This is the opening of Carli's Kills...
Number one was the eyes. While she had a preference for men with nice, dark, sloe eyes, the main deal was...they have to look at her, not through her or up and down her. Meeting her gaze? Positive note. Glancing at her boobs? Demerits out the ass.
Next came the lips. Had to be kissable, like Chris Evans, and hold a smile, not a smirk or grin. Either of those was another demerit...unless, of course, he was really, really gorgeous. Like Chris Evans. Not that she had a special thing for him. Honest. She'd never met the guy so had no idea what he was like.
But...if he did happen to have some of Chris' attributes, then she would happily make use of him to scratch an itch...and nothing more. Because those types of men always seemed to think once they'd fucked you, they owned you. Stupid boys. Big demerits, on that.
Following that were his hands. Lean and strong, not beefy, and with fingernails that were clean but not manicured; that's too indicative of a man who's high-maintenance. Nothing down and dirty with a boy like that. She even liked to see a nail or two nibbled at, because that suggested he was the feeling sort, with a hint of nervousness. Much easier to be around...have fun with.
Which led to number four -- flexibility. He could not one who always had to set the evening's agenda, be it on the town on in the bed. If they meet at a bar or restaurant for drinks and dinner, he wouldn't mind if it was late, and he would be willing to go to a midnight showing of Rocky Horror Picture Show or a new screening of Singin' in the Rain, just for the hell of it. Of course, she was open to some give and take on that. Nothing wrong with the Marvel Universe or Fast and Furious number forty-seven. But if he was not willing to let her in on running the show? Very negative in the merits.
The last big point was, he better smell good. Not perfumed, but at least a bath, deodorant and...well, maybe a hint of cologne. She had been around too many grunts in the Army who thought showering daily was for sissies and their manly odor was a turn-on, like they were beasts in the jungle. Not in the slightest, with her. That sort of attitude only showed he cared nothing about his effect on other people. Of course, too much cleanliness would fall back into the high-maintenance type, and she ain't got time for that. Just a nice, easy balance.
The rest -- fine body, solid legs, round ass, good dick...those are to be considered but were secondary. And if he had a good laugh, they became superfluous.
So as she quietly stood in a closet on the 25th floor in the dark master bedroom a luxury condominium on the Wilshire Corridor in Los Angeles, she was quietly ticking off each one of those points as she watched a man who was very involved in having sex with a young woman ten years his junior. In her bed. Atop her silk sheets. Which she was enjoying just as much as he was, if her groans and sighs and snarls and groping hands were to be believed.
His name was Mikey. She had no idea what the rest of it was, yet; that had been the only name mentioned by the woman. Whose name Carli did know -- Anastasia Florencia Devaux, better known as Stasi to any and all of her minions. She was twenty-three years old, five-seven, and a hundred and ten pounds. Body by personal trainer. Head a size too big for it, as were her breasts. Definitely enhanced. Obviously, Carli also had a rating system for women, and it was nowhere near as kind as for men.
To put it simply, Stasi was way into negative territory.
To start with, the nose job was obvious, thought it probably had helped the symmetry of her face. Her big eyes carried more than a hint of cruelty in them, but men tended to ignore that in their fake women. To be honest in her rating, Stasi's big lips could have been Botoxed but somehow Carli didn't really think so. Still, it was hard to really tell for sure in the low light and high shadows of the room.
But none of that slowed Mikey down. She had curves enough to show she was female, with no tan lines and a willingness to get as down and dirty and hard at it as him. That was a demerit on his part, thinking what he was having with her was good sex.
Carli halfway thought she should take Mikey on and show him what it meant to make love. Serious, solid, strong, intense love that blinded you for an instant at the moment of climax. She almost chuckled at the thought, knowing if she did he would never be interested in a superficial piece of plastic like this bitch, again.
Stasi's superficiality extended around the room, which was custom designed to give the impression of old money well-spent, but carried just enough detail to undercut that intention. Silver molding along the polished white ceiling? Silver lamé drapes flanking the sliding glass doors to the balcony? A six-inch deep carpet in black and white waves with a faux polar bear rug atop it? All of that was bad enough, but the true piéce-de-resistance was a massive shell-like headboard done in chrome and polished into perfect reflectability above silver silk sheets and comforter and even fucking duvets? Jesus, it was all so tacky just looking at it was hard to take. The one good aspect of the room was it faced south, overlooking the basin. Imagine having the morning or evening sun blasting in against that headboard? Its reflections could start a fire as far away as El Monte or Malibu.
But the whole condo was overwrought, like that, emphasis on silver and gold. Carli had cringed her way through it all as she skulked around, looking for the best spot to hide. A poor man's idea of what rich looks like. Of course, it made sense as far as Stasi was concerned. Daddy built his multi-millions in real estate back in Arizona, straight out of his double-wide mobile home for the first ten years. Not that there was anything wrong with that. But he still wore cowboy boots with his bespoke suits, and now had his twenty-six year-old trophy wife dressed in the latest of the latest styles ensconced in a penthouse on North Central, and had bought himself a seat in the Legislature while Stasi's mom played drunk golf in her khaki and turquoise ensembles outside her own condo-complex fronting an evergreen course that cost more to keep watered than the national debt's interest payments. Nouveaux riche in the worst way, straight down the line. It made Carli shudder, to see it in practice.
She had no trouble sneaking in. Despite its vaunted security system, Carli had found five blind spots in the tower that gave her access to emergency stairwells. All she needed to do was steal a pass-card from one of the residents, which was easy to accomplish by following one very preoccupied society matron to a spa, accidentally running into her to make her drop her purse and helping her put it back together while ignoring the nonstop insults she spat at Carli for not watching where she was going. It was so cute.
Of course, the negative part was climbing twenty-five flights of stairs to get to Stasi's floor. That was why Carli had been waiting in a disgusting chrome and leather chair in the bedroom. She was in excellent shape, but that was still a workout.
Fortunately, she knew Stasi would be out till late with her latest boyfriend, so she could just sit and Zen until she heard the woman enter. But then she heard a man's voice, with her. Both sounding a bit drunk with wine and lust. The closet had been a tactical shift in plan, one she was actually finding it to be a positive shift. Because watching big, bad, buff Mikey undress...suit coat, shirt, shoes, jacket, and then the slow removal of his trousers to reveal a very nice ass. Lovely, even in gray boxer briefs. Surprisingly firm, from how little it jiggled as they were pulled off and he and Stasi fell on the bed and he went hard against her. Good clenching, too. Add to that the strong legs and fine hands, and how he'd focused his lips on her breasts and neck and kisses instead of just humping...those attributes put him on the positive side, despite the fact that he was fucking around on his wife.
This is what research will bring you. Stasi only had married boyfriends. No chance of commitment for this little bitch. She was having her fun, and soon as a guy got too close, he kicked to the curb. It was a major demerit for a man to cheat on his wife, but the image Stasi presented would be hard for any guy with a female-oriented dick to resist. And Carli had to admit, the more she saw of Mikey at work, the more she wanted to let him live.
Might even make use of him, later, since she was certain he was soon to be an unmarried man. Horn dogs like that who get dumped by their wives are easy.
But first things first. Let's get it done, folks.
As in, finish up.
Today, okay?
No comments:
Post a Comment