for how long?

Long enough. While the woman was giving her orders, those skilful fingers had found my aching nub, and were deliberately circling it. I couldn't make a sound for fear of discovery, and it was incredibly exciting.

As soon as the door shut, his cock plunged inside me and he started rubbing my clit in earnest. The tension had been building for hours, and we were both so close already that it only took a few slow thrusts to bring us to the edge. The first spasms echoed through me and he grunted as I clenched round him. One more frantic push and he too came, muffling his cry of release against my shoulder. I bit down hard on my bottom lip, but even so it was hard not to shout my orgasm to the world. For an evil snake, he had some angelic moves.

*               *               *

It was thirteen days until I heard from him again, but I wasn't worried. He was hooked. It was just a matter of time.

The phone rang at half-past six on a Friday evening, when I'd just got in from work. Guess who.

'Hi, baby, how've you been?'

'Lonely, without you,' I replied on cue. 'How was Miami?'

'Hot. But the deal's sorted and all the papers are signed. That's another six million in the bank—minus the amount I spent on your present, of course.'

'You got me a present?' I squealed obligingly. 'What is it?'

'Patience, sweet thing, you'll see tomorrow.'

'Tomorrow? Not tonight?' He couldn't see the pout, but it was in character.

'Afraid not. I still have a few problems to sort. They can't cope without me, the whole place collapses when I'm not there. Listen, sugar, I can't talk long, I'm using a pay phone. My mobile broke and the replacement isn't here yet—bloody useless that company is. At a pound per minute, I'll tell you all about it when I see you. Seven o'clock at my place? I'll tell the staff I'm not in the mood for company, and give them the night off. It'll just be you and me. How does that sound?'

It couldn't be more perfect if I'd planned it. No one to see me enter, no one to see me leave, and no way to find out he'd ever made this call.

After giving me the address, he said goodbye, and I hung up the phone with a wicked smile on my face. The final act was about to begin.

*               *               *

Saturday night I rang his doorbell at exactly twenty-past seven—late enough that all the staff should have left. It was a large, elegant townhouse, classically Victorian, in the kind of area where people live in constant fear that their neighbours might be richer than they are, so no one gets round to introducing themselves. Splendidly impersonal and breathtakingly opulent, it was clearly the London residence of Alan and his wife when they were in town. No wonder he didn't want the staff there, some of them were presumably loyal to his other half. Oh well, as long as the sheets had been changed. And its anonymity made it ideal for my purposes.

He opened the door quickly—a good sign that his body was eager for round two. I stepped inside, half-expecting to be ravished as soon as the door closed, but he had more finesse than that.

'May I take your coat?'

'Sure.' I let him slip it off my shoulders, and heard his gasp as it dropped to the floor.

'What's the matter?' I said archly. 'Don't you like my outfit?'

'I love it,' he said hoarsely. 'But something's missing… one moment.'

He padded away, taking the coat with him, and I had a few seconds to look round. The hall carpet was a deep red, and the vibrant colour made the cream walls glow. A full-length mirror with an ornate gilt frame hung near the door, but its detailed carving was minimalist compared to the elaborate work on a small table that was the hall's only other occupant.

Alan's footsteps could be heard, getting louder as he drew near, and I turned to face him. In his hands was a rectangular navy blue jewellery box, about the same size as the top of that small table behind me. If all it contained was a pair of earrings, I was not going to be impressed.

Of course, it didn't. He opened the lid, and I gasped with delight. Inside, framed against the black velvet lining, lay a magnificent necklace with an intricate red and gold pattern, and hanging from it was a ruby about the size of a Brazil nut. On closer inspection, I realized the ruby was shaped like a heart, and the red patterns in the body of the necklace were also rubies.

'I thought they would enhance the purity of your skin better than diamonds.'

'It's beautiful,' I cooed. 'Simply gorgeous. But it must have cost a fortune.'

'A friend owed me a favour—but yes, it did. Still, as long as I get my money's worth, I don't mind.'

'Oh, you will,' I promised. 'You will.'

His eyes lit up, and he reached for me, but I skilfully evaded his grasping hands. 'Not yet,' I coaxed. 'Don't you want to see it on?'

Without waiting for an answer, I put the box on the hall table and carefully lifted out the necklace. It settled round my neck as though custom-made for me, and the icy chill of the jewels sent shivers of excitement through my body. I sashayed over to the mirror, knowing his eyes were glued to the inviting sway of my bottom, and I felt myself becoming wet.

I looked stunning. As the hall carpet made the walls gleam, so the fiery hue of his gift brought out the perfection of my creamy skin. The ruby heart nestled in my cleavage, a vivid contrast to the black lace bra I was wearing, which forced my breasts so close together that the jewel could only just be seen. My black mini-skirt was so short that a hint of thigh peeked above my stockings, and black three-inch heels made my legs seem endless. I'd left my hair loose, and long black leather gloves completed the image of a high-class whore—just what Alan wanted. I got jewellery, not cash, but the principle was the same, and a damn fine principle it was.

Sensing his approach, I turned round. The look in his eyes was everything it should have been lustful, approving and impatient. I turned my back on him and strutted down the hall, exaggerating the sway of my hips and using the heels to good effect.

As expected, the stairs were just around the corner. I stepped onto the first one and waited.

'Third floor, second door on the left,' he said at once, and I smiled, continuing upwards. Each movement was slow and deliberate, to keep him enthralled and to stop me getting out of breath. It's amazing how three flights can involve so many stairs.

I followed his directions to a large room dominated by a king-size bed in the centre. Bedside cabinets and an uncomfortable-looking chair were the only other objects in the room, so I guessed that the doors opposite led to walk-in wardrobes. They'd certainly need plenty of space Alan had heaps of clothes, and I couldn't imagine his wife having any less. The prevalent colours around me were blues, pinks and purples, which made the place look like a very expensive Easter egg. It wasn't to my liking, but who knows, if I had that much money all my taste might vanish too.

I heard Alan approaching and looked back towards the door, but started when I saw a figure watching me. Then I realised I was seeing myself. A huge mirror, at least ten feet square, occupied almost the whole wall behind me. My brain started ticking and I knew exactly what to do. The uncomfortable chair was soon positioned in front of the bed, facing the mirror and the door. I arranged myself on it, crossing my legs to display their sleek smoothness—and to prevent Alan from seeing up the skirt.

He reached the doorway, halted, and licked his lips. I spotted the tented fabric where his penis waited, and knew he was enjoying the view. Soon it would get even better.

'May I come in?' he asked.

'Of course. Why don't you lie down and enjoy the show?'

'The show? Am I part of the performance?'

'No. You're the audience. It's my turn to do the work, so you're not allowed to touch me.'

'Not at all?'

'Not at all. And you can't touch yourself until I give you permission.'

'Bossy little thing, aren't you?'

'Yes, and you love it. I can see the bulge in your trousers from here. That beautiful, thick cock desperate for freedom—but not yet. Now, go on. Lie down.'

He obeyed, never taking his eyes off my body, and a heady surge of power thrummed inside me. When he was fully stretched out on the bed, his hand drifted towards his cock, but his eyes met mine in the mirror and it stopped.

'Good boy,' I told him.

'I'm not a dog,' he said, but his heavy breathing told me it was only a token objection. My taking control was turning him on.

'Maybe not, but you're panting just like one. If you had a tail, it would be wagging furiously. Now, behave. Don't distract me.'

'Aren't you going to take the gloves off?'

'No. I love the feel of rough leather against my skin.'

I ignored him from then on, or at least pretended to. Really I was very aware of his aching body and desperate moans, and made sure he had a clear view of everything I was doing. Both of us gasped when I caressed my throbbing nipples, and shuddered when I squeezed my breasts together to take both hard peaks into my mouth. But only he begged, when I finally lifted my skirt to reveal that nothing barred his view of my naked, glistening pussy.

At last, he was allowed to touch himself, and his eager cries filled the room. I hardly noticed them. My fingers were on my clit and I was gone, lost on a tidal wave of ecstasy. I returned to find myself satisfied and trembling, exhausted in the chair.

It took us a little while to recover. The aftershocks were delicious, and we were in no hurry. When the last one had faded, I sat up straight. Alan was lying replete on the left side of the bed, collapsed against the pillows with one hand resting on his thigh, and the other cupping his flaccid penis. His eyes were drowsy and half-closed, but still they watched me, waiting for my next move.

I stretched slowly, arching my back with languid grace, uncurling my arms so they reached as high above my head as possible. Even my fingers were straightened to their full extent, as if they tried to brush the ceiling. My head fell back as my eyes closed, and my breasts thrust forward. Without thinking, I casually fondled them.

By the time I opened my eyes again, his were no longer drowsy, and his hand was no longer idle as it stroked his stiffening erection. My lips curved and I preened under that lustful gaze.

'Bitch,' he snarled, unaware his true nature was showing through the gentlemanly façade. 'I want to fuck you, now.'

I told him what he wanted to hear. 'Yes, please, baby. I can't wait to have your lovely big cock inside me again.'

It was his turn to preen. 'I knew it. Come here, slut, and daddy'll give yer what yer want. Yer can keep those sexy gloves on, too.' He was so excited he was slurring his words, and the public school accent was slipping to reveal that harsh East End twang.

'Where do you keep your condoms?' I asked firmly, making it clear that he'd better have some. He wasn't happy, but I soothed him with false promises, assuring him it was only for the next few days, just as an added precaution. After all, we didn't want any surprises, did we?

'God, no.' He shuddered. 'They're in my bedside drawer, on the other side, but I can—'

'It's all right, I'll get them.' I was already off the chair and moving swiftly round the bed. Before he could react, the drawer was open, and I was hunting inside. The little foil packets were there, but they weren't what grabbed my attention. Fate smiled on me, so I didn't need to have sex with that odious man again.

'What's this?' I cooed, and lifted it out. 'What a naughty daddy to have such a big bad gun in his drawer.'

'Now, sweetie, put it back. Guns make dangerous toys, you know.' He sounded like he was telling a three year-old not to play with matches.

'I know, but a little danger can add extra spice to sex.' I lowered my eyelashes and ran my tongue slowly along my top lip, flirting purposefully as I stroked the barrel of the gun down my neck and along my breasts. Soft noises came from my throat, and the pleasure I felt showed on my face. Then I raised the gun so it pointed at him again. 'Wouldn't you love me to do this while I fuck you?'

I flicked off the safety.

'You would, Alan. You know you would. And I'd love to press it against your temple, pretending you're unwilling, so I'd have to hold it there while impaling myself on your huge erection. Your body couldn't help but respond to my tits jiggling in front of your face, the large pink nipples just waiting for your mouth, or the feel of my hot, slick walls enclosing your throbbing cock. You'd be so turned on, but fighting all the way, so I'd have to keep the gun on you. Just in case.'

Alan's breathing was rapid and shallow, his eyes glazed with need. 'Yes, yes. Fuck, yes.'

'Darling, I'm flattered. You trust me that much? Aren't you worried I'll shoot you by mistake?'

'Of course not—the safety will be on. And you'd miss anyway.'

'From point-blank range?' I teased. 'Besides, I could be an assassin hired to kill you. You're an important man. There must have been attempts on your life before.'

'Of course, but you're obviously not a hit woman.' He sniggered. 'Who'd be dumb enough to hire a female killer?'

My smile was dazzling. 'Your wife.' And I pulled the trigger.

*               *               *

She cried a lot at the funeral. Lots of photographers there to take pictures of the grieving widow. The Star paid a fortune and a half for one of them A close-up of big blue eyes with a tear quivering in the corner. It fell just as she was giving a heartfelt plea to the camera for her husband's killer to be caught. The police are working on it; it's bad publicity they haven't yet. There are no fingerprints or DNA evidence, but the profile suggests a woman. How shocking.

I heard the photographer is hoping for a Pulitzer, especially if he can get a parallel close-up of the killer as well. Good luck with that one. But he does have a picture of me somewhere—he just doesn't realise it's me. After all, no one's looking at my face. Not on the front cover of Hustler.

If I say so myself, I looked gorgeous. My outfit consisted of elbow-length black gloves, a brilliant ruby necklace that sparkled in the spotlights, and a pair of handcuffs. Nothing else was needed. I told them the necklace was payment for services rendered, and they didn't press me further.

The best way to be hidden is not to hide. To be right in front of them and ensure they never see you. At least, it's worked for me so far.

Someone is coming up the stairs. The tread is light, a woman's, but the shoes are heavy and practical. A client, or a cop.

Excuse me. I have business to see to.

_______
© 2005 BJ Franklin. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Bio: BJ Franklin has only been writing erotica for 6 months, so is thrilled to have her story chosen for the ERWA website. She enjoys swimming, is a huge Trekkie and, in her spare time, studies medicine at university. Her story ‘The Wheels on the Bus’ will appear soon at GoodVibes.com.

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