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Review This Story || Author: Kallie Thomas

Nothing Personal

Part 1

Nothing Personal

"I'm here, baby."  Barbara Velas squeezes the phone between cheek and shoulder,
hands trembling slightly as she carefully adds another small spoonful of white
powder to the scale.  Her deep brown eyes are sharp, narrow, lip pulled between
teeth in careful concentration.  "Mmm hmm," she nods, satisfied as she begins
scraping the concoction into a small plastic package, "fifty thousand this
run-plus the perks."  She reseals the bag, brushing a second pile of powder into
a separate, smaller packet.  Reaching into a suitcase beside her, she pulls out
another powder filled package, carefully opens it, starts again.  "This is gonna
be my last, baby-I just don't have the nerves for this anymore."

Nodding in satisfaction, Barbara runs a tired hand through her chestnut hair,
the suitcase once again packed tightly, neat white packages stacked four deep. 
She snaps it shut, resetting the combination, then sliding it under the bed. 
The meeting isn't until tomorrow morning-tonight she'll grab a few drinks, get
some sleep, and try to shake off the jet lag.  Opening her carry-on bag, she
pulls up the false bottom, begins placing small, powder-filled packets in the
space.  Smiling, she pushes the bag next to the suitcase, and leaves room 248.

The men stand before room 249, glancing carefully around, reassuring themselves
that the hallway is empty.  Swiping the stolen keycard, one leans forward, opens
the door, motioning his partner into the room.  Closing it tightly behind, he
locks the deadbolt, nods.  Stephan Messini has been in the business for 20 years
now, a respected figure, trusted.  But this part of the job still thrills him, a
perfect blend of vindication, revenge, and pleasure.  The boss calls him a
sadist.  He calls himself a professional.  Unlocking the first connecting door,
he bends, deftly picking the second door-their entrance is now ensured.  Closing
the door softly without entering, he walks to the bed, opens his case.   He
pulls out his tools, humming softly.  Manacles for wrists and ankles-strong, but
soft, supple, lined with acrylic lamb's wool.  Past experience had taught him
that real wool, while perhaps more pleasing on an aesthetic level, could inspire
allergic rashes in some.  Surgical gloves to replace the thick leather he wore
now-more control, more tactile input.  A straw, red and white striped, taken
from the McDonald's in Old Town, still in its plastic wrapper.  Condoms, Durex
lubricated, his standard.   A small bottle of Astroglide.  And a loaf of Wonder
Bread.  It had to be Wonder, he knows-the perfect consistency, malleability.  He
sits on the bed, motions for his partner to turn on the TV. 

They wait.

Barbara giggles as she fumbles with her keycard.  She hasn't had a lot, but on
top of stress and exhaustion, it's too much.  "Not TOO too much," she mumbles,
laughing, "else I'd have brought someone home with me."  Fifth swipe and she
gets it-the lock opens, she pushes past the door, locking it securely behind
her.  Stumbling just slightly on her impossibly high heels, she bends down,
peeks under the bed to be sure it's still there. 

It is.

Laughing as she falls forward, Barbara grasps the edge of the bed, pulls herself
up.  Groaning, giggling still, she crawls to the center, and flops down, belly
first.  She smiles-after tomorrow, she's out.  No more playing sophisticated
business traveler, smuggling cocaine through security, flying it to this
international destination or that.  No more return trips with hundreds of
thousands of dollars in her luggage.  And no more cheating.  No more skimming
off the top, lightening each package by a few grams a piece, replacing with
sugar.  No more pocketing more than her pay, which was generous by any standard. 
The stress of it, especially the stealing, was destroying her little by little. 
She sighs, calmer, more at peace than she has been in a very long time.  Her
eyes flutter, then close.  She sleeps.

Stephan turns off the TV, listens.  He takes a last drag from his cigarette,
then scrapes it out on the edge of the waste paper basket.  Squeezing the last
of the tobacco from it, he tucks it in his pocket.  Motioning to his partner to
grab a pillow, he lifts his briefcase, reaches carefully for the connecting
door.  Pushing it open silently, they enter. 

Barbara is still, her deep, even breathing the only sound in the dark room. 
Stephan walks silently across the plush carpet, setting his case down carefully
on the floor, opening it.   Pulling out three slices of bread, he begins balling
it up, adds more slices until the glob of bread is almost baseball size. 
Nodding to his partner, he puts the ball of bread in his pocket, grasps the
manacles. 

Barbara wakes with a violent start as the pillow is shoved down over her face. 
A heavy weight follows it, as the man sits on her head, knees to either side,
holding the pillow firm around her face.  Her legs kick frantically, arms
grasping the pillow, pulling desperately as her screams, cries, are muffled by
the down.  Stephan captures her wrists easily-between her exhaustion, her
intoxication, and her still-sleep addled thoughts, her struggle poses no
obstacle.  Securing her wrists, he pulls them back, connects the manacles to one
another, leaving her hands clenching helplessly behind her.  He grunts low as
one of her flailing legs connects with his knee.  Smiling grimly, he secures her
ankles effortlessly. 

Barbara's eyes are wide, terrified in the blackness under the pillow.  Her gasps
are short, screams shrill, breathless.  She squirms, twists violently, knowing
that she has miscalculated.   Knowing that she has been caught. 

Stephan waves his partner off, standing poised as Barbara is flipped onto her
back.  Pouncing, he crams the ball of bread into her gaping mouth, pressing with
his thumbs until the entire wad is trapped behind her teeth, her cheeks bulging. 
Only one small squeak escapes before he accomplishes his task.  He smiles,
pleased, as he looks down into her stricken, sobbing face.  Pulling on his
surgical gloves, he tosses a pair to the other man, ignoring her gagging, her
whined pleas.

Barbara shakes her head violently, eyes huge, begging for a chance to speak, to
explain somehow.  Her tongue works the soggy, slimy ball of bread, struggling to
push it out, unable to-the more she works it, the more it swells, conforms to
her mouth.   Twisting violently at the snapping of gloves, she lurches onto her
belly, fights to pull her knees under her.

"Shhhh,." Stephan crouches down, strokes her terrified face, wipes away her
tears, "Hush now, shhhh.   I know, I know, you're sorry.  I know you're
frightened."  He brushes her mussed hair back, pulling it from her brow, "But
this going to happen no matter what you do, so don't fight.  Be a good girl, let
me do my work-it will be quicker if you just relax."  His voice is sympathetic,
understanding, "Please don't take it personally, you know I'm only doing my
job."

Barb chokes as she tries to scream, the lump of sodden bread pressing against
the back of her throat with every attempt.  Stephan walks around the bed, grasps
her gently by the hips to slide her back.  Reaching up, he grabs a pillow,
places it on the floor before pulling her hips over the edge, her bare knees
coming down on the soft percale and goose down. 

"That way you don't get rug burn on your knees."  His tone is gentle, almost
loving as he pushes her skirt over her twitching hips, tucking the hem up into
the waist to keep it free.  He grasps her white lace panties, tugs them gently
over her hips, leaves them hanging between her quivering thighs.  He reaches
over, removes two condoms, hands them to his partner.  Looking up, he shakes his
head-the other is rubbing his crotch excitedly, eyes hungry.  He hates working
with others-they just don't understand how deep, how nearly sacred this act is. 

"Double up," he murmurs, gently patting and stroking Barbara's trembling ass,
"and stay out of her rectum-the condoms break and it's all over." 

Barbara's mind is racing, her eyes staring wide as she feels the cold Astroglide
being smeared on, a finger gently entering her, lubricating her. 

"Gentle, easy," Stephan's voice is calm, patient, "We don't want any bruising or
abnormal tearing." 

Barbara's muffled cry is short, cut off by sharp gagging as the man pushes
smoothly into her wet, open pussy.  His hands are light on her hips, his cock
sliding in and out at an even, measured pace.  Her feet begin to drum
desperately on the floor beyond the pillow, each sob threatening to choke her. 
Stephan kneels behind her rapist, lifts her ankles gently, placing them across
his strong thigh.  He holds them firmly with one hand, the other stroking her
straining calves tenderly, his expression patient, forgiving. 

The man's thrusting becomes uneven as his breath catches in his throat.  Pushing
deep, he shudders, his cock twitching as her protesting pussy spasms around him,
drawing the climax from him.  He sighs, lays silent over her for a moment,
enjoying the sensations.  Pushing up, he grasps the base of his cock, holds the
condom on as he pulls out.   Removing it gingerly, he pulls a plastic zip-lock
bag from Stephan's case, deposits the full condom before zipping it shut and
returning it to the case.

Stephan motions for his partner to take Barbara's ankles as he moves forward,
kneels behind her.  His latex-clad hands begin rubbing her buttocks, massaging,
kneading gently.  Barbara whines helplessly, the only sound she can manage
without choking on the ball of bread.  His thumbs move down, begin rubbing the
soft, sensitive flesh to either side of her rectum, working, readying her.  His
voice is low, soothing as he tells her that it will hurt a little, but that he
will do his best to be gentle.  Her eyes stare widely out the slightly gapped
blinds, the lights of Frankfurt twinkling in the night.  Maybe they won't kill
her.  Her mind clings to that hope, tears rolling down her soft cheeks.  Maybe
this is a warning, maybe they just want to scare her.  She whines again, begins
to pray.

"Why do I have to wear a condom, but you don't?"  Voice petulant, unhappy.

"Because you have a criminal record, I do not."  Stephan's voice is patient as
he slowly works the Astroglide into Barbara's tight asshole.  "Because she needs
to look like a drunken, coked up American whore who brought ONE man here and let
him fuck all her holes . . ." he smiles, kisses Barbara's straining ass cheek, "
. . . as American whores are wont to do."  He turns his head, eyes narrowing as
he catches his partner's gaze, "But mostly because that is how we were
instructed to do it.  The phone is in my briefcase, should you decide you wish
to challenge those instructions."   He nods, eyes returning to Barbara's ass as
the younger man looks down, shakes his head.

Grasping his rigid cock, Stephan presses the head against Barbara's generously
lubed asshole.  He smiles as her hips jump, jerk, her whines cut off with a
sharp gasp, then miserable gagging as he pushes slowly, carefully in.  This is
his favorite part-the obvious pain, the bucking, the inability to even scream as
the cramping sets in.  It's the moment when true understanding dawns, his
victims, helpless, immobilized, realize that they truly are totally at his
mercy.  He begins thrusting carefully, pushing deeper with each stroke until his
cock is all the way in, balls resting against her pink, wet pussy lips.  Barbara
grunts helplessly with each long stroke, her head pulled up, hands clenching
into tight, pained fists as he moves inside her.  His hands stroke her hips
lightly, tenderly, as he presses forward, her pelvis trapped against the bed as
he rapes her ass steadily. 

Stephan groans low as his cock begins to twitch, swell in her sore, stretched
asshole.  He bends forward, lets the first spasm unleash his hot cum in her ass. 
Pulling out quickly, he presses into her pussy, moans as his cock jerks again,
spilling more jizz into her vagina.  Sighing, he withdraws, holds his gloved
hand out to catch the last, carefully spreading it in a white puddle on a
plastic bag. 

Rising, he tucks his softening cock back into his trousers, zipping as he
reaches under the bed, pulls Barbara's bag out.  Reaching deep, he pulls out one
of the small, white packets and carefully opens it.  He looks at her strangely,
considering, then grabs the straw.  Walking to her head, he signals his partner
to flip her onto her back, pull her forward so her head hangs over the edge of
the bed.  He reaches forward, unbuttons her shirt, deftly popping the clasp on
her bra.  He gazes appreciatively as her full, round breasts spill free.

Barbara whimpers pathetically, her eyes huge, head shaking in terrified denial. 
"Hush now, Barb," Stephan pets her head gently, his other hand plunging the
straw into the uncut cocaine.  "Hush, it's okay, it's almost over."  He leans
down, staring softly into her wild eyes, "Don't make this more difficult than it
has to be."  He looks up, nods sharply, "Hold her head-gently now, don't hurt
her." 

Softly smiling, he slips the straw into her flaring nostril, blows hard, the
powder blasting into her sinuses, her brain, as she gasps, hacks.  Stroking her
jaw softly, thoughtfully, he reloads the straw, slides it up her other nostril,
gives a sharp puff.  More hacking, strangled whines as Barbara's dark eyes stare
sickly, horrified comprehension shining.  Her feet thump a desperate beat on the
bed, knees drawing up, kicking helplessly.     "Shhhhh, shhhhhh."  Another straw
full, another blast, then another as she begins to whine, tears flowing down her
numbing face.  Her eyes glaze, dart jerkily as she begins to tremble violently. 
He leans, lips brushing across her sweating brow, gently kissing, his hand
rubbing her rigid shoulder as her whines become weak, breathy.  She begins to
gag, choking violently.  He reaches into her mouth, begins digging out the slimy
ball of dough, placing it into another zip-lock bag.   Her mouth opens, lips
moving weakly in wordless, whimpering pleas as he loads the straw one last time. 
Blowing, he pushes his partners hands away, supports her head as she retches
dryly. 

"Get a glass of water."  He pets her head soothingly as she shakes, his lips
nuzzling against her ear, breathing in her sweet scent.  Taking the glass, he
braces a hand under her neck, pushes her into a sitting position.  Pressing the
glass to her slack, trembling lips, he tips her head back, smiles as she begins
swallowing reflexively, washing the remnants of the Wonder Bread down.  He wipes
the water from her chin, then lays her back down, reaching for the bag with his
cum on it.  Swiping a gloved finger across the bag, he traces the cooling spunk
across her lips, pushing a finger in, spreading it through her mouth.  He tosses
the bag into his open case, looks down at her now glistening lips.  Barbara's
eyes blink weakly as her body begins to convulse violently, hoarse, barking
gasps jerked from her as she shakes.  Stephan pushes her gently, rolling her on
her belly to remove the manacles, dropping them distractedly into his briefcase. 
He inspects her wrists, ankles, smiles at their unmarred state.  He presses two
fingers to her throat, feels the violent, skipping thwack of her struggling
heart.   Grasping her right hand, he presses the straw between her thumb and
forefinger, then places it on the bedstand.

Lifting, he carries her to the bath, noting that her convulsions have stopped,
replaced by trembling, a rhythmic clenching of her hands and feet.  Her eyes,
wide, glassy, stare blindly as her lips twitch, a low moaning filling the bright
tiled room.  Lowering her into the tub, he arranges her carefully, one leg
hanging over the rim, her pretty pussy open, inviting.  Grasping her hair, he
pulls her head forward, then slams it hard against the corner of the tub,
tearing flesh, drawing a small stream of blood down her pale cheek.  He folds
one unprotesting arm under her head, finger tracing down her lovely breasts.  He
bends to suck them gently, one hand cupping, caressing, the other traveling over
her trembling flesh to part her neatly trimmed pussy lips, work her clit in
small, gentle circles.   He bends close, breathes her in, feels her shallow,
rapid breath on his cheek.

Turning, he leans forward, twists the water control, pushing it to the hottest
setting.  Steam begins to rise as he stretches back, turns the shower on.  Her
limbs scrabble haltingly, mindlessly as the burning water strikes her pale
flesh, turning it red in moments.  A thick, awful gurgling escapes her slack
mouth, barely audible as her dull gaze falters, eyes begin rolling back into her
head. 

Stephan sits on the toilet, gaze impassive as the scalding water raises blisters
on her now motionless body.  He wipes condensation off his watch face, checks
the time.  He stands, turns off the water, thankful for the endless supply of
hot that comes with pricier hotels.  Pressing once more against her throat, he
feels for her heartbeat, finds nothing.  He reaches, turns the steaming water on
once again.  Nodding in approval, he pulls his enrapt partner from the bath. 
Returning to the room, they gather their gear, eyes scanning for anything
missed.  He points at the pillow, motions for it to be brought along.  Sighing,
Stephan bends, pulls the suitcase from under the bed, opens it to transfer the
packages from her bag.  He eyes the open packet on the nightstand, decides to
leave it.  Rising, he follows his partner to the connecting door, closes it
softly behind him, smiling as the lock clicks home.  He closes the second door,
locking it, too.

Stephan takes the pillow, removing the lipstick stained pillowcase before
placing it back on the bed.  Rolling the case up, he tucks it into his
briefcase, removes his latex gloves, places them beside.  His partner follows
suit, dropping his gloves in with a satisfied grunt.  He snaps the case shut,
nods.

"Let's go-I'll meet you in the parking terrace."  He reaches into his pocket,
pulls out the key card.  "Put this back where you got it." 

Humming softly, he exits the room, strides confidently toward the elevator,
briefcase in one hand, suitcase in the other.  He stops, glances back one last
time at room 248's heavy walnut door.  Another day, another job.  Some jobs are
more enjoyable than others, but he is a company man, he does what he's told.  He
sighs, knows the story of the overdosing whore who slipped in the shower won't
even make the front page of tomorrow's post.  Stepping into the elevator, he
presses the button, setting a case down to smooth his hair as the doors slide
shut.



Review This Story || Author: Kallie Thomas
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