a shooting scenario "Big Max's Penthouse, 3am"

[michael antony]

a shooting scenario "Max's Penthouse, 3am"

Espionage/High-End Mob-ish, automatic pistol, professional murder

(setup for extensive body handling and necro fantasy.
The standing nude poses and the crime scene are me.
The S&W .380 auto is from Leatherdude's personal gun collection)


---------

You had Big Max's trap set in the penthouse of an exclusive condo block where Max owned the entire top floor. Motion sensors in the office near the safe would trigger an alarm on your phone, and you'd swing into action at the penthouse, carrying out Max's order: kill anyone you find there.

One benefit, though, was the party on the next floor down from Max's penthouse, where you're waiting for the signal to move in while hanging out at a posh party with a bunch of Max's rich friends. One of Max's parties, of course, meant entertainment -- and the entertainment for the evening was a smooth, lean, tight-built dude named Michael, the top dancer from Max's club -- a thick-hung, graceful six-footer with long, sleek thighs and a tight, perky ass. He captivated you. Your eyes caught each other throughout the evening as he strutted among the guests on the patio and in the living room in skintight thigh-high black leather boots with 4-inch heels, over-the-elbow leather gloves, a polished leather collar with a gold dog tag, and nothing in between.

You spoke at the bar later on after his performance. He was looking tight and hot -- the way his boss always liked his bois to dress -- in a pair of pale blue skinny jeans, a tight little blue baby-doll t-shirt, and high-heeled suede cuff boots. He moved with the confidence of a dude who knew he was the hottest bitch in the room. He came on to you brazenly. His cockiness heated you up. He wrote his room and phone numbers on the back of a Club Max card and slipped it to you before he left the party.

"Here. Call me later? Gotta run."
"How late are you up? I have some business first."
"As late as you want me," he smiled.

In mad anticipation of what was to come with him later, you watched Michael's ass and thighs flexing as he strode towards the door.

About 3 or 3:30am, halfway through your second martini, a certain vibrating pattern sounded on your phone. The trap at the penthouse was sprung. It was time to head upstairs and clean up.

You slipped stealthily into the darkened suite, pausing to let your eyes adjust to the street light filtering in through the blinds. In a few moments, you caught the dim glow of a penlight flickering through an open doorway to the outer office (and the safe inside). You lightly strode across the living room to the office door, flattening yourself against the wall just outside, listening to the activity at the safe. Suddenly, there was silence. Was he done? Had he heard you?

With your silenced .380 drawn, you stepped quickly into the office doorway. In the stripes of street light filtering through the blinds, you saw a tall, slim figure silhouetted as it dashed for the doorway to the inner office. Reflexively you squeezed your trigger four, five, six times at the dark figure darting through the dim, pale light. The feel of your arms and shoulders flexing and your steel bucking in your hands electrified you; you thickened as you heard the dull thump of slugs catching meat, the sound of stumbling feet and the sick, heavy thudding of a falling body. The sound of his rough, throaty, animal grunting and moaning as your slugs tore through him excited you.

You stood up, took a deep breath and let the silence sink in for a moment, your eyes fixed on the fallen body sprawled face down in the inner office, dimly lit by the street light filtering in. You walked across the office towards the doorway to inspect the fresh kill. You pulled the blinds shut and flipped on a small table lamp near the door.

You froze for an instant with the unexpected shock of recognition. That outfit. Those thighs.
That ass.

Oh, fuck...! you gasped out loud to no one in particular. You started thinking your date might be a little earlier than you planned.

Goddammit! That raging slinky dancer from the party, that goddamn' boitoy. Max told you that he knew it would be somebody at the goddamn' party.

You remembered the card in your pocket. Christ, I had a date with this wild little whore.

Your erection almost hurts as you unzip a bit on your way to the bathroom to burn the card...

 

[Dark Fader]

Hot story Michael - it was a business having pleasure with you - Max paid very well - and for YOU?! - He tipped VERY generously indeed

View attachment 99516View attachment 99517View attachment 99518View attachment 99519View attachment 99520a shooting scenario "Max's Penthouse, 3am"

Espionage/High-End Mob-ish, automatic pistol, professional murder

(setup for extensive body handling and necro fantasy.
The standing nude poses and the crime scene are me.
The S&W .380 auto is from Leatherdude's personal gun collection)


---------

You had Big Max's trap set in the penthouse of an exclusive condo block where Max owned the entire top floor. Motion sensors in the office near the safe would trigger an alarm on your phone, and you'd swing into action at the penthouse, carrying out Max's order: kill anyone you find there.

One benefit, though, was the party on the next floor down from Max's penthouse, where you're waiting for the signal to move in while hanging out at a posh party with a bunch of Max's rich friends. One of Max's parties, of course, meant entertainment -- and the entertainment for the evening was a smooth, lean, tight-built dude named Michael, the top dancer from Max's club -- a thick-hung, graceful six-footer with long, sleek thighs and a tight, perky ass. He captivated you. Your eyes caught each other throughout the evening as he strutted among the guests on the patio and in the living room in skintight thigh-high black leather boots with 4-inch heels, over-the-elbow leather gloves, a polished leather collar with a gold dog tag, and nothing in between.

You spoke at the bar later on after his performance. He was looking tight and hot -- the way his boss always liked his bois to dress -- in a pair of pale blue skinny jeans, a tight little blue baby-doll t-shirt, and high-heeled suede cuff boots. He moved with the confidence of a dude who knew he was the hottest bitch in the room. He came on to you brazenly. His cockiness heated you up. He wrote his room and phone numbers on the back of a Club Max card and slipped it to you before he left the party.

"Here. Call me later? Gotta run."
"How late are you up? I have some business first."
"As late as you want me," he smiled.

In mad anticipation of what was to come with him later, you watched Michael's ass and thighs flexing as he strode towards the door.

About 3 or 3:30am, halfway through your second martini, a certain vibrating pattern sounded on your phone. The trap at the penthouse was sprung. It was time to head upstairs and clean up.

You slipped stealthily into the darkened suite, pausing to let your eyes adjust to the street light filtering in through the blinds. In a few moments, you caught the dim glow of a penlight flickering through an open doorway to the outer office (and the safe inside). You lightly strode across the living room to the office door, flattening yourself against the wall just outside, listening to the activity at the safe. Suddenly, there was silence. Was he done? Had he heard you?

With your silenced .380 drawn, you stepped quickly into the office doorway. In the stripes of street light filtering through the blinds, you saw a tall, slim figure silhouetted as it dashed for the doorway to the inner office. Reflexively you squeezed your trigger four, five, six times at the dark figure darting through the dim, pale light. The feel of your arms and shoulders flexing and your steel bucking in your hands electrified you; you thickened as you heard the dull thump of slugs catching meat, the sound of stumbling feet and the sick, heavy thudding of a falling body. The sound of his rough, throaty, animal grunting and moaning as your slugs tore through him excited you.

You stood up, took a deep breath and let the silence sink in for a moment, your eyes fixed on the fallen body sprawled face down in the inner office, dimly lit by the street light filtering in. You walked across the office towards the doorway to inspect the fresh kill. You pulled the blinds shut and flipped on a small table lamp near the door.

You froze for an instant with the unexpected shock of recognition. That outfit. Those thighs.
That ass.

Oh, fuck...! you gasped out loud to no one in particular. You started thinking your date might be a little earlier than you planned.

Goddammit! That raging slinky dancer from the party, that goddamn' boitoy. Max told you that he knew it would be somebody at the goddamn' party.

You remembered the card in your pocket. Christ, I had a date with this wild little whore.

Your erection almost hurts as you unzip a bit on your way to the bathroom to burn the card...