Mike's Revenge - chapter 4

Ivy's hand moved to trace the outline of the bulge in Mike's slacks. She seemed to have forgotten the bodies only a few feet away, some of which had not stopped moving. Mike's eyes drifted down to her breasts, nipples hard like ripe raspberries. He remembered the steely taste of those berries in his mouth, the way the taste would reflect her mood changes, small dashboard indicators of lust or anger, or disinterest. He recalled the way anger made her lovemaking intensify to almost frightening levels. But this was no time for a trip down memory lane.

“Lets get out of here,” Mike growled.

She nodded, reluctantly dragged her eyes away from him. Then she was on her feet, her catlike movements startling him. For a moment she paused, almost seemed to strike a pose, staring at Mike while cupping a breast with her only free hand, the other still clutching the Thompson, then she stooped, dropping everything to pick up a tailored white shirt from Gucci bag and pull it on. She tossed the handbag until she found a little plaid skirt, white socks and shiny black shoes to finish her outfit. Mike watched her hopping on one foot while pulling off the knee boots and putting on the socks and shiny shoes... astonished at the transformation from killer to schoolgirl

“One more thing,” she said, fastening a butterfly hair-clip onto her head, completing her new look. She tossed her hair back and gathered up her possessions: the Gucci handbag and the machine gun.

Ivy headed for the red door and Mike followed, trying not to stare at her bare legs... it seemed improper somehow to be leering at this schoolgirl, even though she wasn't, but she sure looked like.... He gave his head a shake and attempted to focus on their situation.

“Who were those guys?”

Over her shoulder, walking down the passageway to the alley she curtly threw back, “Daddy's men. They were supposed to protect me.”

“From what?”

“Gang war,” she said, not turning. “The Triad is making another play for control of the drug trade in Chinatown.”

“Why'd they try and kill me?”

“They say you cop .”

“Long time ago.” Mike growled.

Together they left the alley and turned down the street, crowded now with mid-morning shoppers – mostly Chinese. They were catching looks, a big middle aged white guy walking beside an underage looking Asian schoolgirl.

Somehow she had broken the Thompson down while walking the alley and concealed it in her handbag. Talented girl, Mike thought. Handy to have in gun fight.

Mike noticed an old Chinese woman staring at then from a sidewalk stall. That was when he made his first mistake. He thought the old woman was just another disapproving face... until the revolver appeared in her hand and she raised it to aim at his chest.

He was already moving, rolling down and left, getting under the gun. The old broad dropped her aim but his out-swept arm connected and the gun went clattering down the sidewalk. A hard right to the head and granny was out of the game, falling between stalls and not getting back up.

Mike swept the sidewalk with his eyes and saw Ivy right where he left her, looking impatient.

“You want old lady Mike?”

Mike fell back in beside with a snort. They resumed walking.

“She was lookout, Ivy informed him.

“For who?” Mike asked.

For once the schoolgirl had nothing to say. Mike figured she didn't know or didn't want to say, one way or the other, and he was starting to wonder where they were going.

Without warning Ivy grabbed Mike by his shirtfront and pulled him stumbling down a narrow alleyway. She shoved him up against a stinking dumpster and before he could stop her, put her mouth on his. That’s when Mike made his second mistake. Her mouth was so hungry, so enticingly forbidden. His body responded before he could form a coherent thought, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her sweet ass up. Her hands were tearing at his belt buckle and opening his clothing and he felt her free his cock. Immobilized with surprise. Mike didn't stop her, let her keep going, and he felt her hand pulling at his stiffened penis, roughly jerking him while standing on her toes, her weight pushing him back against the dumpster, all the while sucking his tongue and moaning.

Fleeting thoughts of stopping this ran through his head, but failed to impress. The eroticism of the moment, the unexpected assault on his senses, and the lingering excitement from the shooting kept Mike teetering on the edge of good judgment, of putting an end to it and pushing her away. He felt helpless, and that was not a situation Mike had much experience handling.

The smell of her was filling his head and her insistent hand was awkwardly pulling at him, forcing him toward a climax. He had no time to think, to understand what she was doing. He knew only that he wanted this, had wanted it since he smelled her sex... It had been building since then, the plaid skirt and naked legs, unable to keep his eyes off her firm small ass. She had wormed her way into his brain and now she was violating him in a way... in a way he could not resist. He had wanted her then and he wanted her now, the years since he had first known her dissolving away. He had to have her. He had to find release, and she was moaning into his mouth and her hand urging him on. She wouldn’t stop and it was beyond pleasure, it was ownership. She was raping him and he couldn’t stop. He... he had to stop.

And it was too late. He was jerking in her hand, cum splashing on her legs, a display of raw lust that made him moan back into her mouth, unable to breath, unable to think. There was just her hot mouth against his, her darting tongue and her hand holding him possessively as he died the little death.

She pulled back her head, taking her mouth from his, and smirked up at him in a knowing way. She was the perfect fantasy girl in a plaid skirt and shiny black shoes, his cum dripping down her bare legs and her lipstick smeared. That's when Mike made his third mistake. He should have walked away.